Page 33 of In Bed with Mr. Wrong

She filled two glasses with water and took the stool she’d occupied last night. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” He passed over the bowl and slid into the seat next to her. “Though if you don’t want to know, I don’t have to keep going.”

She dished a plate of salad up for herself—and then him, too—before she answered. “I’d like to know.”

Since curiosity was a step in the right direction, he gave her a small smile. “I grew up spending as much time outside my house as possible. It could have been a lot worse, but Drew made sure there was always enough food and warm clothes. I think I would have liked to know a librarian like you, because Old Mrs. Cleaver scared the crap out of me. I used to hide in the stacks until she hobbled back to the front desk before I’d go find the books I was looking for.”

She smiled. “I thought she was perfectly nice.”

He suddenly realized how this must sound. She’d shared a horror story of a childhood and here he was whining about how is brother stepped up to the plate and made sure he didn’t go without. “Drew saved my life, even if I got into a lot of trouble along the way.”

“Does he know that?” Bri took a drink of her water. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. But your brother doesn’t really talk about what your childhood was like. All his stories are from high school and beyond.”

“High school was full of adventure.” Even if he’d never live it down. But he didn’t have any real regrets from some of the crazy shit he and his old brother got into.

“I’d like to know more, if that’s okay.”

“So he didn’t tell you about the time I started a grease fire trying to cook stir-fry?”

Her eyebrows rose and she snorted. “No, he neglected to mention that your history with fire started before senior year.”

For once, the reminder didn’t stick in his throat. “I was lucky he’d decided to supervise. He’s quick on his feet and got the baking soda into the pan before it did any real damage.”

“That’s fortunate.” She shook her head. “I can picture it all too easily. You guys must have been little hellions.”

“We still are if you ask around.” He took a few bites, letting the silence stretch a few minutes while they both ate. “Has he taken you up to the property?”

She rotated her fork with her fingers. “No. The only reason I know about it is because Avery mentioned it once.”

“The house is gone, I think. I haven’t been up there since I graduated. But the acreage is beautiful—miles and miles of forest and fields, with a nice little stream running through it.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

He’d always thought so. It had been a wonderland for him and his brother growing up, a direct counterpoint to the hell that their house was from time to time. “When I was eight, I went out to build a fort where Drew would never find me.” He shook his head. “There was a bee’s nest in the tree I tried to use for wood.”

“Oh no.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, but her eyes were dancing. “That must have been terrible.”

“After I’d stopping screaming and Old Joe made sure I wasn’t going to die, he whooped my ass for being stupid enough not to check the tree I was hammering on before I started.”

“Old Joe whooped you, huh?”

“Well, he threatened to.” His grin died. “The paramedics weren’t as forgiving, and neither were the horde of Wellingford residents who descended on the ambulance while I was getting patched up. I got more lectures that afternoon than I did the entire year.”

She abandoned her half-empty bowl and turned to face him fully. “Tell me more.”

More? He had countless stories like that, like the time he’d tried to run away after Dad had lost his shit because Ryan quit the peewee football team halfway through the season. He’d hidden out for three days before Drew showed up in his lean-to and talked him into coming back home. But he didn’t want to mar this conversation with Bri by bringing in the crappy times. As many bad memories as he had about this town, it was strange to realize he had just as many good memories. “After Drew readThe Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, he decided it’d be a great idea to build a raft and float down the stream.”

She choked. “And how did that go?”

“It was badass. At first. The raft held us both and seemed like it’d really go the distance.” He paused, enjoying the way she leaned forward, already smiling. “We didn’t plan on the beaver’s dam.”

Talking about this brought back all sorts of memories, of long summers spent running around barefoot, of floating the nearby river, of hours sitting around the campfire. A thought occurred to him, taking root until he couldn’t stop himself from standing and going to the cabinet. He thought he’d seen marshmallows in here, and he was right.

“What are you doing?”

He turned around, holding the marshmallows, Hershey bars, and graham crackers. “We’re going to make s’mores.” He couldn’t change her past, or go back in time to help her when she’d needed someone, but he could damn well give her some good new memories to go with the bad ones. “That is, if you’re willing to risk letting me near the fireplace.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m not taking my eyes off you.”

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