Page 53 of A Storybook Wedding

Romantic? Really? “You think this is romantic?”

“There’s a fireplace.”

“It’s for warmth. I’m told the heat in this old-ass house sucks.”

“Still.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. It looks nice. It’s antique and ornate,” she says, tracing her finger along the curvature of the carved bedpost. “It reminds me of something out of Little Women.”

“I guess we should have talked about this sooner. My bad; that’s on me. If you don’t feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed, I guess I could sleep on the floor. Or in that chair,” I say, pointing at the wingback, imagining the excruciating aches in my lower back that would result from an endeavor like that.

“No, it’s fine,” she says. “I’m a grown-up. I can handle us being in the same bed. I mean, as long as you can handle it.”

“I’m fine. I was expecting it.”

“I can be a covers hog.”

“Excuse me?”

“I get cold. I like lots of blankets on me.”

Through the wall, I hear someone sneeze. “See? I told you,” I whisper. “Thin walls in this place. Make sure you don’t say anything incriminating. And yes, I’m sure it will get cold what with the wind here. But they had an extra blanket in the closet last time. Let’s see.” I walk over to the linen closet outside the bathroom door. Sure enough, there’s a quilt folded neatly inside. I hold it up to show her.

“They even give you extra linens? I’m telling you, it was just bare bones in the North Wind. I even packed my own towel because the one last time was so small, it hardly covered anything.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure I was given a stack of towels last time.” I pop my head in the bathroom. “Yup. We’ve got three.”

“Unreal,” she says, shaking her head. “So what are we supposed to do for the rest of the morning?”

“Nothing really. Unpack. Settle in. There’s a faculty meeting over lunch.”

“You think they’ll let me stay?”

“For lunch?”

“Yeah. I mean, if lunch is during a meeting, I hope they let me eat.”

“That’s crazy. Of course they’ll let you eat.”

“I’m not so sure. You didn’t get a bitchy vibe from Lucy?” she asks.

“Look who we’re talking about, CJ. It’s Lucy. She’s the poster child for resting bitch face.”

“You don’t think she knows that I was the one behind the whiteboard incident last summer, do you?”

I grin. “Doubtful.” I begin to unpack my things into the bottom three drawers of our dresser, leaving the top three available for her to use.

CJ sits down on the bed on the side closest to the door. She reclines her body back, and when her head reaches the pillow, she closes her eyes. “Mm,” she says. “Everything is so much nicer up here.”

I steal the moment to take in the sight of her. Her brown hair is spilled out all over the white pillowcase, and with her arms up over her head, the tiniest sliver of her belly is on display. The black leggings show off her shapely hips and legs, which are crossed at the knee, boots hanging over the side of the bed. Her lips are deep pink, two plump raspberries shiny with morning dew.

I look away and pretend not to feel what the sight of her is doing to me.

Instead, I talk, willing my chatter to fill the empty space. “I will say, it’s been awhile since I’ve shared a bed with someone. Hopefully it won’t be too awful for you.”

“You don’t starfish, do you?”

I smile. “No. I don’t think so.”

“So who was she?”

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