Page 43 of Making the Save

All fairy dust.

9

Sydney

Ilooked up from my phone when Beatrice stepped through the side door, bags in hand.

“We have a situation,” she announced.

“Yes, I know.” I would have had to be blind and deaf to miss it. Chaos was happening outside my house. My neighbors were going to be pissed. Again.

I’d closed the drapes over the sliding glass doors to give us some privacy and the room was cozy and muted. Like a cocoon.

“Please be quiet though, Wyatt is still sleeping.”

Beatrice’s gaze followed the rumbling snore to the man who was laid out on my couch. I sat on the opposite side of the couch, my notebook in hand. I’d been sitting here, listening to Wyatt snore and working on a song.

It had been the nicest morning I’d had in…years?

“What’s he doing on the couch?” Beatrice asked.

“Protecting me,” I said, and could not contain my smile. Honestly, he was too much. But it was strange how after a life with so little, too much felt wonderful.

“My goodness, you were right. That man needs a robe,” Beatrice said as she stared at his exposed chest. My favorite pink and yellow paisley throw had been kicked to the floor at some point, and he was just lying there in his boxer briefs for all the world to see.

Thick and defined, covered in dark brown hair, Wyatt’s chest was no joke. Only it was hard to know where to look when there was a massive bicep and bulging right thigh on display as well.

I was trying very hard not to stare at his junk, but I swear I could see the outline of his dick pressed against the grey cloth of his boxers. It was also…impressive.

“He is something, isn’t he?” Beatrice said, setting her bags down by the island.

“Right? He’s a little intimidating up close.”

“Has Mr. Intimidating been behaving himself?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me so I knew to what she was referring.

“He’s been a total gentleman.”

“And that’s what you want?” Beatrice asked. Swear to god, that woman had a direct line right into my head.

“Yes,” I said.

No, I thought.

Beatrice brought one bag with her over to the couch.

She leaned over and I reached down and threw the blanket back over his body.

“No looking at his junk!”

“As. If,” she said, clearly offended. “I’m simply trying to determine if he is in fact a man or a bear. My goodness, the snoring!”

“I kind of like the sound of it. It almost rumbles the whole house.”

“He should wake up. We need to devise a plan of attack.”

I understood I needed to have a new story ready, but it was just going to mean more lies. More lies upon more lies. I was exhausted already.

“Mr. Locke,” Beatrice said. She clapped her hands once. Twice. “Mr. Locke!”

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