Page 31 of When Glitter Meets Gold

I zone out because the notion of spending all night in this tent with him has just hit me. The old Sara wouldn’t have spent a night in a tent, but the new version sure as hell isn’t going to get used to it either. What have I done?

“If you’re trying to prove a point, it’s wasted out here.” Jack secures the hooks on the entrance zipper, sealing us in for the night. “The chopper is equipped to deal with emergencies.”

I slip into my surprisingly comfortable cocoon of blankets. “You think I should go?”

He studies me. “It’s your call.”

I press my back into the blankets, staring up at the shadowed dome of the tent roof.

“The reason I’m out here in the first place is kind of diabolical.” I sigh. “So, I’ll sleep here and maybe it’ll teach me a lesson.”

I hear Jack shuffle into his sleeping bag. “Good to know I’m aiding in your self-punishment.”

I smile. “You’ve certainly been a good sport.”

Then, before I’m about to roll over and close my eyes, I can’t help but ask, “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have one of those sleep masks? You know, those silky things you putover your eyes?” He tosses a towel at me. I immediately toss it back at his head and sigh.

“Just let the sound of the rain put you to sleep,” Jack says, like it’s a gentle, passing shower and not something just this side of a natural disaster.

“I’ll try, but I’ve never been good at falling asleep. I need my rituals,” I admit.

He passes me the bottle again. “Rituals? I figured there’d be more than the sleep mask thing.”

I tug the blanket up to my chin. “About a hundred more.”

“Like what?” A hint of intrigue.

“My ten-step skincare routine, getting into my pajamas an hour before bed, herbal tea on the nightstand, gel eye patches, an episode of an old tv show.” The roaring absence of each one sends my eyes tugging toward the radio.

“Seems normal, apart from the ten-step thing.” Jack muses. “Anything else?”

“Well yes, but it’s a little dumb,” I say, wishing I’d never brought it up.

Sensing my hesitation, he offers, “A couple more drinks and I won’t remember in the morning anyway.”

True. A quick glance at the bottle reveals that we are steadily approaching memory loss territory.

“I…”—Why am I telling him this?—“sketch.”

Jack twists to face me, his eyes subtly flaring for more information.

“I keep a notepad and pencil next to my bed, and when I can’t sleep, I doodle. I’m no artist, it’s just stupid things, easy things, but it helps.” I sink my head into the pillow, feeling like I’ve overshared. I shiver, deciding I’d probably feel less exposed if I were to stand in front of him swinging nipple tassels in his face.

“What do you sketch?” he asks, his voice filled with intrigue.

“Anything. The bagel I had for lunch, dresses that don’t exist, but I wish did. My apartment and how I plan on making it a whole Nancy Meyers theme. Just daydreams I want to fall asleep to.”

And I’m grinning at my own lameness.

I swipe at my face, forcing my teeth to return behind my lips immediately.

“Okay, I have no idea who or what a Nancy Meyers theme is.” Jack smirks.

I twist onto my side to face him, feigning comical shock. “Only one of the best filmmakers to walk the earth.Father of the Bride? The Parent Trap?”

Jack studies me for a moment, his face softening. “Yeah, I know those.”

I flop back onto the blankets. “Floral wallpaper, timeless artwork, classic pieces of furniture.” I sigh at the ceiling of the tent. Yeah, I’m drunk. I think I’ve lost Jack because he doesn’t say anything.

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