Page 58 of Saving Mr. Bell

Rudolf

I woke first on Christmas Day, heaving myself up onto one elbow to watch Arlo sleep. His lips curling up at one corner made me wonder what he was dreaming about to make him smile. Was it awfully selfish to hope it was me? Had I become so possessive I needed to commandeer his sleeping hoursandhis waking ones? Yes, was the undeniable answer to that.

Absence might have made me realize I’d fallen for him, the hours of sorting my life out dragging like they were weeks, but in the past few days I’d discovered that there were degrees of being in love, my feelings for him only growing now neither of us were holding back.

I trailed gentle fingertips over his cheek, Arlo’s smile growing wider. “I love you,” I said, the words still enough of a novelty that a rush of emotion accompanied them. “And I know I joke about stuff, but I’ll aways be grateful for you saving me when I didn’t know I needed it. My hero! We need to get you a cape.”

Arlo stirred, and I waited for him to offer his own sweet words. Probably something along the line of he’d do it a hundred times if he needed to, from now until eternity. “Wolf cubs,” he said, his eyes still tightly closed. “Furry.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Soft. Want to stroke one.”

I laughed as I swung my legs out of bed. So much for him dreaming about me. That would teach me to believe in my own hype. Pulling on sweatpants—my own this time, although sharing Arlo’s clothes had proved a hard habit to wean myself off, particularly when he didn’t seem to mind—I went to make breakfast. I paused by the decorated tree to admire it for a few seconds. It was far prettier now it had gained more than two ornaments. It leaned slightly to one side, Arlo accusing me of not chopping it straight while I maintained that he’d been too lazy to dig enough rocks up to anchor it securely. The real reason probably lay somewhere between the two, but neither of us would admit it when bickering and baiting each other was far more enjoyable.

Arlo still hadn’t surfaced by the time I’d cooked breakfast, so like the good boyfriend I was, I carried both plates—a full English because it was Christmas and it reminded me of the first morning we’d spent together, minus the hangover and thebad attitude on my part—into the bedroom on a tray. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

My boyfriend made a meal out of heaving himself up against the pillows. I didn’t mind. Not when it gave me time to ogle his bare chest. He ran a hand through his hair. “You cooked breakfast?”

“No, the little gnome who lives in the forest did it, but I didn’t see why he should take all the credit for it, so I took a leaf out of your book and I bundled him into the back of the car and drove him out to the middle of nowhere. A different middle of nowhere.”

Arlo maneuvered the tray onto his lap. “It’s a good job I like sarcasm.”

“Isn’t it?” I sat cross-legged on the bed with my tray in front of me. “Or we wouldn’t last two minutes.”

“Do you think we will last?” Arlo grimaced as soon as the question left his lips. “Ignore me. Don’t answer that. I’m apparently intent on ruining Christmas. I’ll get my name changed to Grinch.”

“Grinch Thomas. I like it. It has a nice ring to it. Plus, it’ll be a great icebreaker when we go to parties.” When Arlo didn’t smile, I contemplated what he’d said some more while I chewed and swallowed. “I get it, you know. You hate having a failed marriage behind you because you don’t like failing at anything.”

“Does anyone?”

I shrugged. “Some people are better at it than others. You said it yourself, though, that you were too hasty with Bruno. We’re going to take things much slower.”

Arlo laughed. “Are we?”

I took his point. We were kind of living together, and we’d jumped into bed within days—ninety-five percent my fault, but whatever. “Yeah, we are. No holidays to Vegas. No setting foot inside a jewelry store. Easy.” It begged one question, though. Itoyed with my fork while I considered whether now was the right time to ask.

“What?” Arlo asked.

“Are you getting a divorce? I know you’re not getting back together, but you’ve never mentioned formally ending it.”

“Does it bother you, me still being married?”

I paused from eating to hold Arlo’s gaze. Joke, or tell the truth? I went for the latter. “Hell, yes. I don’t like other men having a claim on what belongs to me.”

There were two reactions Arlo could have to my words. Either it would make him want to run, and if that was the case, maybe I was wrong and we wouldn’t last. Or he’d like it.

The slow smile that spread across his face as he nodded said he liked it. “Yeah, we’re getting a divorce. We just agreed to wait until we’ve made a joint statement to the media. You know how these things have a habit of escalating out of control unless you keep a tight lid on them. And Bruno and I might not have agreed on anything else during our marriage, but we agree on being in better control of our divorce than we were with our marriage.”

“Makes sense.”

Arlo nodded. “And just for the record, I didn’t need to ask that question.”

“What question?”

“The one about whether we’ll last. You love me and I love you, so we’ll make it work.”

“We will,” I agreed. “And if I forget that, you can always kidnap me again.”

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