Page 77 of The Suitcase Swap

‘Keep drinking water. That will help.’

He dutifully finished off the glass and set it on the table before returning to her feet. ‘Did you get any good ones for your blog?’

‘Ooooh, yes,’ she said. ‘Including the one where you were dancing with Dazzle Camouflage.’

Mike let his eyes drift closed, though he was still using his thumbs to dig into the arch of her foot. ‘For someone so tall, she was very light on her feet.’

‘Dazzle gave me permission to post the video on the blog as long as I link to her website and the senior centre. I’d like to see if we can raise some extra funds for them. They do so many classes and community gatherings – it’s a wonderful resource.’

Mike hummed a response, though he was no longer rubbing so much as petting her ankle.

She smiled at him. He seemed so content where he was, the corners of his mouth curling up even now when he was half asleep. She raised her phone and took a picture. Not for her blog, but just for her – something to remind her of a night that was pretty much perfect.

Mike gave a sleepy chuckle.

‘What is it?’ she asked, setting down her phone.

‘Tom dropping that container of salsa.’ He cracked his eyes open. ‘He’d been so smug in his kitchen refuge, hiding from Dolores. No one was pinching his bum but his fiancée. Then –crash.’

It had been a large container, too. Tom had still been mopping when they’d left.

‘Did Dolores pinch your bum?’

‘Once,’ he murmured sleepily, his eyes drifting shut again.

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Her friend made her apologize and asked me not to tell – she’s on her third strike and they were afraid she’d be banned again.’

Sophie frowned. ‘If her behaviour is problematic, someone needs to address it.’

‘I talked to her,’ Mike said, patting Sophie’s ankle, his eyes still shut. ‘She misses her husband. Married twenty years. Told her I knew what that was like. We bonded.’ His words were tapering off now. She’d need to move him to the bed before he passed out, otherwise he’d have to spend an unpleasant night bunched up on the sofa. ‘Called me her ride or die. You can’t throw out your ride or die, even if she does pinch your bum.’

Sophie covered her mouth to stifle her laugh. ‘Oooh, she got you good. Wrapped you right around her little finger, didn’t she?’

Mike didn’t answer. Sophie sighed and nudged his legs off the couch. ‘Okay, let’s go. Bedtime for you.’

He muttered something and buried his head deeper into the couch.

‘And we’d better give you something for that headache that will probably be coming along really soon.’ It took a little effort, but she finally got him up and to the bedroom, tucking him under the covers. He was snoring softly a few seconds later.

Ridiculous man.

But she was happy that he was her ridiculous man, at least for now. Only for now. Her stomach sank, and as she watched him, Sophie thought she might be a little too late. She was more than half in love with him already, and she was going to have to work very hard to not fall the rest of the way.

Thursday evening, which was four days after bingo, Sophie was on the couch with Marisa as Tom made them both dinner. It was a celebration of sorts. Sophie’s last post, which had featured the senior centre’s bingo night, a few short videos of Dazzle Camouflage being amazing, and a few pictures of Mike charming the players, had garnered three times the usual traffic. The fundraising meter for the centre kept going up, too, with every repost of the article.

‘How much is it at now?’ Marisa asked.

Sophie handed her the phone.

Marisa whistled. ‘That’s great. I think that video of Mike and Dazzle waltzing was the clincher. She looked amazing and your boyfriend’s pretty handsome. Hate to say it, but sex really does sell.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Sophie said.

‘Sure he’s not.’ Marisa handed back her phone. ‘You just talk constantly, sleep at each other’s apartments, and . . .’ She stretched to see if Tom was listening from the kitchen, but he seemed to be scowling at the recipe he’d pulled up on his iPad. ‘You’ve been humping like rabbits with twenty-four hours to live and nothing to eat but aphrodisiacs.’

Sophie’s brows went up. ‘That’s . . . graphic.’

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