Chapter 16

They ate and bickered over sleeping arrangements. He insisted on her taking the bed and he the couch, and she finally conceded just to shut him up. He was usually pretty easygoing, so on the rare occasions when he became argumentative, she just caved.

He rose and rinsed their bowls in the sink. "You have your choice of a movie or cards. There's nothing else to do."

"I can kick your butt at poker."

Grinning, he shook his head and went to a living room shelf.

She walked to the windows and watched the pink and orange sunset behind the buildings. Stars were beginning to poke through the fading daylight and lights shone randomly in windows. To her left, part of the Bay could be spotted, shrouded in fog.

He came up next to her and crossed his arms, staring out quietly beside her. "I love this view. Second only to the balcony at my folks place in Napa."

"My guestroom faced the other direction. I'll take your word for it."

Rubbing his jaw, he sent her a side-glance. "You can have mine next weekend when we drive up. Or remind me to take you closer to the vineyard. There's a great hill to catch the sunset."

Since it sounded romantic, she kept quiet. And she loved this side of him. As comfortable as he'd grown with her, he still measured his words carefully most days. But like this? He didn't hesitate, just went with his gut, and she longed for more.

He shifted his feet. "I was in Paris once, the year after I graduated college." The low quality of his tone had a melancholy note she'd never heard before. "I started in Rome, moved on to London, then hit Paris last. What they say about rose-colored glasses is true. The light's different there. San Francisco's sunset is close, but not quite right."

She faced him and leaned a shoulder on the glass. "I've never been. Always wanted to travel abroad, but never got around to it."

Frowning, he turned and mirrored her pose. "Why? You speak, what, four different languages?"

She shrugged. "College was a struggle to make ends meet and, to be honest, I was scared to go anywhere while Brian was serving. Mark's depression was too severe to take a trip after graduation. Well, then they both died andI dove into work."

He stared at her like he had never seen her before. "I give you two weeks vacation a year. Do you need more?"

"No." She waved him off. "I only use one and don't travel alone. If Kate can go with me, sometimes we take a few days up the coast. Besides, you and I go on business trips often enough."

"That's work. Not pleasure. What do you do when Kate can't go?"

"Stay home. There's lots to do here." Which was an excuse. Truth was, the only thing sadder than vacationing alone was vacationing at home. Alone.

He rubbed his chest as if it hurt. "Why don't you travel by yourself? If you research, there's safe ways to do it."

Because if something happened to her, she had no one at home who'd know, who'd miss her. And why wouldn't he let up on this? "Non ha senso nel vedere bei posti se nessuno è lì per vivere con voi."

"I hate it when you do that." His eyes narrowed. "It's like you know I won't care for the answer, so you give it to me in another language. What was that? Italian?"

"Yes." She leaned her head against the glass and decided it didn't matter if she told him. She often got the impression she was just one of his many charities. "I said, there's no point in seeing beautiful places if no one's there to experience it with you." She straightened. "Wipe that look off your face. I didn't kick your puppy."

Wounded golden eyes stared back at her as his throat bobbed with a swallow. "I don't have a puppy, but I'm pretty sure you just kicked me in the gut."

She rolled her eyes and moved to the couch. Plopping on the cushion, she glanced back at him. He was still rubbing his chest. "Am I going to beat you at poker, or what?"

In silence, he made his way over and sat at the opposite end, setting a deck of cards between them.

It took him a round, but he snapped out of his Pity Peyton Party and they discussed other things. By eight-thirty, the day had caught up to her and she was less useful than a limp noodle. She called it a night.

Lying awake, she stared at the shapes on his ceiling and felt more lonely with him in the next room than she ever had at home. It took an hour to get to sleep because even the sheets smelled like him.

The next thing she knew, his quiet, rumbling voice called her name and a warm hand settled on her shoulder. She blinked up at him where he sat on the mattress by her hip. She glanced at the clock, noting it was almost midnight, then at the chair in the corner, which suspiciously had a blanket on it as if he'd been sleeping there.

"What's the French translation for you snore?"

"What?" She shifted onto her elbows. "I don't snore."

"You're right. You don't. This is just a concussion check." His endearing, half-awake grin came close to knocking out her irritation. Close, but no cigar.

"As soon as I get a cup of coffee in me tomorrow morning, I'm gonna kill you."

"I'll put it on the calendar. Go back to sleep now."

Huffing, she rolled over and shut her eyes. His footsteps padded on the floor behind her, but he didn't leave. After a moment, a whoosh sounded, followed by the scratching of material on material in the silent room. He had been sleeping in the chair. Was he really that concerned?

"X, you know what happened today wasn't your fault, right? And trust me when I say, I'm okay."

He didn't respond for the longest time, and when he did, it was nothing more than, "Goodnight."

The second time he woke her, he demanded to know who the president of the United States was, and he laughed at her irritated response of, "It doesn't matter. It should be Betty White. She has my vote."

The third time he woke her, he had one hand on either side of her shoulders and was leaning close enough she could count his eyelashes. He looked exhausted and his hair stood up at a hundred different angles.

"Hey, you were slower to rouse this time." His fingers skimmed her cheek, a barely there caress that bespoke of heartbreaking tenderness. "Do you know where you are?"

"Your bed."

He inhaled. Hard. His eyes snapped shut. Blowing out a measured breath, he looked at her for a beat. A battle waged in his expression until he leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and returned to the chair.