“’Night, Deacon.”
His body relaxed. “’Night, Cassie.”
I snuggled closer.
Deacon’s arm grew tighter.
He fell asleep before me.
I fell asleep thinking that I was going to pitch a fit at the cashier when we went to the grocery store.
But only to bust his chops.
Then I was going to let him pay for the groceries.
That said, no way in hell he was buying the shingles.
Chapter Eleven
Better Every Day
“Woman!”
This was shouted through the bathroom door by Deacon.
And I was guessing it was shouted because he was sick of waiting for me to get ready.
This was something I was putting some effort into after being on a roof most of the day helping Deacon with my gutters. Then I helped him with the cabins’ gutters. All of this before we went back to the house to clean up before going to Milagros and Manuel’s for dinner.
My efforts were going to freak them out. I didn’t think they’d ever seen me with makeup and now I had a face that wasn’t heavy with it, but I’d given it a light go over with a dewy sheen to my cheeks, accent shadow at my eyes, mascara, and eyeliner. I also had my hair in big curlers that would eventually give it wave and body (or, more wave and body).
It might also freak Deacon out (though I doubted that, not much freaked him).
Even so, I was doing it because I felt like doing it but also because this was Deacon and my first date (in a way) and I felt the occasion warranted it.
What I didn’t admit to myself was that I was doing it because Deacon thought I was beautiful just as me and I was wondering how he’d feel when I put a little oomph behind it.
“I’ll be ten minutes,” I called back.
“Jesus,” I heard muttered.
I grinned at the mirror and dabbed more shiny cream blusher on my cheeks to give me more dew.
“You need something to do, unpack!” I yelled. “You’re gonna be here awhile, no use living out of a bag on the floor.”
This was my way of saying his exploded bag on my bedroom floor was not something I cared for. I wasn’t freakishly tidy, but I’d got my foot tangled and tripped over a pair of his jeans when I’d stumbled to the bathroom before dawn and I hadn’t enjoyed it.
“Unpack?” he yelled back like that idea was foreign to him.
Then again, it probably was.
“Yes!” I replied on a shout. “Like, you know, taking your clothes out of your bag, hanging what needs to be hung, shoving in a drawer what needs to be shoved in a drawer, and stuffing into the laundry what’s not clean.”
“Badasses do not unpack,” he returned.
I grinned at the mirror again and started to put away my makeup. “Right, then toss your dirty clothes in the laundry and drag your other crap into the closet and leave it on the floor in there!”
“On a scale of one to ten, how important is this to you?” he asked through the door.