“Got burgers in England?” Max asked.
“Yes,” I answered, squirting ketchup in a pile by the onion rings and not sharing with him that English burgers were not much to write home about.
“Buffalo burgers?”
“At gourmet burger places, yes,” I answered, dipping in a ring.
“Babe?” Max called and I looked at him, onion ring halfway to my mouth. “Prepare to be dazzled,” he finished on a grin then turned to his food.
I turned to mine.
He wasn’t wrong, the food was so good, I was definitely dazzled.
* * * * *
“Sleep,” I muttered, wandering drowsily into the A-Frame and sliding my coat down my arms as Max flipped on a light.
“Honey, I told you, you shouldn’t have had the hot fudge sundae,” Max said from behind me and I heard the door close.
He was right and he was wrong. The burger and onion rings more than filled me up but I saw the hot fudge sundae slide by on Trudy’s tray going to someone else’s table and I couldn’t help myself. They didn’t have hot fudge in England not like they had at home.
And anyway, I was on vacation.
Even so, the hot fudge sundae was definitely overkill.
But it wasn’t the hot fudge sundae making me drowsy. It was the fact that we spent the last two hours sitting in a bar called Drake’s a block down from the restaurant, listening to Max’s friend Josh play guitar and sing while Max drank Budweiser and I drank Fat Tire. Josh was good, really good but even so I ended up slouched into Max’s side, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder. I knew I shouldn’t be slouching with my body resting against his and my head on his shoulder but I couldn’t help it. It was comfortable, the beer tasted great but was mellowing me out, the music was nice, my belly was super full and I was tired.
I hooked my coat and purse in the closet, closed the door and turned to Max.
“Who gets the bed tonight?” I asked and he walked up to me and stopped, toe to toe, and I was too tired to back away.
His hand wrapped around the back of my head and he pulled me toward him and I was too tired to fight that too.
Then he kissed my forehead.
I blinked at his throat as his sweet kiss hit me like a freight train. It felt good, better than any kiss I’d ever had and it wasn’t even on my lips.
“You go on up,” he muttered against my forehead, dropped his hand, turned and walked away, shrugging off his coat.
I stared at his back and decided tomorrow I was definitely out of there. I might not even go to Denver. I might drive straight to Kansas City.
I was not, however, going to pass up sleeping in his bed that was how tired I was.
Therefore, not giving him the chance to change his mind, I called, “Goodnight.”
“’Night, Duchess,” he called back, draping his coat on a dining room chair and not looking at me.
I turned and hurried as fast as my tired feet would take me up the stairs.
I rooted my stuff out of my suitcase, washed and moisturized my face in the bathroom, brushed my teeth and changed into my nightgown. I left my stuff in the bathroom, deciding I’d pack it in the morning.
I opened the door, checked if the coast was clear, and then hurried to the bed.
Even as tired as I was, the lights were on downstairs; Amazing Looking Max was in the house; he’d bought me dinner, a hot fudge sundae and at least four beers during what seemed a lot like a date even though we came home together, and it was a date I enjoyed, even when we were clashing or, maybe, especially when we were clashing, so I didn’t expect sleep to come quickly.
I was asleep within minutes. Out like a light.
That was why I didn’t feel Max sliding into bed beside me fifteen minutes later.