“I don’t know.” Honesty seemed to come naturally in the dark.
“Go to sleep now, Nella-bella,” he said. “Unless you’re going to come over here and get in with me. This flirting is torture, and I can’t stand much more of it.”
She wouldn’t dignify that with an answer. “Goodnight,” she told him firmly.
“Night.”
After a while, his breathing settled into sleep, and then she let herself drift off.
Her phone alarm woke her. For a moment she was disoriented, seeing the room around her that wasn’t her apartment bedroom — groggy with sleep, she’d forgotten for half a moment that she was on a site visit. She sat up, silenced her phone, and looked around at the daybed where she slept and the cream-and-gold décor. Champagne Cascades. The rainy drive up the night before. Eamonn sleeping in the big bed. Right.
He appeared to be fast asleep, undisturbed by the alarm from her phone. Thankful for this small mercy, Nell slid out of bed and padded quietly to the bathroom. She always felt more human after brushing her teeth. She did a quick round of squats but decided the bathroom floor was no place for pushups or crunches. She promised herself she’d find somewhere to do them later in the morning. Somewhere Eamonn wouldn’t see her. The glass-walled shower stall looked inviting, but her clothes and toiletries were in her bag at the foot of the daybed in the bedroom. And she hadn’t brought the bathrobe in with her either. I’ll just get my things. He’s sleeping.
Only he wasn’t. “Cute,” he commented from where he lay in the bed with arms folded behind his head, admiring her in the ruffled sleep shorts and babydoll top she found so absurd.
Damn. “I don’t do cute. I don’t do pink or ruffles or hearts. This was a gift and I feel ridiculous, but I didn’t have time to do laundry.” She hoped her flat tone and don’t-go-there face would be warning enough for him to drop the subject — with most people, it was sufficient.
But no, of course it wasn’t. “Aww, come on. You look adorable. Pink suits you.”
That’s it. She could feel the burn of anger rising inside her. Needed to work it off. Needed to show off a little, to show him there wasn’t an ounce of adorable in her. With a quick glance around to make sure she had enough space, she dropped into pushup position. “Don’t mind me — I’ve got a morning workout to take care of.” Smooth pushups, perfect form, straight back, right down until her nose nearly touched the floor. She could feel him watching her. Ten… twenty… thirty… She’d usually stop there, but today she kept going. At thirty-five, he got off the bed and walked over to her. At forty, he got down on the floor and did the last ten with her. Fifty. She flipped over onto her back, shooting him a quizzical look as she did so. He raised his eyebrows and continued with his pushups, just another ten, but presumably that was enough to satisfy his macho competitive instinct.
When she started her crunches, he followed suit. She normally did fifty, but in this moment she pushed onward to sixty, purely because she could hear him beginning to breathe hard and slow down. Good. Nell sat up and stretched, mostly to show him how flexible she was. Am I still adorable when I can do this? Legs so wide they were almost in the splits, hands on her ankles, nose to the floor. She heard him mutter, “Fuck me.” He was still sprawled on the floor after his crunches, a light sheen of sweat on his bare chest and shoulders. Maybe you lift, but you don’t do enough core.
Planting one hand and one foot, she kicked out with the other foot and bounced to a standing position. “Much better. I’m off to shower. I imagine you’ll want to as well, so I won’t use all the hot water.” In a substantially improved mood, feeling that she’d paid him nicely for his comments, she grabbed her bag and practically floated into the bathroom. He’s lucky I didn’t make him do a round of squats.
One of Nell’s favorite things about site visits was that she could, out of sight of the office and Tommy’s critical eye, dress to suit herself. She vastly preferred stretchy, comfortable athletic pants — usually yoga or running pants that gave her the flexibility to move. Slacks and even jeans always made her wonder if she’d be able to fight and defend herself, if needed, or if they’d impede her movements with their tightness and resistant fabrics. Because of the rain and the cool air it had brought with it, she pulled a baggy hoodie with a picture of a martial artist breaking a board and the words Personal Victory over her tank top. She wished she’d brought boots and a rain jacket, but there hadn’t been so much as a cloud in the sky when they’d set out, and given that it was June, she hadn’t thought of it. Living in the Pacific Northwest, she should have known better, but it couldn’t be helped. She emerged from the bathroom and slipped past Eamonn who was waiting to go in. “Enjoy your shower,” she said to him. “Should I wait for you or go along to breakfast?”
“I’ll just be five minutes,” he said, and she nodded.
While he showered, she looked in the various cupboards and closets in the cottage and found what
