“Make yourself at home. Remote’s on the coffee table. I have Netflix and Hulu. You can pick a movie.” I spun on the second stair. “Pick a funny one. None of that blood and gore.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He made his way back to my kitchen, and I headed up the stairs. I hung out my still damp dress and found my fuzzy socks in a tub of clean laundry. Then I located my softest pajama pants and a cozy sweater. I hovered in front of the full-length mirror to double-check my fave comfort outfit didn’t make me look like a heifer. With a big inhale to suck in my belly and a posture correction to shove out my girls it worked. Not at all photographable, but passable.
Downstairs, Gabe had lit a small candle on my coffee table. Two glasses filled with red wine were also set out. He sat in the middle of the sofa and had this cocky-as-hell grin. The bastard thought he was gonna get lucky, even with me in full-on cozy apparel.
I snapped my fingers and pointed to the far side of the sofa. “You. Over there.”
“What?”
There was something about him, his grin and dimples and thick, dark hair. Even though I knew his type and knew he’d be gone tomorrow, I couldn’t muster any of those helpful angry, annoyed emotions. That damn grin of his just fizzled them out and had me cracking up.
He obediently moved to the corner, and I plopped down on the opposite corner and grabbed a fleece blanket and covered my entire lap, right up to my boobs. The warmth of the blankets and low orange flames of my electric fireplace soothed and wrapped me in the comfy I needed.
“All right. So, funny.” He commandeered my remote and flicked away. “What are some of your favorites?”
“Ah, I think I’ve memorized all the Pitch Perfects.”
“I liked the first one. I’ll give you a point.”
“Ah, it’s like that, is it? Judging. What about you? Let me guess. You’re a Will Ferrell kind of guy.”
“Doesn’t get better than Blades of Glory.”
“Give me that remote. I change my mind. You can’t pick.”
He held his arm sky high, and I considered climbing him like a monkey gym to claim my remote, but I held back, fully aware of what I’d be risking if I planted my breasts in his face. “No Will Ferrell.”
“All right. So, what else you got other than a pack of singing girls?”
“Bridesmaids?” I offered.
“Aren’t they like the same actresses? What about Office Space? It’s a classic.”
“It’s one of my faves. Or 40-Year-Old Virgin. Or Booksmart.”
“I have to say, I loved 40-Year-Old Virgin. Steve Carell, a master.”
“Yes, I concur. But I’m not up for that one tonight. Maybe Juno?”
“Another solid choice. Office Space?”
“Fine. Click it. You want popcorn?”
“I’ll eat my dinner.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Popcorn appealed more than my lettuce, but…
“So, you live here full time?” He kicked off his shoes and dug into his fish. I watched him, then remembered to answer when he stopped mid-chew and raised an eyebrow.
“Ah, yeah, I do. I used to live on the mainland and do the contractor ferry thing.” That eyebrow raised again. “People who work on the island take a cheaper ferry. For some of us, depending on where we work, it’s free. But it’s a hassle. Doesn’t run as often as the regular ferry.” His focus centered on the takeout container in his lap. “When I got a chance, I moved over full-time. Much easier.”
“Don’t you get bored?”
“It’s not that hard to get over on the mainland. I’m not really a party girl. More of a shy girl at heart, I think.”
I expected the eyebrow, but instead he tilted his head and bit down on the corner of his lip. Amusement and curiosity, if I were to guess, played across his features. And my heart, oh, lord, those eyes.
“No.” He shook his head.
“What do you mean?”
“You, Ms. Poppy, are not shy.” He waved that index finger in my direction in a small circle. “You’ve got energy. You’re outgoing. You, little Ms. Poppy, are no wallflower.”
“I never called myself a wallflower. I said…I’m more comfortable in small groups or one-on-one situations. I’ve taken Myers-Briggs—”
“There’s no way that said you were an introvert.”
“No, but I think it was just a few trick questions. I was very close to introvert.”
“And am I to believe you have how many followers and you’re shy?”
“But that’s so different. You’ve got to understand. It’s like, there are studies on this. Even shy, demure people can be total bad asses in an email where they aren’t face to face. And teenagers, they get meaner online. There’s an anonymity in the online world that’s different in the person-to-person world.”
“You mean the real world?”
“Yes.” I flittered my fingers about because it suddenly seemed urgent that he understand. That he got me. “The online world, I’ll never run into those people in the grocery store. Especially on this small nothing island. It’s literally like another world, a different stratosphere, if you will. Completely disconnected from my day-to-day life. No one knows I’m that other person.”
“Because you don’t tell them?”
“No. I don’t. I mean, I kind of came out to Luna by accident. She came in one morning when I was working upstairs, and the truth was better than what I could see she was concocting in her head.”
“She came up, and what were you doing? What were you wearing?” His voice went all sexy deep, and teasy and flirty. I stood, ready to change the conversation.
I picked up my barely touched salad and pointed to his dinner. “You done?”
“I got it.” He gathered the used forks and napkins and his dinner, then lifted mine from my hands and turned toward the kitchen. I followed him,
