The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

The morning after my divorce was finalized and the only thing I felt was disappointment Linden hadn't carried me into his bedroom instead of letting me sleep here. I'd always wanted to be scooped up and carried to bed, even if it was very unrealistic. There was no way I'd sleep through that sort of thing and even the most petite women turned into solid blocks of dead weight while they slept. Still, it would've been nice.

But this was better. Linden would've put me to bed only to post himself on the sofa and that would've erased all the carry-to-bed fun. This was better. Even if he'd snuggled in beside me and we'd rubbed up on each other in our sleep, this was better. No awkward tango getting out of bed come morning, no awkward conversation of defining this and what it meant. Nothing awkward at all.

This was better. The sofa was better.

Somewhere between convincing myself that sleeping alone on the sofa was preferrable to late-night spooning and debating whether it was time to sneak out and go home, I fell back to sleep.

It turned out to be the kind of dark, dreamless sleep that left your mouth feeling gummy, your eyes sandy, and your mind unfocused, almost as if you needed the day to recover from sleeping.

"What time is it?" I murmured to myself as I sat up. My body was not convinced that being upright was worth it.

"Ten forty-five." I swiveled in the direction of that deep voice, finding Linden seated at the kitchen table with papers spread out in front of him. "Figured you'd wake up when I started the bacon but that was eight thirty and you didn't stir."

"Oh. Wow. Sorry about that."

"You needed the rest. Don't be sorry."

I stood, folded the blanket, set it on top of the pillow. "Well. Thank you for letting me crash here."

"No worries." He flipped over a paper, tapped the end of his pen to his temple as he studied it. "You should do it more often."

I stared at him. "I should—what?"

He dropped the paper and pen. "Look, I'm not equipped for morning conversations. I can't talk at this time of day and—"

"That explains so much," I murmured. "If only you'd said something sooner."

"—you talk all the time, which is obviously a problem, but you should stay here more often. You can use the Wi-Fi and, you know, your crockpot won't short out my electrical system. It's better than spending the nights at Midge's place, especially after you've been painting. Can't be good to breathe all that in. You have to air those rooms out. And the hot water, for fuck's sake, Jas. I'm not gonna insist you do anything because god knows that will bite me in the balls but I think you should stay here. Every night. If you want. That's all."

"Not equipped to talk in the morning," I repeated. "Mmhmm."

"What was that?"

I shook my head as I retied my ponytail. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

He felt it necessary to look worried. "Please, Jasper. Don't bake anything. Please."

"No baking involved." I breezed past him to grab the shoes I'd left beside the door. "Just toasting. I'm gonna run next door and grab a few ingredients—"

"I have everything you'd need."

"Probably not." I stepped into one shoe, then the other. "I like a certain bread. Oh, and my avocados should be perfectly ripe."

He shouted something as I closed the door but I didn't worry over it. We couldn't have him overdoing it on the words. Not this early in the morning.

I filled a reusable shopping bag with everything I required for fancy toast and then stopped into my room for a change of clothes. My tote bag was ready to go with my regular showering-at-Linden's gear, which made it easy.

I gave the room another glance, saying out loud, "This is enough. This is fine."

Because I couldn't move into another man's house the day after my divorce was finalized and years after it became fact. Regardless of his invite and the devastating sweetness of his gruff, grumbly way of asking. Really, I couldn't. Even if part of me wanted to.

The other part, as always, needed to shove him off. Accepting that kind of help wasn't something I could do, even if it looked tempting on the surface. Sure, it sounded great and chances were good I'd get some decent sleep if I didn't have to worry about whether the heating system would short out the electrical overnight and kill me in a ball of fire, but at what cost? I'd exchange one problem for another, a fiery death for Linden's steadfast concern for me.

Because, of course, that was completely unnecessary of him.

Very nice and warm-fuzzy inducing, and fall-off-a-cliff foreign to me but completely unnecessary. So unnecessary.

I pushed open the door from Linden's deck and hefted the shopping bag over my head. "Time for toast."

Still stationed at the table, Linden pinned me with one arched eyebrow. He didn't respond, instead staring as I set down my tote and unpacked the grocery items, that eyebrow busy climbing into his forehead.

"What are you in the mood for this morning?" I asked.

A rough laugh rasped out of him. "Ask a different question, Peach."

I had to bite my lips together because he didn't need to know how much I enjoyed those words. "I have avocado, banana, eggs, a bit of brie, and a nice lemon curd. Just tell me if you hate any of those things."

"I'd hate those things all together so please tell me that's not the direction we're going."

I put my hands on my hips. "Seriously, Lin. Why would I do that?"

"I can't explain any of your baking choices."

I grinned. "Lucky for you, fancy toast is not baking."

While Linden shifted through his papers, I introduced myself to his kitchen appliances. I needed a minute or two to contemplate his retro two-slice toaster versus the