Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Except…nope.
She’s not gawking. She’s grinning, then running past me into the room and diving onto the lower mattress. “This is the best,” she says, flopping face down, then moving around like she’s making snow angels on the bed.
I’m still no closer to an answer. “Do you really want to sleep staring at another bed three or four feet from your face?”
“One, I don’t stare while I sleep.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. Don’t we outgrow the desire for bunk beds?”
“You’re such an only child,” she says into the mattress. “And no. Bunk beds are like birthday cards with money in them. You never outgrow that.”
Damn. She’s not wrong about that.
“Besides,” she continues, “haven’t you ever heard of fun? Kitsch? Nostalgia?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t mean I want to sleep in a bunk bed.”
She rolls over, propping up on her elbows to face me, but then she tips her head back. “Oh.” The word comes out a little sensual. She points upward, a mischievous smile on her face. “Right there, Love Doctor. That’s your why.”
As I step into the room, I look where she’s pointing.
Wow.
The underside of the top bunk is a mirror. I’m intrigued, and I sit on the foot of the mattress next to Juliet, looking up.
But hold on. There’s more of us.
I pop off the bed and crane my neck to see the ceiling, where there’s a mirror above the top bunk too. I let out a low whistle of…approval.
I didn’t see either mirror when I was standing in the doorway, but now I see both clearly. Now, I’m not considering the why of bunk beds. I’m contemplating the why of mirrored ceilings.
As if I needed an incentive to think after-dark thoughts of Juliet. Now I’ve got all these reasons reflecting back at me.
I take a few moments then clear my throat, trying to clear away the dirty thoughts. “I stand corrected. I get it now,” I say.
“Then get back here and enjoy the full mirror experience.”
I don’t need the temptation of being next to her in bed. I’ve reached a nice, even Zen in our working relationship. No need to rock it. “I’m all good.”
“C’mon Doctor Stuffypants,” she taunts. “Remember? Birthday card with money. You just need to try it once.”
“Twist my arm,” I say, and I definitely don’t hate being near her in bed. But that’s sort of the problem.
I park my ass on the edge of the bottom bed again. That should be enough.
She grabs my shoulder, her tone excited. “C’mon. All the way. You have to see it.”
Not helpful.
I lie back on the bed, keeping several inches between us. It’d be rude to lie too close to my co-worker. Also, I don’t need the temptation when her eyes distract me every damn day.
They’re pretty. Really pretty.
And, yeah, that’s not helpful at all, seeing her and me, reflected back. Seeing her inviting smile, her bright eyes, her exuberance.
She sighs in contentment. “I’m totally breaking this in tonight. Apparently, I get to mark something off my to-do list that I didn’t even know was on it.”
Don’t think of her breaking in a bed, I tell my brain. Don’t you dare think of that.
“Sleep in an adult-size bunk bed with mirrored ceilings. Yeehaw!”
Her excitement is infectious but far too distracting. I push up. I really shouldn’t be in bed with her. Working with her on the podcast is manageable, partly because neither of us talk about that summer long ago. Why would we? It was just one week, and we both moved on. Partly, too, because I was fresh off my divorce when I joined the podcast crew, and I was far too prickly to wander down memory lane.
Then, we found a new normal—working together, goading each other, and now, evidently, testing mirrored bunk beds together.
Ducking my head, I get out of the bed. “Then, the main bedroom is yours,” I say. Such a generous soul I am. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
Wherever that is.
“But let’s check out the closet before we see the rest of the home,” I say, recentering on our kick-the-tires-on-this-house mission. We need to see what we’re dealing with in terms of furnishings and stuff.
As she pops up from the bed, I turn toward the door that must lead to the walk-in closet and yank it open. “Holy shit.”
“What is it?” Juliet asks, joining me with a gasp. “Wow. It’s like a costume shop. This must be the singer side of her. I bet she sang cabaret before she did that Christmas album.”
“I bet you’re right.”
“Look at all the gowns and dresses and glittery things.”
She strides right in like she owns the place. Well, she does. But damn, her go-getter-ness makes blood rush faster to all parts of my body. I take in the plethora of satin and sequins, feathers and beads.