Page 27 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)

Molly

Before I open my eyes, I think I’m in our old bed in the attic.

The sounds and smells of the inn combined with the warmth of Robin’s sleeping body confuse my sense of time.

Sometime in the past few weeks, I let my guard down, and now I can’t seem to remember all the things I hated about her for so long.

I’m not sure what’s going on between us now, but it feels like we’re slipping back in time to how we used to be.

So much has changed, but with the scent of Robin’s lemon verbena shampoo on my pillow, it feels like some things between us will always be the same.

My hips, though, are older than they used to be. My right one aches from lying on it for too long. I shift onto my back, opening my eyes, and Robin groans awake from my movement. She rolls over, rests her head on my shoulder, and mumbles, “Hi.”

How did we get here, from avoiding each other like the plague to casually waking up together, in just a few weeks?

We haven’t had sex, but somehow this moment feels even more intimate.

I tuck an arm around her shoulder and run my fingers through her hair.

The platinum-blond highlights are more than half grown out now.

It feels like Celebrity Chef Robin is fading away, and the Robin I fell in love with is reappearing.

“How long’ve you been awake?” Robin slurs into my sleep shirt.

“Not long. Just staring at that ugly beach painting and wishing it was Key’s zinnia mural.”

“I wish that every day.” Robin tucks her hand under the bottom hem of my shirt, resting it against my hip bone. “The whole place is…do the kids these days still say cheugy?”

“What’s ‘cheugy’?”

“Boring, basic, outdated, lacking personality,” Robin says. “For home design, basically shopping the IKEA and Target sale bins.”

“I loved Key’s mural in here,” I say, staring at the now dull gray wall. “The bright pinks and reds and yellows and oranges. It was one of my favorites.”

“Mine too.”

“Do you think she’ll paint them again? If we ask?”

Robin stretches her legs, and her knees pop. “You know better than I do,” she says.

“I bet she will,” I say, remembering how insistent she was that restoring the inn was the right thing to do. “Maybe after we close with Clint, when we have the money.”

“Hey, remember that reading nook we always talked about building in the front bay window, under the hummingbird? What if we finally did it?” Robin asks.

I wiggle my toes against the insole of her foot, where I know she’s ticklish. “Oh, are you going to learn to build custom bookshelves?”

“Maybe I will,” Robin says, shivering from my touch. “Got a good YouTube video for that?”

“I think we should start with something easy, like flat-head versus Phillips-head screwdrivers,” I say.

“And we probably shouldn’t start adding on projects before we even really get started.

We’re thirteen years older now than last time we did this.

It’s going to be tougher on our bodies. I’m still sore from painting the kitchen two days ago. ”

Marmalade hops onto the bed with a chirp, and the mattress bounces from her considerable weight.

“See?” Robin says, reaching to scratch the cat’s soft gray chin.

“Marmee thinks the reading nook is a great idea. Picture her all curled up on an armchair, refusing to let any guests sit there because it’s her favorite nap spot. ”

I pull back my foot. “Um, Marmee won’t be here. Because we’re selling it.”

“Oh,” Robin says, her voice lower. “Right. Duh. It’s just a cute mental picture, is all.”

So I’m not the only one forgetting where we are. When we are.

Even if it was simply a mistake, Robin’s comment shakes me to my core.

The whole reason I agreed to renovating the inn was for closure.

To move on with my life. Yet here I am, in bed with my ex, sharing pillow talk, torturing myself by reliving the best days, when we’d just bought the inn and our future felt limitless.

Fuck me. I walked right into a pit trap.

I edge out from under Robin’s arm and stand up, suddenly self-conscious about my tank top and underwear. “Can we talk about plans later? I really need to get some work done in my studio.”

Robin seems to notice something’s off. “Oh. Yeah, we can talk later. Do you want breakfast first? I can whip up some—”

“Nope, I’m all good. Got to go.” I walk out of the room, trying to stop my hands from shaking.