Page 57 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“As in no comparison.”

“And we’re not done, right?”

Andrea beams at me and tugs on my shoulder, slowly rolling us to our sides while we’re still interlocked. “Not even a little.”

Chapter Twelve: Healing

“Okay, today is your lucky day. Danica and Shane have off the last weekend in August. So do I. If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, we’re bringing the mountain to Mohammed!”

I stare at my phone. Words do not make sense.

Mouth does not move.

Body is... So incredibly sore, and feels so incredibly good at the same time.

“What time is it?” I ask through sticky lips. I think I’m dehydrated.

That would make sense. I never knew orgasms could dehydrate a person, but if you hit double digits, then yes. Probably. I could ask Meghan. She’s a nurse, after all.

“Are you day drinking? It’s like ten in the morning, and I’m on break, so get your rear in gear. Last weekend in August, girls’ weekend, in the mountains? Your mountains, specifically. Sound good?”

I nod, then it occurs to me that we’re not on a video call and she can’t see me—which is a damn good thing. I am a naked, well-loved disaster, and my hair, usually so well-behaved and manageable, feels like it’s a helmet of tangles. “Yes, that sounds good,” I croak.

“Girl, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” Meghan switches tone from teasing to concerned.

“I’m not. I’m... I’m so good.” I decide not to mention the fire, especially since my feet and hand are no longer blistered, just a little stiff and sore.

“You don’t sound good, you sound—”

“Brunch in bed for my beautiful Andrea,” Gordon announces, strolling in with a makeshift tray made out of a storage tote lid, piled with enough bagels and quiche to feed a family of six, and glasses of milk, water, and orange juice.

“Brunch in bed? Beautiful Andrea? Girrrrrrl!” Meghan squeals.

Gordon freezes at the foot of the bed, his proud, happy look gone.

I hate that. “Baby, I love it! Thank you! And I’m super dehydrated, so you’re just the best ever. Three drinks to choose from.”

“I think you should drink all of them. Uh. I can come back.” He looks at the phone in my hand.

“You can stay. I’m going to brag about you, though.”

Gordon puts the tray down on his side of the bed, which has been smoothed out—and is also about eighty percent of the space. “Um. I don’t think...”

“I don’t think you’re used to being bragged about.” I smile at him and grab the water, wanting his smile to come back. “Best boyfriend ever.”

“Okay. I need details. Also, I’m calling fair trade. Miss a cruise but get a boyfriend who brings you brunch and is brag-worthy? I have fifteen minutes, and I want all the details.”

Gordon looks visibly shaken by that comment, and I know with Meghan’s loud, excited voice he can hear her. “Uh. I’m going to go clean Chopin’s litterbox and make coffee.”

For a mountain of a man, he can move fast when he wants. “Come back soon. I miss you!” I call out, and I don’t care if I sound soppy.

Gordon stops, turns in the door, and gives me the sweetest, most besotted grin. The tusks and the way his strong jaw goes all soft when he smiles? Damn, he is too adorable for words. “I love you, my Andrea,” he whispers.

I swallow. I know I’m going to catch hell from Meghan for saying it back.

And I decide I don’t care. “I love you, too, my Gordon,” I say, blowing him a kiss.

It’s worth all the lecturing in the world to watch him practically skip away, calling softly for Chopin.