Page 48 of The Apparent Trap

He lifts a hand to touch it. “Oh, yeah, I should’ve brought my hat,” he says. “You have to walk a few minutes to get to the spa.”

I grab a towel from the bathroom and throw it in his direction. He gratefully rubs his head with it, the friction turning the ice into water.

“Don’t do that again, okay?” I say quietly.

“Forget a hat?”

I shake my head. “Don’t insist on being gentlemanly and then catch pneumonia or whatever.”

Lee chuckles, and it makes a droplet fall from his hair down his cheek. Someone should give that droplet an Oscar because I know it’s going to be a recurring star of my dreams. Fuck.

This is all such a bad idea.

I scurry back up the ladder and into bed. “But yeah, let’s go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.” I hear him come up, his size making the ladder groan. When he gets to the top, he has to duck a little to stand up.

I look pointedly over to the cot, which seems way too small for his big frame. “Are you sure you’re going to fit on that?”

He crouches down to get on the cot, the entire frame squeaking and sinking at his weight. I grimace. But he just scooches under the covers like it’s nothing at all.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “And you know you can’t catch pneumonia just from being cold, right?”

“You know what I meant.”

He nods. I’m trying to ignore the intimacy of the moment, both of us cuddled up into little beds side by side.

I turn off the light and then lie back down, the silence of the room and the empty forest outside deafening. I can hear his breathing, like a metronome, and it makes me antsy. Sleep isn’t anywhere nearby.

“Why’d you make those stupid BLT mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving?” I find myself asking into the air.

“Why were they stupid?” I can hear the wry smile in his voice. “You ate a lot, and I know you wouldn’t do anything for the sake of my ego.”

“I’m asking why you made that recipe specifically.”

He’s silent for a moment. “I’ve been playing around with other versions of BLTs.”

“Why?” I press. As though the darkness makes it not count.

He takes a breath before replying. “It makes me think of you.”

“Oh.”

The words hang between us, like the simple fact of it could illuminate the night more than the stars I can see out of the skylight.

But there’s no more road for this conversation. Anything further is a dead end, and we both know it, even if I couldn’t stop myself from pressing and he couldn’t stop the honesty.

He shifts on the cot, and the silence breaks with hinged squeaks. He chuckles to himself. “Sorry.”

“Oh yes, because the cot noises are what’s making this awkward.”

We both laugh, and I’m grateful for the levity, like my stomach rumbling all over again right when we need it.

“Well, we’re just about the worst sabotagers on earth, since they’re happy and together and I’ve got springs in my back while we both have to tiptoe around.”

“Are the springs of the cot really hurting you?” I ask, the image instantly superseding everything else.

“No,” he says quickly. “I’m exaggerating.”

“Lee.”