Thirty minutes passed.
My toes went stiff.
My nose ran.
I felt like a dead fish in the back of a refrigerated truck.
I shoved the blankets off and marched back out.
"Geoffrey!"
He materialized. "Yes, Mrs. Laurent?"
"I'll take Ashton's room. I'm not freezing to death in here."
"Of course, Mrs. Laurent. Mr. Laurent's sheets and linens were all changed this morning. Everything's fresh. You can go right in."
"Got it."
Standing outside his bedroom, I texted him.
[Can I crash in your room tonight? Mine's freezing. I think something's leaking air through the walls.]
He replied almost instantly.
[Of course. It's our house. Yours and mine. Sleep wherever you like.]
I typed out "thanks," then deleted it.
He hated it when I thanked him for anything.
I
