Spencer smiled as he took in the scene. “Did I miss the part where we opened an animal shelter in Alyssa’s room? That looks like a hundred puppies.” He came in and kissed the heads with the light brown hair and patted the blond ones. Well, the blond ones that belonged to dogs.
“Look at these two,” Charlotte gushed. “I call them Sophie and Andrew.”
“Remember, they’re just on loan,” Spencer cautioned. Someone, probably Raphael, had obviously filled him in on the situation before he got here.
He left after that, but like Raphael, he seemed to find a lot of excuses to poke his head into the room for every so often.
By the time Flynn returned, I was tired but completely content. Those marketers who’d said that down comforters were the softest thing you could have on your bed had no idea what a basketful of soft, squirming puppies was like. Except they weren’t squirming now. Most were napping when Flynn loaded them back into the basket.
He’d cleaned up since the other day. His jawline was freshly shaved, and his short hair looked like it had been trimmed. He had on a t-shirt that was stretched tight over his muscles and black jeans.
“Are you staying for super, Uncle Flynn?” Lucas asked. Then his gaze flickered to the doorway where Spencer now stood.
“I’ve got to get these bad boys back to the clinic and their parents,” Flynn said gruffly. His gaze, too, went briefly to his brother before returning to the twins. “But maybe another time.”
“Sounds good,” Charlotte said, beaming.
And after he’d left with the whimpering, quivering laundry basket in his strong arms, I softly repeated what the little girl had just said. “Sounds good.”
I felt guilty that evening when Raphael and Spencer had to wash all my bedding, but every time I remembered how good it felt to stroke the puppies’ soft fur, I couldn’t help but smile.
They finally got the bed put back together while the twins and I were finishing up story time on the couch. But it wasn’t just story time anymore. We spent half our time together reading and half with the sketchpad, where the twins would think up fantastic details for our dream treehouse, and I’d add them to the floor plan or a growing series of sketches. The treehouse now had more rooms than Buckingham Palace, but it was fun to daydream about.
You’d think, after a fun day full of puppies, story time, and treehouse planning, it would be easy to fall asleep—but that wasn’t the case.
Lately, I’d been having more and more difficulty falling asleep. It wasn’t really hard to understand why. During the day, I wasn’t able to move around much. Yes, I did the physical therapy exercises, but that wasn’t the same as being able to take a brisk walk. At first, I’d been on more meds, and those had made me drowsy, but now I didn’t usually need anything stronger than a normal painkiller.
There was nothing more frustrating than lying awake in bed at night when you couldn’t even switch positions and toss and turn like a normal person. I hated sleeping on my back. I’d never liked it before, but now I loathed it. It was even more uncomfortable when I was trying to fall asleep.
In desperation, I scrolled through various sites on my phone, focusing on the ones that were designed to suck you in and keep you from leaving. But it got boring pretty quickly. It was after one, and I just couldn’t get to sleep. It was a shame, too, for more than the obvious reasons.
Lately, the majority of my dreams had been sexy and erotic. Oddly enough, they always featured dark-haired men with brown or green eyes. The dreams faded quickly when I woke, but the aftereffects lingered. Afterwards, I felt more aware of my body, and caught myself grinning a lot.
A cough came from the living room. Then I heard the sound of cushions shifting and bare feet padding toward the kitchen. Mentally, I visualized Raphael’s progress as he opened the fridge and poured himself a glass of water—at least I thought it was water. Then he set the glass down on the counter and walked back.
When I judged he was passing the hallway to the bedrooms, I called his name in a loud whisper.
The footsteps froze, and I called him again.
I couldn’t see very well, but I could tell when his silhouette filled the doorway. “Are you all right?” His voice was low and hoarse. Clearly, he’d been sleeping before getting up for a drink.
“Yes, but I can’t fall asleep.”
“Want some water?”
“No.”
He stepped into the room and pulled the door closed behind him, probably so as not to disturb the twins. I turned on my phone’s flashlight to provide a little illumination when he crossed the room to close the door to the bathroom I shared with the twins.