I squeeze my eyes shut. I have a vivid memory, and the last thing I need is to accidentally read and forever remember something personal of the Bergmans’.
There’s pounding on the door, then Axel’s voice. “Rooney.”
“Come in,” I wheeze.
The door wrenches open, and Axel crosses the room, then bends over me. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a bruised ego,” I groan. “And ass.”
“What happened?”
Slowly, I sit up. “It’s the underwear’s fault.”
Axel’s eyes travel the mess, then land on the boxer briefs. His cheeks heat as he snatches them up and pockets them. Then he turns and stacks the paperbacks, gathers the notebooks, folders, and papers, too many of which my disobedient gaze quickly sees bearing the name Axel Jakob Bergman. Oh God.
Oh God.
Is this his house? The pieces snap into place. How good it smells. How tidy it looks. How tall everything is. The boxer briefs. The papers.
Cheese and fucking rice, this is mortifying! What is he doing, giving me his house to stay in without telling me?
I open my mouth, but a dog’s loud, relentless bark echoes from outside, cutting me off. Axel stands, strolls toward the door, then opens it.
“Hush!” he yells out the door. “I can’t think when you bark like that.”
There’s a soft canine whine, followed by silence.
I scramble upright, straightening myself out. My phone’s still playing music, and I thought it was just my best of Harry Styles mix, but apparently it’s my self-pleasure list, because the next song starts, sexy words wafting through the air.
I lunge for the phone, jab buttons until it stops, then drop it into my pants, forgetting I’m wearing leggings. My phone slips immediately down my hip until it’s wedged somewhere very uncomfortable. My cheeks heat. Somehow Axel manages not to look like he just noticed that.
“All right?” he asks.
I blink at him. “I—”
The barking resumes, and this time, it’s even more insistent.
“Sorry,” he mutters, turning and opening the door again. A lean brindle greyhound dog stands outside. “Lie down,” he says gently. The dog scoots closer and nudges him, earning Axel’s attention long enough for me to fish my phone out of its undesirable location in my leggings.
After Axel gives him a few head rubs, the dog tucks itself into a small wood structure next to the front door that I somehow failed to notice earlier—what looks like a tiny A-frame doghouse, complete with a plush plaid fleece sleeping bag tucked inside. The dog plops down on top of it and blinks big brown eyes our way.
Axel turns back toward me, seemingly unaffected by the absurd level of cuteness. “Go ahead.”
“First things first.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You live here,” I tell him accusingly.
He has the grace to blush. But he doesn’t say anything.
“This is your home, not a guesthouse. Why did you tell me I could stay here tonight?”
His blush deepens. “Because the A-frame’s not safe, and you needed somewhere to stay.”
I open my mouth. Then shut it. “I don’t…understand. I don’t understand what’s going on with the A-frame or why Willa said it was okay to come, and why you’re giving me your house and—”
My stomach makes an obscenely loud gurgle, silencing me. I set a hand over it. “Sorry about that.”
Axel glances between the kitchen and the front door. “Why don’t we… Let me make some dinner. Then we can talk.”
Talk? Axel? He’s going to…talk to me?
“Okay?” I say slowly.
He nods, then strides past me into his kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets. “Do you like cheese omelets?” he asks.
“I love them.”
“With vegetables?”
“Yes.”
“Anything you can’t eat?” he asks, stacking utensils, oil, salt, and pepper onto a tray.
“I don’t eat meat. Or gluten. I’m a joy to cook for.”
I get a grunt of acknowledgment, then, “Won’t take long.”
He’s gone in a handful of long strides, the door thudding behind him.
Well. All right, then.
Slipping on my rain jacket, stepping into my boots, I glance out the wide window over his bed, a perfect view of Axel bent over the campfire. His greyhound companion trots unevenly out of the doghouse, then lies on his belly, head swiveling as Axel roams around, preparing dinner.
There’s a bike nearby propped on its kickstand with two bags attached to the back. Axel pulls food from them, then sets to work, cracking eggs, opening what looks like a container of pre-chopped vegetables, adding them to the skillet which glistens with oil.
I watch the greyhound edge closer, blinking up at Axel, who turns and speaks to him. And because I’m curious, I use the crank to open the window just a little.
“No barking at her,” Axel tells the dog. “Or begging.”
The dog ruffs and whines.
“You heard her stomach growl. She gets food first. You’ll just have to wait.”
Another whine.
“No, I’m not cooking human food for you.”
A small laugh leaves me. This is the most comfortably I’ve ever heard him talk. He’s always so tight-lipped and serious. Watching him carry on this one-sided conversation feels like seeing an entirely different person.
Feeling guilty for having eavesdropped, I crank the window shut, then run both hands through my hair and try to detangle it. It’s a half-dry, uncombed mess, and I’m in slumpy lounge clothes but oh, well. He’s made it clear he’s immune to my charms. If I look rough, what difference does it make?
As I step outside and shut the door behind me, Ax straightens, then glances my way. His gaze flicks up my body before he turns back toward the fire. Like each time I’ve seen him, the brief, unaffected dismissal stings.
At least the dog notices me. I smile as it pushes up onto its haunches and walks slowly toward me. The pup doesn’t seem to use its back right leg very well. “Hi, cutie.”
Wagging its tail, it smells my hand, followed by a hearty lick. I crouch down and pet it, my hands running along its bristly, short hair. I peer up at Axel, who’s frowning at me. He glances away. “How long have you had a dog?”
“He’s not my dog.”
The dog spins away from me and ambles toward him, as if to prove him wrong. Firelight dances in Axel’s green eyes as he leans and indulges the dog with a scratch behind his ears.
“Well, he seems like a sweet animal,” I tell him.
“He’s a nuisance.” Axel pats the dog’s side, then gently nudges him away from the food and crouches over the large cast-iron skillet on the campfire that’s burning hot and bright. Eyes on his task, he points to a folding chair that sits open with a plaid fuzzy blanket draped across it. “Go ahead and sit. Should be done any minute.”
Lowering myself into the chair, I tug the blanket across my lap as he works in silence.
“Can I help?” I ask.
He shakes his head, scooting the eggs around and adding cheese to them. Then he stands quickly and disappears inside the house. He’s gone maybe thirty seconds before he’s back with an armful of items, including a bowl that he sets right in front of the dog. I don’t miss the way he scratches behind the dog’s ears again and pats his head gently. I don’t miss the way the dog looks at Axel, then dives into his food like this is all part of the day’s routine.