I swipe the screen clear before Shelby makes it to the table. Grabbing for the bill, I rub my eyes tiredly as she walks up.

“Do you need me to drive?” she asks.

“Only if you want.”

Shelby holds out her hand for the keys. “I don’t mind. I slept almost the entire way. Plus, I know the way to the Northern Nook.” I pass them over and she pockets them, checking her phone. “I have a message. I’m just gonna go listen while you pay, if that’s okay? I’ll get the next round.”

I make my way to the counter, pay for our meal, and pluck a free after-dinner mint from a bowl at the register before grabbing a second for Shelby and meeting her at the truck. She’s already sitting in the driver’s seat and the engine’s running, warming the cab.

“Bad news. Well. Awkward news, anyway. That was the B&B. Their last guests flooded the attached bathroom by accident, so my room is a sodden mess. We can stay, but we’ll have to share a room.”

I freeze. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not, but it’s okay!” she offers brightly. “They switched us to a room with two twins. So technically, we won’t have to sleep together.”

“Oh,” I say, knowing this is somehow going to be worse. “Good, then.”

“I’m really sorry. If it’s terrible, we can find a hotel for tomorrow night.”

“No!” I cough. “No. Of course it’s fine. I’ve been sleeping in tents for the last six years. A twin bed will feel like luxury.” And sweet torture. Sweet, luxurious torture. I will not be telling Kevin about this.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Although,” I joke, “I do know that you snore…” And it’s adorable.

“I’m a maniac in bed, actually,” she confesses, and I die a little inside at the images unwittingly flickering past in my brain. Shelby next to me, twisted in my sheets. Shelby’s long, toned leg thrown over my hip. Shelby underneath me, her soft blond hair spread out on a pillow and … “I kick everywhere and wake up facing the wrong direction. It’s a good thing you’ll have your own space, really.”

“Yeah,” I say weakly. “Good thing.”

Shelby is, in fact, a maniac in bed. I know this because I don’t sleep a wink. Not one iota. For the eight hours Shelby snores, tossing and turning, her long legs tangled in her quilt, her hair flopping over her face and across her pillow, I am on high alert. A world-renowned CIA-level assassin could blink the next room over and I would know. That’s how alert I am. And hard. So painfully hard it’s not even funny. Well. Someone would find this funny. My enemies perhaps. Lyle, the fucker, would piss himself.