She went over to the living area and sat on the couch. Pulling her legs up under her, she nibbled on the tip of her thumb, obviously preoccupied to the extent that she barely noticed when I strode over and sat down at the opposite end from her.

I knew running into Magnolia James at the gas station had messed with Chloe, but I didn’t know if that was still bothering her or if moving into my house was the problem. My house with only one bed. Suddenly there was tension in the air between us, an awkwardness. Nothing like the easy friendship we’d had for so many years.

Probably not Magnolia, I decided. That snobby, holier-than-thou bitch could be unpleasant on a good day, but Chloe could hold her own.

It had to be the sleeping arrangements.

We hadn’t discussed them. I hadn’t thought about it that much because I’d been so wrapped up in thoughts about the brewery.

“Chloe, what’s bothering you?”

She flashed me a smile, but it wasn’t a genuine one. It was a tired one or maybe a stressed-out one. To be fair, she was also, for all intents and purposes, starting a new job in the morning.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m just really tired,” she finally said. “It’s been a long day. A big day. It’s not every day I move in with a boy.”

“It’s not every day I give a girl an engagement ring,” I said.

“A fake engagement ring,” she corrected.

“I’d say that rock is as real as they get. At least it better be or we got ripped off.” I was teasing, but Chloe didn’t smile.

“I’m paying you back eventually.”

“We’re not going to talk about that.”

The ring hadn’t been cheap, and I wasn’t made of money, but I wasn’t worried about that. Both Chloe and I were giving up some things, but more importantly, we were each getting the chance to make our dreams come true. You couldn’t put a price tag on that.

She hopped up off the couch nervously. Without another word, she went to the coat closet, opened it and glanced around, closed it, went to the hall bathroom next to my office, walked into it, came back out.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, getting to my feet to help her with whatever she needed.

“Extra blankets.”

“Are you cold?”

“Going to sleep on the couch.”

“You don’t need to sleep on the couch,” I told her, stepping closer to her.

“I can’t sleep in your bed.”

I let out a laugh at the scandal in her voice before realizing that was the wrong thing to do. Her back stiffened.

“Chloe, we’re engaged. We’re going to be married. Married people sleep together.”

“I don’t want to invade your bed.”