In Over His Head

Chapter 36

Sharla wasn't sure how she was going to get through the night with him beside her in bed.

His scent, the warmth of his body close to hers, was making it hard to concentrate as they sat for dinner at the Inn, all of them perched around a giant round table in the dining room. Their host had pulled out all the stops and was giving them a "traditional Newfoundlanders welcome", and the other guests in the dining room had all benefited. It had been distracting, but with the meal winding down, she was starting to think more about what was happening afterwards.

Sleep.

Worried that she couldn't say no if he was there and warm, and willing. She knew he was willing. He had told her he would always be willing for her. Not that it mattered now that he was with another woman.

The problem wasn't with him, it was with her. She knew it, but that problem also had the complication of the fact that with every fibre of her being she was willing too. She just couldn't make the leap to allowing it. Well, allowing it again.

She scanned the empty plates, a sign everyone had enjoyed themselves. Thom and James were leaning back and sipping at something called screech, Oscar was groaning and rubbing his stomach, and Kevin was, as always, charming, their host alternately blushing and exclaiming as he asked about the food, the town, taking interest in what was around him. At one point, she just set a pile more of what she'd called "cod tongues" on his plate and winked at him.

Sharla set her napkin beside her plate, ready to push off and beg forgiveness when it was whisked away, and replaced with what looked like an overinflated pancake wafting up a sugary scent, and a small slice of pie with an orangey filling, whipped cream sliding slowly off to one side. How was she supposed to eat that? She was so full she was ready to burst.

"What is this?" she asked Oscar beside her, poking at the pancake.

"Think it's called a Touton. Like a donut, but with treacle on it," he said, picked it up, and bit. Through a full mouth, his eyes fluttered shut and he groaned. "So good."

"The pie is bakeapple m'dears," Harriet said as she served the rest of the table. Kevin looked down at the pie and promptly forked up a mouthful. His face lit up and the entire table turned as he made a funny noise.

"My sister in Sweden sent me tarts like this one year, said it was made by her cook and I'd love it. Cloudberries! Is it cloudberries? Are they the same thing?"

Harriet laughed and confirmed it with a "Yes, B'y", but Sharla couldn't turn away from Kevin. He looked utterly happy at that moment. A reminder of his sister would do that for him. He missed her. She didn't come home much, if ever. Sharla had a good idea why, as Kevin's mother entered her thoughts. She hated thinking about her so she shook her head.

"Could I take this to my room?" she asked. "I might have a snack later, I'm so full right now."

"Of course love, you can. Let me get some wrap for it so's to keep it fresh for you," Harriet said and bustled away.

Once wrapped, with some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of milk thrust into her hands, even though she protested, Sharla left. She purposely didn't say goodnight to Kevin, but caught his eye as she stood. He questioned her silently, but she quirked one corner of her mouth and tilted her head to say she was okay. He nodded and went back to his dessert, and the conversation that had turned to airplanes and other boring things.

Setting the plate of food on the dresser, she surveyed the room. Any throw pillows were tossed to the bed, as well as the extras in the closet. Then she found a few smaller ones that looked decorative in a drawer. She set them on top and beside each other chinking them together like a stone wall. Satisfied with her efforts, she changed into her favourite black watch flannel pyjamas. They were the least sexy thing she owned, a bit tattered and faded.

She had just finished washing her face when the door squeaked open. "Shar?"

She willed herself the conviction to resist him, and set her moisturiser back into her toiletry bag, fingernail tracing the edge of the pot. "In the bathroom. Be out in a minute," she called and took a couple of breaths before leaving.

Kevin was standing in the middle of the room, studying the pillow wall with an amused look on his face. She dropped her toiletry bag into her suitcase on the floor and faced him, hands on her hips.

"That's my side," she said, pointing to the side of the bed closest to the bathroom. She was prepared to not give him an inch, and be stern. More for her own preservation than to keep him at bay.

"That's fine Shar. I think the pillows are a bit much? You know it isn't necessary."

"Yes, it is," she stated. Be strong, O'Brien, she thought. This wasn't an interrogation, nor was it a particularly dangerous situation to anything but her heart. Nonetheless, she crossed her arms and scowled to make her point. "Strictly to keep it platonic—"

"Shar, there are so many pillows on this bed there is nowhere for us to sleep." Kevin reached for the nearest pillow, and she grabbed it back from him, placing it back on the bed. He raised one eyebrow in that haughty privileged way he sometimes did—just to annoy her likely—and pulled another one from the stack. It was obviously the key pillow, because her wall tumbled to the bed at that point.

"Kevin, please," she said, and went to grab the next pillow before he could toss it to the couch, pulling it up to her chest. "I... I need the barrier."

He stilled, hands on a particularly gaudy throw pillow with an embroidered seagull on it. She felt like she had to explain it all, and she wasn't sure she wanted to have that conversation with him about three days ago, or how awful the hurt had been slamming through her. She wanted to have her bakeapple pie and eat it too, apparently.

He eased down onto the bed, the pillow wall tumbling further as he did. "Where did all these pillows even come from?" he muttered, and pushed some aside. "Sit with me a moment. I think we need to clear the air."

"Why?" she said. "I take this side, you take that side. Nothing to it."

He patted the bed. "Shar, please."

"Fine." she stomped over like an errant child about to be scolded. She sat on the end of the bed, as far from him as she could, and re-crossed her arms.

Kevin was failing to hold in a laugh, so she glared at him again as he spent a moment to regain his composure. His eyes danced over hers. Was she being ridiculous? He pressed his lips together; tilting his head just that little bit that meant he was thinking of something to say that would disarm her.

She looked down to her flannel pyjama pants, the fabric pilled and soft. All her efforts to keep him at bay seemed childish and yes, hilarious in retrospect.

"You know I won't touch you without your consent," he said a moment later.

"That's not the problem," Sharla blurted back before she could stop herself. "I trust you, I just don't trust myself."