He nods his head toward one of the rooms. “That there is where I sleep…” He trails off, then touches the door in front of us. “Didn’t know if you’d want to stay in this one?” I think it’s a joke, but he looks serious. “Wait,” I say, clapping my hands together and trying to play it cool, “you get to sleep in my bed and hog the covers and drool on my pillows when you’re home but I have to kick it in the cold guest room when I visit? Since when?” His laughter can shift the walls, but there go those nerves in his eyes again. For a second, I imagine he stole a peek into my mind and found out about
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