Things weren’t awkward anymore. We stood next to one another in the bathroom, brushing our teeth, staring at each other’s reflection in the mirror. I was in my nightie, a little soft pink cotton number I’d had forever, and he was in his lobster boxers. He reached over and gave my tush a pat, and a sudden cheek-pinching came over me, so powerful and so overwhelming that it made me dribble toothpaste foam out onto my chin. I wiped it away as fast as I could, trying to keep some semblance of sexiness intact.

“What?” he asked around his toothbrush.

I managed to close my mouth in time to stop any more foaming. I bit down on the oscillating brush, making the motor grind briefly before I unclenched my jaw and moved to my molars. I shook my head to say nothing.

But he understood. I knew he did. Because he winked.

He never winked. Never. He was a scowler and a brooder, and even sometimes a belly-laugher if I got his funny bone just right, but not once in my life had he ever winked at me. And I loved it. Like a brand-new secret language I never knew we could speak.

In my teeny bathroom, with the Batman flower on the ceiling, everything was in sync. I spat out my toothpaste and rinsed, and then washed my face as he spat out his toothpaste and rinsed his brush in the tap. I watched him with one of my hand towels pressed to my face, so I was looking over the top of the terry cloth fold. “I like this a lot,” I said, my voice muffled by the towel.

He swished his mouthwash and spat into the sink. He rinsed his mouth out with a handful of water. “Fuck. So do I.”

“A lot, a lot,” I said, still into the towel.

He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Times a thousand.”

Together, for the first time ever, we crawled into bed like a couple. Last night we’d been in bed, but this was different. This was a simple ritual that felt as important as any of the rest of the magic. We’d gotten Julia situated in her cat basket on the other side of the room, and she was out cold. I’d conceded on one tiny cube of SPAM, and now she was acting like a junkie who was sleeping off her fix. I slipped my legs under the sheets and felt Max’s weight depress his half of the bed. I tried to memorize everything about him so I could fill my dreams with him before I turned off the lamp—his chest, his thighs, his treasure trail, his face—but just as I was putting my fingertips to the ridged knob on the lamp, he said, “Rosie. C’mon.”

I swallowed hard. My thighs were still wobbly. I didn’t even know if I could do it again. I hadn’t come that hard in years, and certainly not twice in one day. But, glancing down at the covers, I knew I was more than willing to try. “Animal,” I said. “Bring it.”

He made a snap with his tongue, like he was annoyed. “I’m not talking about that—but so help me God, I won’t be able to stop myself in the night, so get ready.”

“’Kay,” I said, through a sort of sultry gasp. I was so used to his voice, but I wasn’t used to the way he was talking to me now. Get ready. “I’m yours for the taking.”

He answered that with a low and vulgar, “Fuuuuuuck,” that made my toes curl. “But that’s not what I’m asking. What I want to know is where’s Peter Rabbit?”

No. I would not do this. I survived last night without him, I could do it again. Having to wear my bite guard was going to be awkward enough. Peter Rabbit was out of the question. “I outgrew him years ago. Same year I finished with the headgear.”

Max glared and pouted in this manly, dreamy way. “Bullshit.”

For a long second, we stared at one another. His breathing was regular and steady. Mine was accompanied by a slight whistle from one of my nostrils.

“Ante up, beautiful. Where is he?”

I figured I could continue on the too sexy for Peter Rabbit path for a while, but truth be told, I wasn’t totally sure I could sleep another night without him. I’d never slept without him. I even stuck him in my carry-on when I traveled so he didn’t get shipped off to some far-away airport, leaving me to a night of tossing and turning while I pretended my pillow was Peter Rabbit, which it most definitely was not.

Or, I could just come clean. I had no intention of this being the last night he stayed with me, and I had no idea how I was going to keep it a secret. I couldn’t exactly sneak the occasional snuggle when I was unconscious. I had visions of waking up with both Peter Rabbit and Julia on my face. Oh, the romance.

But it seemed it wasn’t going to be my decision to make. Max narrowed his eyes and plunged his hand down behind the mattress, between the bed and the wall. I made a halfhearted attempt to stop him but got swept away in the glint of his eyes in this dim light and the girth of his forearms. Max emerged victorious, with Peter Rabbit in hand. Missing an ear. Missing a leg. Threadbare.

I felt an embarrassed hot blush creep up on my cheeks. I mean, what thirty-four-year-old woman sleeps with a stuffed animal, for God’s sake?

“Do you think it’s silly?” I asked, glancing down at Peter.

“I think everything about you is perfect, down to this rabbit,” he said and tucked it in next to me. “There.” He leaned over to kiss me as he reached across me to turn off the light.

Darkness fell over the room, and the warmth of his thigh pressed against mine. “Thank you. For everything. All the time.”

His hand gripped mine hard. It said you’re welcome and thank you and this is all so freaking joyful there are no words. For a minute, maybe more, we just lay there, side by side, hand in hand, until finally Max rolled toward me, said, “You be the little spoon,” and pulled the sheets up over us.