There was a moment of stunned silence.

And then he heard two women bust out laughing.

“I need new wineglasses,” Izzy muttered.

Johnny turned his gaze from the television show they were watching, lying in his bed, to her beside him.

“And maybe a trip to the Pacific Northwest,” she went on.

He looked back to the TV.

They were watching “Big Little Lies.” It was funny. It was trippy. Reese Witherspoon was hysterical. And the suspense was excellent.

How Iz got wineglasses out of it, he had no idea.

The Pacific Northwest he could do.

He returned his gaze to her. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

He didn’t look back at the screen as he noticed this entire exchange happened with her watching the TV.

It was a great show.

But that wasn’t it.

They were both up on pillows, Johnny on his side of the bed, Izzy on hers.

He had his back to the pillows with his legs stretched out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles, with a bottle of beer in his hand resting on his abs.

She was on her side curled in a wide S, down a little bit with her head on plumped pillows, her glass of wine on the nightstand behind her.

And there was a vast expanse between them.

After a great night and a sweet morning, Johnny felt this vast expanse start widening after the tables and chairs had been put away, they’d shared breakfast then Izzy had showered and come downstairs only for Addie essentially to kick them out of Izzy’s house.

Izzy packed to spend the night and get ready in the morning at his place. They loaded up Ranger. They went to the mill. He showed her how to drive an ATV and they went cruising all over his land. But after they got back and had a late lunch, she seemed to be flagging so he suggested she take a nap.

She took him up on that with an eager attitude that he found unsettling.

It was like she was looking for a way to escape him in his (essentially) one-room house.

She slept hard and long, woke up groggy, ate the food he cooked for her like she was in a dream state, and not a good one, and when they decided to camp out in his bed and watch TV, she entered the bed removed from him. Even if she was on her side facing him, she didn’t cuddle in or even get close.

She also did nothing to invite Johnny to do it.

At first, Johnny thought she was still groggy or maybe sorting through all she’d learned the day before that was going down with her sister.

But studying her lying beside him watching TV, he knew that wasn’t it.

He didn’t know what it was but he had a creeping feeling sliding up the back of his neck and he didn’t fucking like it.

“What’s up, spätzchen?” he asked.

“Hmm?” she muttered distractedly.

“Are you okay?”

She lifted just her eyes to him, not her head.

“Sorry?”

“Are you okay?” he repeated.

“Of course,” she replied, looking back to the TV.

“You wanna get closer?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she said.

“I’m not,” he returned.

She lifted her eyes again. “Johnny, I’m watching this.”

No, he didn’t fucking like it.

That was when he raised the remote.

He hit pause and she glanced at the TV and back to him, now with little lines in between her eyebrows.

“What’s up?” he asked again.

“I’m just into this show. It’s good,” she lied.

They’d never watched TV together.

Maybe she wasn’t a cuddler.

However, she’d fallen asleep on top of him with his cum sliding out of her.

She was a cuddler.

“Babe—”

“This is a good show. I’m into it. And maybe still a little hungover.”

“You slept for two and a half hours this afternoon and drank more water today than an NFL team during a game.”

She got up on her forearm. “Yes, but I drank a lot of wine last night too.”

“You did,” he agreed.

“So I’m still a little hungover.”

“Being hungover means you can’t scoot close and watch a show with me?”

“I am watching it with you.”

“There’s three feet of space between us.”

She looked down at the bed but again to him when he continued speaking.

“You worried about your sister?” he asked.

“A little,” she answered. “Mostly I’m relieved. Perry’s always been a loser. I hate how she finally figured that out but I’m glad that part of her life is at an end and she can start fresh without him dragging on her.”

He believed at least that.

“You worried about the money it’s gonna take for her to get shot of that guy?” he went on.

She shook her head. “We always find a way.”

Yeah, he bet they did.

“So what is it?” he pushed.

“It’s nothing, Johnny. I’m just a little hungover and into this show.”

“Iz, we talk. That’s the deal, remember?”

“Your deal,” she returned.

His brows drew together. “What?”

She turned her eyes again to the TV. “Nothing.”

“Izzy,” he growled.

Her eyes shot to him and she pushed up to a hand in the bed.

“Okay, so, I’m learning the kind of guy you are, maybe you should learn the kind of woman I am,” she stated.

“Hit me,” he invited.

“Sometimes I need space to sort through things in my head.”

“Does this space need to be physical?” he asked.

“I . . .” She looked around them and back at him. “Sorry?”

“Can’t you sort through things in your head curled up to me?”

“I . . . I . . .” She stopped there like she didn’t know the answer to that question.

He tried something else.

“What did you mean, ‘your deal?’”

“What?” she asked, beginning to look panicked.

“You said it was my deal that we talk. What did you mean when you said that?”

“I meant that, uh . . .”

“Spit it out,” he prompted.

“Hold your horses!” she snapped, panic gone, she was ticked.

Johnny shut his mouth and stared at her.

The only times he could recall that she’d snapped at him was when she lost it right before he fucked her in her stable and when she got slightly ticked when he’d brought up Shandra on the balcony.

It just wasn’t her.

But maybe it should be her.

Maybe she should feel free to get pissed every once in a while, quit with the stiff upper lip, stop rolling with the punches and punch back.

And maybe now was the time to show her that she was safe to do that with him.

“You could curl up to me,” she noted angrily.

“Would you have been good with that?” he asked.

“I . . . don’t know,” she said. Then she went back on it and answered, “No.”

“So you need space to sort through things, it needs to be physical, but can you let me in on what these things are?”

“That’s part of having them to myself to sort through them, so no.”

“You ever had anyone to sort them out with?”

“Of course. Mom. Addie. Deanna.”

“A man,” he clarified.

“What’s that matter?”