Free What Happens Between Friends by Beth Andrews

for hours on the comfy double bed in the guest room upstairs.
    “What are you doing up?”
    She squeaked and almost dropped her spoon. Sticking it into the peanut butter, she glared at James. “You about gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me in that ninja way of yours.”
    “Please tell me I’m sleepwalking,” he said from his bedroom’s doorway, his deep voice gravelly, Zoe at his side, “and you’re not really eating my peanut butter straight from the jar.”
    “I’m not really eating your peanut butter from the jar,” she said around the spoon in her mouth. “You’re sleepwalking. It’s all just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream.”
    James crossed to the floor lamp and turned it on—the better to illuminate his adorable scowl. He was so cute, trying to be all stern and angry with her.
    Thank God that would never happen. He was too sweet, too even-tempered and well, too dang nice to lose his cool, much less get mad at her.
    He towered over her. “If you let that dog lick the spoon then put it back in there I’m tossing you both out.”
    He seemed...bigger somehow. Broader. His faded Pittsburgh Pirates T-shirt clung to his shoulders, his sweatpants hung low on his flat stomach. He should have looked harmless, funny with his dark hair sticking up on one side, his eyes heavy with sleep.
    Her breath shouldn’t be stuck in her throat just from looking at him. She shouldn’t want to smooth his hair, keep her hand there to run her fingers through the strands.
    She swallowed hard. “Do people really eat after their pets?” She used the spoon to scoop out more peanut butter. Ate it, though she wasn’t sure she could get it past the tightness in her throat. “That doesn’t seem very hygienic.”
    “You’re like a teenage boy,” he grumbled.
    She choked back a surprised laugh. “Not sure that’s an accurate assessment, but seeing as how it’s so late, I won’t hold it against you. What are you doing up? Couldn’t sleep?”
    He grunted.
    “Do you happen to have a pocket translator I could borrow?” she asked. “I don’t speak caveman.”
    “I heard footsteps.”
    Instantly contrite, she sat up straight. “I’m sorry. Elvis and I thought we were being very stealthlike.”
    “You probably were, but Zoe hears every sound. She woke me, I heard you moving around and here I am. What’s your excuse?”
    She wished she knew. For weeks...months...she’d been restless. On edge.
    Unhappy.
    No, she corrected quickly, not unhappy. More like...dissatisfied. Unsure of what she should do next, where she should go. Sometimes she was even unsure of who she was anymore. Who she wanted to be.
    “Elvis and I just wanted a snack.”
    “How can you be hungry? My mom had enough food at the party for two hundred people.”
    “I didn’t get a chance to eat much.”
    “That’s because you didn’t stop talking long enough to take a breath, let alone eat.”
    “I’m sociable and people want to chat with me. It’s a burden. Hey,” she said, remembering her earlier promise to the dog, “want to order a pizza?”
    “Where are you going to find a pizza parlor open at two forty-five in the morning?”
    Good question. Panoli’s, her favorite pizza place in Shady Grove, was probably long closed. “We could drive into Pitts—”
    “Sadie.” His voice was soft, his gaze patient. “What’s wrong?”
    His kindness undid her. “I screwed up,” she admitted, injecting a lightness she didn’t feel into her tone. “Nothing new there.”
    Nothing new except that this time—for the first time—screwing up, failing so spectacularly, bothered her. It had been weeks, and she still hadn’t been able to shake off the sense of malaise, of disappointment in herself.
    She shook her head. Tried to smile. “Hey, I have something for you,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
    She hurried up the stairs and into the room on the left, dug through her suitcase until she found the brightly wrapped package. When she