“I got us separate rooms,” I blurt out.
Noah slides his foot onto the brake at a red light. He turns to stare at me, his hazel eyes wide. “What?”
“At the inn.” I look away from him, out the windshield. “I booked us two separate bedrooms.”
“You did?” Even though we have been fighting nonstop all morning (hell, all year), he sounds hurt. “But… why?”