Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“What do you eat for breakfast?” I ask, pouring my own glass of champagne. “To my wife.” I hold up my glass, and she reluctantly clinks her glass with mine. “The best wife ever,” I declare, pulling out the chair right next to hers. “Top of the charts, baby.” I wink at her as I take a sip of my champagne.
“Okay, what did you get?” She ignores me as she sips her mimosa before looking at the five plates covered by domes.
“Pancakes and French toast for sweet, a plate of scrambled eggs with sausage and bacon and of course white toast, wheat toast, and an everything bagel.”
“So literally one of everything,” she notes, picking up a dome.
“Basically,” I confirm, watching her grab a piece of pancake and then opening another one to scoop some eggs on top of the pancake in a line. I watch, fascinated with what she is doing as she opens the lids until she finds the sausage and bacon, putting one piece each on the pancake. “What are you doing?” I ask her as she starts to roll it.
“It’s a breakfast taco,” she says, smiling. “A husband would know that.”
“You learn something new about your spouse every single day,” I inform her. “My parents still learn something new about each other every single day.” I grab a pancake and copy what she just did. “Speaking of my parents, I should call them.”
“That would be nice. Unless they are on Instagram, then they probably saw it,” she says, taking another bite of her concoction. “Apparently, we posted it on our Instagrams last night or this morning.”
“What picture did we use?” I ask, and she just stares at me.
“It doesn’t bother you that we posted we were married on your Instagram?” she asks as if posting her on my Instagram is the end of the world.
“Nope. Saves me from doing it tomorrow,” I state. “I do have to call Kailyn and ask her to postpone all my meetings for the next two weeks.” I make mental notes to do all the things. “When is the family vacation?” I ask her as I take my own bite and agree it’s pretty good. “You know what this is missing?” I take another bite. “Hash browns.”
“Vacation is in two days,” she answers, dipping her taco in the maple syrup container. “I have to go to New York and get my things.”
“We’ll go back to LA together.” I chew. “I’ll grab my stuff, and then we’ll go together to New York.”
She stops mid-chew. “Wait, you’re coming with me?” Her eyes move side to side.
“Baby, it’s practically our honeymoon.” She rolls her eyes. “Now hurry up and eat because I want to get to know my wife better.” I take a bite of my taco. “I have some chocolate sauce and champagne, and I want to know if it tastes the same on a person.”
“You aren’t getting me all sticky with that.” She laughs.
“Okay, fine, you can eat it off me. Either way, I win.” I wink at her, and she shakes her head.
By the end of the meal, I even add in the maple syrup, and she is a sticky mess. Well, we both are.
The next day, we fly back to LA, and we are there for literally an hour before we have to fly to New York. “Mrs. Griffin,” I say when she gets into my car after being away from her for a whole hour, “you didn’t even give me a hello kiss.”
“Isn’t Mrs. Griffin your mother?” She turns so her back is against the door. “I’m sure she will give you a hello kiss.”
“Very funny,” I deadpan, leaning forward to kiss her, and she kisses me as if we haven’t seen each other for a day instead of an hour. Her hand comes up to hold my cheek as our tongues slide into each other’s mouths. “Hi, wife,” I say softly against her lips, “you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replies, and we make our way over to the plane that will be flying us to New York. “There are a couple of things we need to discuss.”
“We’re on vacation,” I say. “Can we discuss things when we get back? Right now, I want sun, sand, and sex with my wife.”
She laughs. “You can have that without me.”
“But I don’t want anything without you.” I take her hand and kiss it. Grabbing our bags, we make our way to the plane, and the flight attendant is there waiting for us.
“Mr. and Mrs. Griffin, welcome aboard. We have a delivery,” she says, looking at Zoey, who looks at me and then at the attendant with a confused look.
The white box is in the middle of the tray table. “Um, are you sure it’s for me?” she asks as she walks and sees her name on top of the card. “What did you do?”