Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
“Why?” I asked, tracing the pattern of his tattoo, my head on his chest.
“She’s gonna get in our way. I like that I can just bend you over anywhere I like without worrying about someone else coming in.”
I laughed but then turned serious. “She already warned me not to put her out of a job. She’ll be pissed at me, put a price on my head.”
“She won’t be surprised. She cleaned and cooked at my condo but has only been live-in since I moved here so hasn’t had time to get too comfy. Nita’s retiring so we can move her back there until Pop retires. He may even want her to come to the Caymans. She’d have her pick at either of my sisters’ places, too, helping with the kids and their houses. And if she wants, she can come in here to clean on a schedule you set up with her. If she doesn’t want to take care of multiple houses, I’ll hire someone part-time. Then it’s just us most of the time. You’re a way better cook than she is, anyway. If you don’t mind feeding your future husband, that is?”
I winced, “Oh, please, please, please don’t tell her that. And no, I don’t mind. I love to cook. And you have a very healthy appetite, my future husband.”
He laughed and then kissed me. “We need to talk,” he said.
I felt my heart constrict. His tone was serious.
“Okay,” I said, hesitantly.
“I don’t want to just brush shit under the rug, baby. We need to talk some things out and I need some info from you.”
A talk. Finally.
He looked thoughtful for a second and then seemed to change gears. “First, I’ll go get us coffee and cook you breakfast,” he said. “I do a mean stack of flapjacks.”
More procrastination.
“Ooh,” I answered and stretched out. “Bacon, too?”
“Duh? Of course.” He kissed me and left the room.
I was now on his side of the bed, and I was suddenly very aware of the weapons under the bed. Maybe him saying we needed to talk jolted me out of my self-imposed stupor. I leaned over and hung over the side and looked under the bed. I couldn’t see very well so I reached my hand up and yep, still armed to the teeth.
I rolled back under the blankets and got lost in thought. I’d been so happy these past few days, but he was right, we did need to talk about stuff. It was healthy that he wanted to, wasn’t it? What wasn’t healthy was me wanting to keep ignoring it with the idiotic notion that anything bad or dangerous would just go away.
The last few days had been just what I needed, a bubble with just her and I. I was finding a way to blend my work life with my relationship with her. Things with work were going well, smooth, and I was thinking about our wedding, a honeymoon, about the future.
I hated that we’d soon have to leave our bubble. Here I was, putting talking to her about her father and Pop again off with breakfast, but before I pricked the bubble with a pin, I wanted a few more moments of peace, to show her what life could sometimes be. It was like I was trying to fortify things before bursting the bubble or something.
I used to help my mother make big breakfasts on weekends before she got sick. Breakfast was the only cooking I’d done. Really, she’d only let me handle the cracking of the eggs and the putting bread in the toaster and popping the button down as I was just a kid, but it made me want to learn how to do breakfast so when I lived on my own for the first time I mastered the art of breakfast. I’d had burnt pans and smoke alarms going off at first, but I’d gotten there.
Before Tia, if I wasn’t slammed with work, I’d make it for myself and sit alone and eat it as I read the paper on a Saturday or Sunday. I wanted to make making Tia’s breakfast on a weekend morning part of our tradition together as a couple. Someday, kids would be part of it, too. Sundays were important in my family, always had been, and I wanted that for when me and Tia had kids. Breakfast with us, dinner with the whole family. Church, maybe, too. She’d be a good mother.
I had things to figure out, but I was confident that I’d get to where I needed to be with the business, with ensuring I’d eliminated threats. But I wasn’t so sure in one area. Sex. I wasn’t clear how that’d be managed. I was loving all the vanilla we’d been having, surprisingly, but that might’ve been because of the guilt I felt about Vegas.