This could get me in trouble, yet I have no intention of ending it. Not right now. This may never happen again, and I want to suck it up for all it’s worth while I can get it. It gives me a quietness that comes from the inside that I haven’t felt since we lived together.
When she stayed with me before she got pregnant, and then when we lived together while in Ohio, my favorite part of the day was waking up next to her. The morning routine of getting ready—preparing for the day, having her there and knowing she’d be there when I came home—was the best part of my life so far.
We sit down. She curls one leg under her.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“I think I kind of passed out. I remember sitting on the edge of your bed and hearing you talk and then nothing until I woke up this morning.” She reaches for a piece of toast. “Which brings me to this question. How did I get in your bed?”
She lifts a brow as she takes a bite of toast.
“You seemed to enjoy my mattress, so I tucked you in.”
Her lips part, the furrow in her brow warning me she’s about to argue. Then strangely, the wrinkles vanish. “Thank you.”
“Wow.” I laugh, slicing into my eggs. “That was unexpected.”
“What? I’m being polite.”
“I know. Unexpected.” She taps my leg with her foot under the table. “I’m not sure if I should thank you for holding me so tight I couldn’t move this morning.”
My fork almost drops out of my hand. The tines clink against the china before I regain control. “I did?”
“You did. And it was kind of nice.” Her shoulder comes to her chin in the sweetest gesture. Batting her eyelashes, she grins. “Now, enough of this being nice stuff. What can we fight about?”
I pick up my coffee cup and sit back in my chair. She rattles on about a story Kallie told her about Cross, and I tune out. Watching her talk—her hands flying through the air, her eyes bright and happy as she jabbers away—is enough.
Sipping the caffeine instead of guzzling it like I usually do, I enjoy the peace of a Sunday morning instead of avoiding it, which is a new thing. A thing I could get used to. A thing I’d love to replicate with her.
But as I begin to process that idea, her words from last night come back to mind. “You do a lot of things a hundred times and nothing bad happens. You better hope it doesn’t start catching up with you.”
It will catch up with me. It always does.
“Are you listening to me?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I sit my cup down and grab a piece of bacon. “Nana called and ripped my ass about church.”
She snorts. “I’m not sure you should say ripped my ass and church in the same sentence. While not quite sacrilegious, it doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay. She busted my balls. Better?”
“I’m with Nana. You needed Jesus today.”
“I’ll pray extra hard at bedtime to make up for it,” I say, crunching down on the meat. “Anyway, she’s making dinner and demanded I come.”
Hadley’s fork rests on her plate. The light in her eyes dims as she reaches for a napkin. “You should.” She swallows hard. “I need to see Emily today, so I can have her pick me up here, or you can run me by on the way.”
That’s the best solution. The easiest. The safest. And it absolutely won’t work.
“Nah, see, neither of those will work,” I say with a casual shrug.
“Cross can come and get me.”
I watch her until she lifts her eyes to mine. She’s adorable when she’s unsure, when she lets her guard down long enough to let me see it. I should be as unsure as fuck about this, but I’m not. I’ve not been so certain about anything in a long time.
“Nana said you have to come,” I say. Even though that’s not totally the truth.
“Oh, I don’t know …”
“Tell it to Nana. I’m not.” I take my cup back to the Keurig. As I pop in another pod, I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s grinning with her hands folded together in front of her face. “She said we’re eating at three, which means we have to be there by two. She gets really pissed if you show up when it’s time to eat.”
“I can understand that.”
The coffee stops. I take my mug and walk back to the table. Instead of sitting, I lean against the chair. She looks up at me with big, wide honey-colored eyes.
Sunday dinner has never looked so appetizing.
“It’s eleven,” I say. “That gives us a few hours.”
She gulps. “To do what?”
I take a long, intentional drink and watch her squirm. Once she’s sufficiently worked up, I swallow. “Do you know how to prune rose bushes?”