He laughs. “No, I needed to grow up. You’ve always been the mature one. Now tell me what’s going on?”
I sigh and snuggle into him. If it weren’t so hot outside, I’d ask him to build a fire. It’s one of the best things about this apartment, the fireplace. When he was able to be here during the season, we often sat here, watching the red, orange, and yellow flames until they flicked out and only embers were left. Noah joked once that we needed a bear skin rug to lay in front of it, so we could make love on it. I laughed, it was a full belly laugh with aching sides, only he wasn’t joking. He said men have fantasies too, that don’t revolve around Princess Leia.
“What if working isn’t the right path for me?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
I shrug against his chest. “I feel like I’ve lost so much, even though I haven’t, and I don’t know if being a career woman is more important than starting a family. What if I take a job and they’re not supportive of me taking a week off at Christmas? Still, to this day, the locker room chatter is that wives know better during the season.”
“Do you care about what others think?”
“I care about what they say about you. I care about how they’ll see me as a professional. It’s hard enough for women in this field, and for me to come in and ask for a week off so I can get married…?” I pause and shake my head. “I don’t know how that’ll go over.”
“Who says you have to start this season?”
“No one, but the offers are here now. What if they don’t want me next year?”
Noah adjusts the way we’re sitting so he can really look at me. His eyes are gentle, almost as if they’re pleading with me to let him in. He’s in, even if he’s having a hard time navigating my thoughts.
“I have a feeling you’ll be wanted. You graduated number one in your class. You’ve had job offers since last summer, they’ve waited for you for over a year and a half. They can wait a bit longer if you’re unsure. And if they can’t, then they don’t deserve to work with you. Why don’t you start after the first of the year? This will give you the freedom to plan our wedding, be with your mom and sister when you need to be.”
“And be on the sideline for your games?”
“Babe, I expect you to kick my ass after every game.”
I work my body around so that I can straddle Noah. His hands go to my hips. I bear down on him, hoping to feel his need through the flimsy material of my shorts. “What if I tell you that I want to start a family before we’re married?”
“I’d carry you to our bedroom and see what I could do about making that happen.”
I look over my shoulder toward the direction of our room. Boxes are stacked on top of one another, taped shut, and ready for the movers who are arriving tomorrow. Noah and I have been living out of our suitcases, which honestly isn’t out of the ordinary for us. We travel everywhere, between Chicago, Portland, Beaumont, and Los Angeles. I’m surprised we don’t just live on a plane. It would make things a hell of a lot easier.
“You don’t want to wait until we’re married?”
“To make love to you? No,” he says, shaking his head wildly and laughing. “To make a baby with you, definitely not because I know how you feel about me, and you know how I feel about you. And someday, whether it’s tomorrow, Christmas Day or next year, we’re going to take our vows in front of our friends and family, and if that means we have a little one there to watch, so be it.”
“You’re too good to me.”
He brushes my hair off my shoulder, drops his hands to pick me up. “I’m good because of you, Peyton. Without you, I am nothing.”
2
Noah
I have never been able to sleep on commercial planes. I don’t know if it’s the rumbling from the engine, the stagnant air, the uncomfortable seats, or that I’ve been spoiled by the fact my family has a private jet at their disposal. Still, I try to find some shut-eye on our flight to Portland. Every so often, I open my eyes to look at Peyton. She’s deep in thought, scribbling on sticky notes and placing them at the top of the page of her magazine.
“That one’s pretty,” I tell her, pointing to the dress on the page. She looks at me, smiles, and turns back to the stack sitting on the tray. She pulls one out from the middle and flips it open.
“I was thinking that maybe you could wear a suit instead of a tuxedo.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone is always dressed up, either for some gala or the Grammy’s, and I thought you, Quinn, the dads, and whoever you ask to stand next to you would like a one-day reprieve.”
Despite the console between us, I pull her to me. Her magazine falls to the floor as our lips crash together. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
She nods and kisses me again. “So much,” she says before pulling away and adjusting the way she’s sitting in her seat.
“Every damn day of my life,” I remind her. “And I love that you’re thinking about our comfort. I like that suit.”