Chapter 19 #2
Her words call our agreement to mind, and my confession dies on my tongue. Thinking I deserve it isn’t a bad motivation—it’s the situation we’re in whether I like it or not. But it’s not the same thing as doing things for each other because we want to.
Which means every action, every word we say to each other, has a question mark hovering over it.
I must be a glutton for punishment because I hold onto her anyway. Long enough that we definitely shift past friendly hug territory.
And then Sarah’s stomach rumbles.
She sucks in a gasp, shifting back as she moves her hands to her belly. “Oh my gosh. That was embarrassing.”
I chuckle. “Are you hungry?”
“Honestly, I don’t even remember the last thing I ate. I didn’t eat anything at the reception. Did you?”
“Not much. I didn’t even have any cake.”
“Anna packaged that up for us, at least. You want some?”
Across the house, the doorbell rings. “I do,” I say.
“But I think we should eat Thai food first.” It was Holly who suggested I order us some food to eat after the reception.
He said when he and Claire got married, they had to stop for burgers on their way to the airport because they’d both forgotten to eat.
“Shut up,” Sarah says. “You ordered Thai food?”
“I figured we’d be hungry. Wanna change and meet me in the living room?”
“Carter Williamson, you are the best human I know,” she says. She reaches down and slips off her shoes, picking them up with one hand, then gathering the skirt of her dress with the other before hurrying toward her room.
Ten minutes later, we’re together in the living room, both changed into sweats, drinking the very expensive wine Emerson gave us as a wedding gift and eating Pad Thai and Pad Krapow.
It took a little bit of sleuthing and stealing Emerson’s number from Sarah’s phone, but between him and Anna, I’ve accumulated a pretty solid list of Sarah’s favorites.
Thai. Margherita pizza. Glazed donuts with chocolate frosting. Blueberry scones. Lady Grey tea. I logged each thing in my brain, tiny puzzle pieces that make up who Sarah is and what makes her happy.
Gordie has followed us into the living room and is curled up on Sarah’s lap—the traitor.
“Should we watch something?” I ask, reaching for the remote.
“Yes. Definitely. But nothing scary or traumatizing. I need happy feel-good TV.”
“So we should watch Ted Lasso?”
“Thai food and Ted Lasso and vanilla bean wedding cake with raspberry frosting and Gordie in my lap?” She scoops up a bite of Pad Thai with her chopsticks. “Are you trying to give me a perfect evening?”
I turn on the TV and find the show. “It’s not quite a honeymoon, but hopefully it’ll still feel like a nice night.”
Three episodes later, we’ve polished off the Thai, eaten way too much wedding cake, and opened a second bottle of wine. I’ve got a mandatory skate in the morning that’s probably gonna be painful, but if there’s ever a night to justify celebrating, it’s your wedding night.
Coach Kimzey made it clear I’m still expected to be there, but I don’t think he’ll do anything but rib me when I’m dragging. Which I definitely will be.
Next to me, Sarah lets out a little groan as her head falls onto my shoulder.
“Mmm. I definitely drank too much wine.” As the night progressed, we ended up moving closer and closer, finally settling directly beside each other in the name of sharing a blanket.
It’s the most incredible kind of torture to have her so close—a masterclass in self-restraint.
The credits roll on Ted Lasso, and I reach over and use the remote to turn off the TV so another episode doesn’t start.
“I’m a little tipsy, I think,” Sarah whispers. “And very sleepy.”
I shift, lifting an arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed, then.”
She burrows into my chest, wrapping her arms around my midsection. “Can I just sleep here? You smell so good.”
I almost consider it. The couch is comfortable enough, but sleeping this close to Sarah when we’ve both been drinking feels like playing with too much fire.
I force myself to shift away from her and stand up. “Come on,” I say gently. “You’ll be more comfortable in your bed.”
She flops onto the couch as soon as I’m out from under her.
Apparently, she wasn’t kidding about the sleepy part.
It only takes a little effort to crouch down and scoop her into my arms. She wraps herself around me, her head resting on my chest, and lets out a moan that makes my blood heat. “Mmm, I like it here,” she says.
Sarah’s room is on the main level of the house at the end of a short hall off the living room.
There’s a lamp on in the corner, illuminating a space that already feels very Sarah, even in the short time she’s been living here.
There are three different bookshelves, all crammed full of books, and the top of the dresser is littered with half a dozen pairs of glasses, hair ties, and three empty mugs—probably from her tea.
The room smells like her, and it makes me wish I had a reason to stay longer.
I move to the bed and lower Sarah onto her pillow, but when I try to stand up, she tightens her grip around my neck. “Don’t leave me,” she says, her voice soft and sleepy.
“You need to rest,” I say, and her eyes flutter open. She gives her head a tiny shake.
“Let’s play truth or dare instead.”
Oh, this woman is killing me.
She reaches up and brushes her hands over my jaw, her thumb touching my bottom lip. “I dare you to stay with me,” she says, then she pulls me down for a kiss.
Her mouth is soft and warm, her lips pliant against mine, sending a heady wave of desire crashing over me.
She’s my wife, and she’s telling me to stay, but I can’t do it.
Not when I have no idea how much of this is the wine talking.
Not when I can’t be sure that she’s sure this is exactly what she wants.
I make myself pull back, then I lift my hand to trace the side of her face.
Her eyes are already closed again, making me even more certain the best thing I can do for her right now is to walk away.
“I want nothing more than to stay,” I say. “But not yet.” Not ever is more like it—unless we’re torching our agreement. Which isn’t a decision either of us is capable of making right now.
She takes a breath and sinks a little deeper into her pillow. I lean down and press one more kiss against her forehead, then I stand upright, turn off her lamp, and leave my wife to sleep.