35. Chapter 34
Chapter 34
Layne
“Happy birthday, babe.”
I froze in the kitchen door, gaping at Keaton. Armed with a spatula and his signature smirk, he stood at the stove from which mouthwatering smells of fried eggs and turkey bacon wafted toward me. He wore black gym shorts and a gray T-shirt, his hair unkempt.
“You remembered.” Plodding to him, I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt.
“’course I did.” He wrapped me in a tight hug and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “How you feeling this morning?”
“Not too bad.” A week had passed since the “accident”—which we still didn’t know more about because the DRPD had been busy hunting down an arsonist who’d killed several people—and I had recovered surprisingly well.
“All right. Go sit on the couch. I’m right with you.” Keaton returned to the stove, and I headed into the living room. A moment later, he appeared balancing two plates and mugs. “Here you go.”
My mouth watered at the sight of avocado toast, turkey bacon, and an omelet. “Of course he can cook,” I muttered.
“Of course he does. After all, he’s the perfect husband.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he sank onto the couch next to me.
“Lose some of that cockiness and we can talk about mediocre.” Plate in my lap, I skewered a piece of omelet and popped it in my mouth. My taste buds exploded as cream cheese, onions, and peppers practically melted on my tongue. I moaned. “What is this?”
“Still think I’m mediocre?” Keaton took a bite of his avocado-omelet-bacon sandwich he’d made.
I shook my head. “Darn close to perfect. Guess you’re more than just an inflated womanizer. I mean, you even know stuff about whiskey and investing.”
The shadow darkening his blue eyes took me aback.
I lowered my fork. “I’m sorry, that was out of line.”
“Nah, you’re right.” He took a sip of his joe, then set the mug back on the coffee table. Smirked. “And yeah, I do know stuff.”
Guilt swirled in my stomach despite him shrugging off my comment. His parents criticized him enough as it was. I didn’t need to jump on their bandwagon, even if I was just joking. I wanted to do the opposite. Wanted to support him in everything he did, cheer him on, and be the wife he could rely on.
My phone rang, and I knew instantly it was Blake. I unearthed it from my sweatpants and answered. “Hey, Blake.”
“Happy birthday, Bean!” she hollered.
I chuckled. “Thank you.”
“I’ll let you go in a sec, but I just wanted to say that I hope you have a blessed day and that I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“Okay, bye. Love you.”
“Bye, hon. Love you, too.” I hung up—and found myself looking in a very miffed face.
“Who’s that Blake guy?” Keaton practically growled.
I frowned at him. “Blake guy?”
Wait, did he . . .
I burst out laughing.
“You just called that guy ‘hon’ and told him you missed and loved him. Not sure what’s so funny about that.” The irritation in Keaton’s voice was priceless.
Hardly able to keep it together, I pulled up Blake’s number and requested a video call.
She answered immediately, her face popping up on the screen. “Layne?”
“Hey, Blake, it’s me again. My husband wants to talk to you.” I turned my phone so Keaton could see her.
Keaton’s jaw dropped. “You’re a woman?”
“Yes, she is,” I wheezed.
“Are you Keaton?” Blake asked. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah, you, too, very feminine, female Blake .”
“She’s the mastermind who tailors my dresses,” I explained after somewhat recovering.
Keaton sniffed. “Feel free to make more of them. Price doesn’t matter.”
“Hokay, time to go.” I snatched the phone out of his hand and waved at Blake. “Love ya, hon .”
We said our goodbyes, then hung up.
“Got a little jealous there for a second, didn’t you?” I smiled at my husband.
“No man but me touches my wife or hits on her or gives her a pet name.” The intensity in his eyes made it clear he meant every single word.
My stomach fluttered. I’d seen what happened if a man did. The way he’d knocked that guy out cold with one punch . . . Keaton didn’t mess around when it came to marking and protecting his territory.
Now I knew that it wasn’t just about his status anymore, but rather me.
He grabbed my plate, snapping me from my thoughts. “Go get some rest. We’re going on a trip in an hour.”
“Trip?” I rose from the couch. “Where to?”
“That’s a surprise.” When I hesitated, he set the plates down and framed my face with his hands. “Relax, Layne. It’ll be good.”
“Okay.”
“You trust me?”
“I trust you.”
“Good.” He kissed my forehead, then picked up the plates again and disappeared in the kitchen.
Excitement and anxiety swirled in my stomach as I headed upstairs. What kind of surprise could he have planned for me?