Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
Over the next two days, Mason and I spend time in the yard, in the cool, humid weather.
I successfully teach him to kick a soccer ball, and he teaches me to walk like a crab.
We’ve gone to the Georgia aquarium all decked out for Christmas.
And we’ve eaten no less than a box and a half of Goldfish crackers. The only kind of fish Mason dares eat.
We are officially best friends.
At least, I think we are. Maybe Mason’s like this with every person he meets. But it feels like we’ve bonded. Stella has been right with us, sometimes sporting a crab walk and sometimes watching from the sidelines, but always beaming.
This was her idea, and it was spot on. It was needed. She knows it, but mostly she’s so truly happy for me to know my brother.
We leave in the morning, and while I’m ready for my own home, I already miss my brother. I sit with my back against the headboard of this king-sized bed in my father’s guest room, legs out, watching as Stella washes her face in the guest bathroom.
Her hair is up on her head, her face clean of any makeup, and her short legs bare.
She is natural in every sense and she’s utterly beautiful.
While our relationship is still progressing bit by bit, slow in some ways, fast in others, I get to sleep next to my wife every night.
And I’m telling you, this bed is entirely too big.
As long as Stella will have me, I will never own a king-sized bed.
She turns, her bare feet and pink toes padding along the hard floors, until she’s standing on the other side of this ocean-breadth bed. “You had fun today,” she says, more statement than question.
“I did. Mason’s a sweet kid.”
“He’s half in love with you already.” She grins at me, pulling back the covers and climbing into bed.
“It’s a mutual affection,” I say, keeping my eyes on her.
She lays her head against the pillow, on her back, arms over her stomach, her head turned, and her eyes on me. “I can tell. Man, I am so smart.”
“You are,” I say, resting on my side and propping my head up in my right hand.
“Your wife is the smartest wife,” she sings.
“She might be.” My heart thumps in my chest with her closeness, with her easiness. My Stella, it pulses. Mine. I rest my left hand over hers, folded and together on her front, and lean a little closer.
“You should probably tell the world that your wife is brilliant and beautiful, and you’ll do whatever she tells you to do.” She’s teasing. She has no idea how much truth rings in her words.
Propping myself up, I hover over her, peering down at her face.
I lean in, letting my nose brush hers. “My wife is brilliant,” I say, slouching down until my lips meet hers.
“My wife is beautiful.” I incline again.
Another kiss to her soft lips. “I will do whatever my wife tells me to do,” I whisper.
I gaze down at her, taking her in and wondering how in the world I’ve lived this long without her.
Stella’s arms snake up and around my neck, pulling me down for another kiss. Her body curves against mine, warm and small and made to fit next to me. When our lips part, I study her. My past, my present, my future.
“Stella, I—” I swallow down what I want to say. I want to tell her I love her. And while that black rubber ring on my finger commits me to her, while I’ve confessed that I care for her, it’s so much more than that. And I’m not sure she’s ready.
She blinks, waiting for my thought to finish.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
“I’m glad you’re here too, Graveyard.” Her tone inflects, teasing me with my team nickname. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I might go anywhere as long as you’re there, Mrs. Graves.”
Her fingers play with the hairs at the nape of my neck.
“It is Graves, isn’t it?” I ask.
She swallows. “Yes. It’s Graves.”
And it almost feels like she’s saying I love you back.