Chapter 21 Bronte
Bronte
My eyes crack open at two o’clock in the morning, realizing that I had fallen asleep on the couch when I look up at the old clock that hangs on one of the walls.
Almost instantaneously, my mind believes Meirna is gone.
That she changed her mind, left, and called Bobby, but the soft clink of metal against metal proves to my head that she didn’t.
That her little fuck around with me earlier was just to prompt my actions to see how crazy I’d get.
The thing is, she didn’t take it far enough.
She didn’t step into the lobby.
She didn’t call him.
She didn’t search for him.
She didn’t attempt to get into a car with him because that’s when I would’ve finally snapped and made a move, forcing her here.
Meirna and Bobby are finished, as far as I’m concerned.
Do I think she’ll see him again? Yes.
My brother is far from done with getting it through his head that Meirna isn’t his ticket anymore to solve his problems, image, or serve as some sort of protection.
Bobby is going to seek her out.
And I know damn well that I can’t be at her side twenty-four-seven to make sure that doesn’t happen. Plus, as much as I don’t like it, Meirna needs closure face-to-face.
I’m just hoping she bitch-slaps him in the process of obtaining that closure and that I can bear witness to it.
“Here—” A body suddenly plops down and wedges me into the couch when I open my eyes again and discover Meirna sitting on the couch beside me— “you have to try this. I had to redo it because the first time didn’t rise the way I wanted to, but your life is about to change. And I have to be here when it does.”
It’s two in the morning.
That’s the first thing my brain registers again and, as I blink several times, Meirna has flour-prints on her rosy cheeks, her curly hair thrown up in a messy bun, and her light brown eyes full of excitement.
I’m not big into sweets, but I have a feeling I’d better become one who does. Especially if she gets this enthusiastic over Christmas cookies.
“What is it?” I croak through sleep, slowly pushing myself up onto my elbows.
“It’s called a Kringle Danish.”
“A what?”
“Kringle Danish,” she explains again, rising to her feet so that I can sit all the way up. “It’s a buttery pastry that tastes like Christmas magic.”
Christmas magic would be her sitting on my face to wake me up, but I tiredly sit up, am offered whatever the hell she called it before I gingerly wrap my fingers around her wrist and into my lap.
Meirna doesn’t pull away but adjusts herself there, tucking her legs along my thighs, then practically shoves her new creation near my lips.
Opening them, I obediently take a bite, immediately tasting a sweet glaze with a nutty, rich flavor.
Chewing, I get the taste of almonds, pecans, and walnuts, and freeze.
I didn’t buy her nuts to go along with the cookies.
Glancing down at what she made, a white glaze is on top, sprinkled with said nuts and inside the almonds.
“Where did you get these?”
Meirna reads my mind because she says, “Alexander got them for me. Is that his name? I thought that’s what you said it was.”
It’s two in the fucking morning.
Nodding, because that’s all I can do besides chew, I mutter, “All the nuts would be a good way to kill me if I were allergic.”
Meirna grips my cheeks with two fingers underneath my jaw, causing my chewing to halt. “You’re allergic?” she asks almost frantically before I quickly shake my head.
“No.”
“Are you allergic to anything?” she remarks quickly as if she may have made something that I am prone to death with.
“Not that I know of.”
Meirna drops her hand from my face and nods with a released sigh. “Good. You scared me for a second.” I can’t help but be a bit surprised when she shoves the pastry between my lips and forces me to take another bite. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
Noted.
Since I’m forced to munch on a second bite, I wrap my arm around Meirna’s waist so I can at least enjoy it some more.
“Do you like it?” she asks excitedly. “I know you’re not into sweets but—”
“It’s perfect,” I reply honestly. “I like the almonds.”
“Do you think it needs more glaze?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t like sweet things, but this is the perfect combination for me.”
“I made you a gingerbread cookie.”
She slithers out of my lap, and I begrudgingly let her go as she walks to the kitchen. White Christmas plays quietly on the TV. Lit candles twinkle along the long shelf underneath, and a Poinsettia that wasn’t on the coffee table before is there now.
She gave Alexander more to do than run out and get nuts for whatever it was she called it that she made.
Because the small things, in my view, make the space more Christmasy. Meirna is more content than she was before.
And what an easy—easier than I thought it was going to be—transition that was. I don’t know if I should be grateful or skeptical that she poisoned the gingerbread cookies, and she’s setting the mood to watch me choke to death.
“Here we go,” she beams chipperly at me, again, two o’clock in the morning, sitting at the edge of the couch by my side. “You have a bowtie and two buttons. I’m not that good at drawing, I’d make you in a suit but…it’d probably look like a dress.”
Several perfectly cut gingerbread cookies are laid on a white plate. One has a red bowtie and two buttons, red and green, and there’s another alongside it with red lips, pink and purple buttons, and what appears to be a little flower along its head.
“Is that you?”
She smiles almost shyly. “Yeah.”
Another two gingerbread cookies lay above them, one that looks like an old man with a white frosted mustache. And the other with just green and red buttons along the center of his body.
“Is that Bobby?”
Meirna quickly plucks the cookie with the green and red buttons, then, between her thumb and index finger, breaks its head off. “If you want it to be.”
She drops the beheaded cookie on the plate and inches the plate closer. “Did you want to try yours?”
I eye the damn thing like it’s laced with something. “Are you going to pop my head off if I don’t?”
A sweet chuckle rumbles off Meirna’s lips, and she drops the plate in her lap. “No. I made you try enough. It’s late.” She begins to get off the couch. “You should—”
I grab her arm and gently get her to sit back down again. “You need to sleep, Daydream. You’ve been up all night making cookies—”
“I like making cookies,” she pouts. “It’s one of my favorite things to do—”
“It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow,” I remind her. “You wanted to go on the Historical Centre Tour. They only do it in the morning because of the holiday.”
Meirna frowns. “Is that the one that goes through the Old Town Square?”
“Yes.”
She makes a face. “Damn.” Then it lights up. “Can we hit the markets before they close?”
“Of course.”
“And, we have to take a boat ride.”
“The river is kind of frozen, Daydream.”
She rolls her eyes. “They were…making it through earlier today when we were out.”
“Barely.” She narrows her gaze on me as if I’m being a pussy about it. “It’s freezing.”
“I love snow.”
“How about we make dinner here? I’ll cook.”
Her brows raise. “You cook?”
“No. But I can hire a chef—”
“Bronte, there’s zero way I’m letting some rando cook in here to make us dinner when I’m perfectly capable of doing it.”
“I don’t want you to cook on Christmas Eve.”
“What if I told you I like cooking on Christmas Eve?”
“Then I’d say you deserve to relax. I knew you liked this time of the year, but now I’m starting to think you’re wildly obsessed with it.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. But there’s no other time in the year like this. Where it’s beautiful and lit up. Where people are nice and excited for one day to be around family during the magic of it all.”
“I hope our kids aren’t as insanely obsessed about it like you are. We’ll have enough cookies to feed a metropolis.”
I don’t realize what I said until I see Meirna gaping at me.
I said our kids.
That’s definitely not shit we’ve talked about yet, nor are we even close.
Well, I am.
She isn’t.
“Don’t look at me like that, Daydream,” I lightly chide, plucking my gingerbread cookie off the plate to try. “Sue me if I’ve thought of having children with you.”
She doesn’t reply at first. If I could spend a million dollars to live rent-free in her head to see what she thought about for a day, I would.
Meirna has always been animated and pretty decent to read. However, I say that as if I’ve experienced every emotion she’s gone through.
I’ve seen happy.
I’ve seen her turned on, sleepy, and completely sated.
And, my favorite, pissed.
But silent Meirna is one I’m slowly getting used to and, with that, comes fuck knows what.
Taking a bite of the soft cookie, ginger and cloves hit my tongue first, which gets Meirna to watch my every chew.
At least it got her off the kids bit mentally.
After a minute, she grows impatient and asks, “Well? Say something.”
“I was waiting for you to say something about the kid matter?” Why do you keep bringing this shit up? You know she’s not ready. “Did you want them with Bobby?”
Meirna immediately sighs, alluding that it’s not a subject she’s either comfortable speaking about or she doesn’t want to talk about the past.
“It wasn’t a heavy subject of conversation, but it was mentioned.” Tamping down my irritation, I nod and continue chewing. “Catherine wanted three…or four, I don’t remember. It was always changing.”
“Was she having them for you? That woman needs to mind her own business.”
“Ah, she was a treat.”
I lift the cookie. “Speaking of treat, this is delicious, Daydream. You missed your calling.”
She smirks a little. “I don’t know about all that. But thank you.”
Plucking the plate from her grasp, I lean over and place it on the coffee table. Then motion her with my hand, “C’mon, Daydream. It’s time for bed.”
She frowns. “But I have to clean up and—”
“Historical Centre Tour.”
The small amount of fight she has leaves her body when I see it sag a little. She’s exhausted, but she won’t stop moving. And I don’t know if it’s because she likes making cookies that much or if something else is on her mind that’s keeping her moving around.
Regardless, I don’t want to fall asleep while she’s washing and putting everything up. And I don’t want to help because I’m exhausted myself.
Slowly, so that I don’t scare her off, I reach around to grab her by her hips and pull her toward me.
I position us so that she’s lying on the couch with me behind her, tucked into my body as close as humanly possible.
We could’ve gone to bed, but something about sleeping with Meirna in random places like a normal couple feels like something I can’t miss out on.
I may not get another chance.
If I let her divorce me.
Which, as promised, I will. But that doesn’t mean she’s rid of me for good.
Marriage is a heavy word and, for some, can be hard to digest. I enjoy Meirna being my wife, but there’s so much more that’s involved, like moving into someone’s place, consoling furniture, and shit.
Then there are financial things.
I feel Meirna’s tense body against mind, and I’m quickly gathering that this was the wrong idea. Maybe I should allow her to get into bed and have some space between us.
“Did you want to go to the bedroom?” I ask. “We don’t have to—”
“I’m good here.” She nestles closer to my body, her ass brushing against my cock, and I scooch back a bit. There’s no need to scare the shit out of her with ideas of my fucking her to sleep when…I’m trying not to unleash every fantasy I’ve ever thought of in the world when it comes to her.
I’m trying to behave.
I’m attempting to take this slow and easy. I’ve already rocked her world and forced myself into her life.
The moment she goes back to New York is when shit is really going to take a toll. Where she’s going to see bits and pieces of me that are organically going to come out.
I’m not a good guy.
I never claimed to play by the rules.
But, for Meirna’s sake, I’ll try to cage the impulsive urge to not only protect her all the time, but also not to kill Bobby.