Chapter 19
Fact or Fiction?
Sourdough makes my wife weird.
Luke
“Oh my God, what is that heavenly smell?” Addison exclaims as she comes bursting into my house on Friday night at six o’clock
sharp.
Our house.
Not my house.
She came bursting into our house.
That small mental correction has me smiling like a lovesick puppy as I watch my wife unlace her Converse shoes and drop all
her stuff in a heap by the front door.
We’ve been living together for almost a week now and I still get so excited at the sight of her coming home to me. Every time
it happens, my heart feels like it’s going to explode in my chest. And we’re not even sleeping with each other.
I shake away those crazy thoughts to answer her question. “Steak and potatoes. The only thing I really know how to make.”
Addison cuts me a look of disbelief as she walks over to the oven and opens it up to peek inside. “What are those?”
“Parmesan potatoes. My mom’s recipe. They’re not too hard. Just some flour and parmesan cheese and butter.”
“Looks incredible,” she says, turning to the counter to peek at the steaks that are marinating in a dish. “I thought I was
supposed to be the one cooking in this marriage of convenience and you were going to do the shopping. What did I do to deserve
this?”
“You cooked every night this week, Roe. This is literally the least I can do.” I huff out a noise of indignation. “Besides it’s nothing special.”
She splays her hand out on the counter where I’m chopping up some lettuce for side salads. “Um . . . you put your life on
hold for a year to fake marry me so I can inherit my family business. That’s pretty damn special, which is why I should do
all the cooking.”
My brows fold at her response because nothing about this feels fake, except for the fact that she doesn’t sleep in my bed.
And I’d really fucking like her to.
She snatches a cherry tomato out of the container in front of me and asks, “Do I have time to shower quick?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll throw them on the grill while you’re in there.”
“Great,” she replies rubbing her hand down my arm as she walks past me. “Be right back.”
I watch her disappear down the hall and try my hardest not to picture her stripping down to nothing and jumping in that hot
shower all alone. Her fingers undoing the braid in her hair as her soft, dark tendrils caress her creamy back—a piece brushing
over her hardened nipple in the front.
Fuck. Stop, Luke.
You’re wooing her, not trying to hook up with her in the first week. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Although considering
Everly thinks I need to close this deal before the wedding, it’s more like a half-mile run maybe. Is a mile a marathon? Or
a 5K? Fuck if I know, I just know that every time I see her, I want to kiss the ever-loving shit out of her and see what she
looks like under those fucking T-shirts she prances around in at night.
I’ve had to watch her make sourdough bread every goddamn night this week while I stroke my cock.
Wait . . . that’s not what I meant.
Rufus.
I mean stroke Rufus.
We’ve gotten into a habit of her baking bread while I feed Rufus his nightly snack. Addison usually plays music when she does
her “stretch and fold” ritual, and I watch her sway her hips in the kitchen so much that Rufus has shit on the floor three
times this week and I didn’t even notice because I was too busy eye-fucking her.
God, I have it bad.
I think on some level, I wondered if moving Addison in with me could help me get over her. Like, maybe we weren’t as compatible
as I once thought, and we’d grate on each other’s nerves. I know it’s only been a week, but we already have a routine together
and that seems like a really good early sign.
And if I’m not mistaken, the touching is getting way more frequent. Roe always has been a little handsy with me . . . usually
in playful shoves or hits. But lately, it’s caresses and rubs or just resting her palm on me when I’m talking to her. The
way she touches me before she says good-night is fucking killing me. It gives me hope that maybe she sees me as more than
a friend too, but her head hasn’t caught up to her heart yet.
God, I could only hope.
She emerges twenty minutes later barefaced with her black hair wet and tied up into a clip. The smell of her lotion is so
strong, I have to fight back the urge to wrap her up in my arms and bury my face in her neck. God, I love that eucalyptus
smell on her.
I plate our food and pour a couple glasses of red wine and we sit at the dining room table together, on the same side so we
can watch the sun set. That’s another one of our routines. She loves watching the sunset so we’ve started eating earlier so
we don’t miss it.
She takes a bite of steak and moans. “Ugh, so good.”
“I’m sure you could have done better.”
“Nope,” she says, stabbing another bite of steak. “This is perfection. Food always tastes better when you don’t have to cook
it.”
“That’s good to know. I was worried you’d be irritated.”
“Naw, I love to cook, but it’s fun to be surprised.”
“So you like surprises?” I ask, still trying to learn as much as I can about my best friend.
She wiggles her ring finger at me as proof and I can’t help but smile. She hasn’t taken it off since I gave it to her, and
the immense pride I feel in that is alarming. I researched a ridiculous amount of time on the internet to find the perfect
ring. Something that wasn’t too flashy because I know she would have been awkward about that, but I wanted it to be something
that matched her essence. The fact that Cartier had the ring in stock and the sample size fit her perfectly was just fate
telling me I got it right.
“Any more surprises from my mom this week?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.
Addison shakes her head. “She just texted me requesting my guest list, which I was able to crank out without having a nervous
breakdown.”
“Nice,” I reply with a laugh. “How many people?”
“Not a lot. My dad, Edith, like six of the guys from the lumberyard plus a few of my dad’s clients that he’s known for years.
So, all together only like fifteen people.”
“Okay, that’s perfect. That’s about my number too. I told my mom we were keeping it small and not inviting the entire town
of Boulder to this thing.”
“Who is on your list?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine.
“My mom, my brothers and the ladies, Everly, Ethan, Judy who owns the Mercantile in town, and a handful of my mom’s friends
from Boulder.”
“So like thirty people roughly?” she says, doing some quick math. “That’s not too scary. Did you finish our quiz?”
“I did. And you’ll be happy to learn that I am a Summer.”
“Thank God,” she replies dramatically, splaying her hands out on the table. “Our color palettes won’t clash with each other
and ruin our precious photos.”
I chuckle softly. “I can show you some of the things I picked out if you want? No big deal if you’re not interested though.”
“I’d love to see them,” she replies with wide eyes. “Let’s see what kinds of vibes I can expect for our big day.”
“We also need to pick a date,” I state, pausing my eating to eye her seriously. “I was thinking the weekend before Christmas
could be good because Everly is home by then and we’re not completely taking over the holidays.”
Addison nods and her eyes widen. “Holy shit, that’s like six weeks away.”
“Shit, is that too soon? We could do New Year’s too.”
“No, it’s fine,” she replies with a casual wave of her hand. “I’ll check with the old man to be sure that works for him, but
it’s okay by me.”
“Cool,” I murmur while rising from the table to grab my laptop. My heart rate spikes over the fact that she said it’s only
six weeks away. That means I have only six weeks left to get my wife to fall in love with me.
No pressure.
I pull up the website my mom set up for us and point to the collage of items that populate on the screen. “I tried to answer
all the questions with you in mind and it basically created this whole, like, proposal of what the day could look like.”
“Your mom called it a mood board!” Addison says, pulling the computer closer to her.
“Does it look okay?” I ask, watching her nervously because this feels like a test.
I went with understated elegance. It’s a winter wedding so I highlighted a lot of greenery and spruce decor with rich red florals mixed in.
The website said good colors for an Autumn are burgundy, warm oranges, mustard yellows, earthy browns, olive greens, terracotta, teal, and deep golden tones .
. . not that I knew what any of those fucking things were before I lost hours of my life on this godforsaken website.
I can see why Roe lost her shit on it.
But it did a nice job putting everything together for me. Lots of candles in glass holders and reception tables with simple
white linens and natural winter accents like spruce tips, berries, and pine cones. It suggested a wool suit in charcoal or
navy for me, so I snagged a couple options like that, and for her, it showed lots of long-sleeve lace gowns with fur shawls.
Not that I have a clue what kind of wedding dress Addison would pick out. Maybe this will help her decide.
“This is beautiful, Luke,” she says, smiling as her eyes scan the screen. “The little wooden accents are so cute.”
“I thought you’d like those. I mean, I didn’t want to be too on the nose with the lumberyard tie-in, but the natural elements
look pretty cool. I have no idea how my mom will even accomplish all of this, but she’s kinda legendary for getting shit done.”
Addison looks up, her eyes fixing on the window as the sun begins to disappear behind the trees. The golden light on her face
is stunning as her hazel eyes look lighter than ever.
“Hey, do you think we could have the wedding outside here?” she asks, catching me completely off guard while I’m busy marveling
over her beauty.
I jerk my attention to the window. “Here? During winter?”