Chapter 21 #2
She rinses the mugs. “There aren’t any restrictions on teachers being together in our district, so we don’t have to disclose our relationship to HR.”
Our relationship. I still like the sound of that way too much. “Right,” I agree.
She shuts off the water. “Anyway, it’s not like Judy Hollis is going to randomly corner us in the faculty lounge and ask if we eloped this summer.”
I press out a laugh. “True.”
“So, the best option is just to continue as we always have.”
“Totally. Best option.” I bob my head, even though she can’t see me.
“I just wish …” She sets the mugs in the drying rack and turns toward me.
You wish what? Say the word, and I’ll do anything for you.
“I wish we didn’t have to lie,” she says.
And I swallow.
Same, wife, same.
ME
How did packing go with your dad today?
LOREN
We got started on a little purging and organization. I boxed up some things I just want to have since I won’t be over there much after he moves. But we made progress, which is good. Also, the process was kind of hard. He seems to be good with everything, though. So … you know.
TLDR - Good, hard, good.
ME
Sounds about right.
LOREN
As for summer school this year, you’re right. I want to be free as much as possible for my dad while I can. Thanks for supporting me in that decision. Means a lot.
ME
Of course. Always.
LOREN
How did things go for you at the district office?
ME
The anonymous donations are back on. Dr. Dewey is thrilled. We started a list of potential uses for the funding. Just some basic brainstorming so far. Oh, and no one asked me if I got married in secret recently. So … you know.
TLDR - Success.
LOREN
Lol. We should definitely celebrate.
ME
Agreed.
LOREN
I’m heading out to tutor, but I’ll be home 6-ish.
ME
You made breakfast. I’ll cook dinner. I was thinking spaghetti bolognese.
LOREN
My fave.
ME
I’m aware.
I’m at the stove, stirring a homemade sauce, when the door slams at the front of the house.
“Honey, I’m home!” Loren calls out.
I lower the flame to a simmer and set the lid on. The pasta’s already cooked and draining in a colander.
Act normal, man. This is just dinner.
You can be cool.
Slipping the bread knife from the block, I move to the island and lay into a fresh loaf of sourdough. Cutting nonchalantly.
Like a totally normal man.
A moment later, Loren comes around the corner. “Mmmm. Smells good.”
She’s in a yellow sundress and sandals. Her work bag is slung over one shoulder. But from where I’m standing, I can only see the bottom half of her. The upper half is blocked by a cardboard box piled high with things.
There’s a big stuffed unicorn. Yearbooks. A couple trophies.
“Let me help you,” I offer, dropping the knife.
“Too late.” She sets the box on the table and hooks her bag on the back of a chair. Then she turns to face me, straightening. And that’s when I see it.
She’s wearing her mother’s choker.
The blue stone at the dip above her collarbone looks like it’s always belonged there.
Sapphire. Like her eyes.
I swallow, unable to speak.
Loren’s gaze drops, following mine, then her cheeks bloom pink. “I totally forgot.” She quickly fumbles with the clasp. “I found the choker in my mom’s jewelry box, and my dad seemed happy when I tried it on, so I never took it off.”
I clear my throat. “Something borrowed and blue.”
“And old,” she adds. She makes another go of the clasp. But a strand of hair is clearly tangled in it. So she sighs, yanking at the ends a little.
“Need help?”
“Yes, please.” She stills. “Otherwise, I’ll end up with a broken clasp.”
I move toward her, and as she turns around to give me access, I will my hands not to shake. Damn fingers. Might as well be baseball bats.
Shaky baseball bats.
“Here.” She reaches up behind her neck, and our hands brush. “It’s just—”
“I’ve got this,” I say. “Let me.”
She drops her arms, and I try again. Deep inhale. Deep exhale.
You’ve got this.
First, I gently push her hair aside, working the stuck hair loose from the clasp, one strand at a time. She shivers, and goose bumps flood the nape of her neck. “Tickles,” she says, her voice hitching.
Once the tangle is free, I drape the rest of her hair over her shoulder, and my palm skims her bare skin. Loren draws in a breath, and warmth radiates from her.
This is how the universe likes to torment me.
With thin straps on a yellow sundress.
But I’m a capable, mostly normal man, right? Surely I can get a grip and get this choker off of my wife. Slowly lowering my head, I study the clasp. “Ah. Yeah. I see.”
As I open the hook, my lips are close enough to graze the spot just behind her ear. The temptation is intense. Almost too much to fight. But I refuse to take advantage. I mean, yes, we’re married now, and living together, and I’ve been in love with her for years.
But I can’t, right?
No, you can’t. She's vulnerable in this moment.
Don't cross any lines.
So I carefully slip the choker off her neck, even as a fault line of self-control shudders inside me, and Loren makes the smallest move backward. Just an inch. But it’s almost as if she wants me to kiss her ear.
Does she want me to kiss her ear?
Bridger.
She wants you to kiss her ear.
I’m about to feather my lips along the curved edge when something starts to hiss across the room, sudden and loud, like a snake about to strike. Loren leaps away, and I thrust my body between her and whatever is about to attack us. Then our eyes zip toward the source.
And we bust out laughing.
The bolognese sauce is boiling over on the stove.
Man. So far, being married is a trip.