35. Bash #2
She nods. “I bet your yoga teacher thinks it’s superhot that you’re taking such good care of your mental health.”
I chuckle. “What about you? How was your day?”
She lifts another handful of cat food and tosses it onto the grass, just a little closer to the deck. The raccoon startles, then tiptoes forward cautiously.
“Oh, me?” Gwen asks. “My day was great. I kind of want to fuck one of my students though, and that’s a first.”
I playfully eye her with suspicion. “Is it?”
It’s just part of the friendly banter—I didn’t mean for it to be about Tripp, but as soon as the sentiment leaves my mouth, that thread of unease stretches between us. He keeps popping up even though I don’t want him to. He’s ever-present—unresolved.
“I didn’t mean?—”
She waves me off. “I know, but let me rephrase that. I want to do more than just fuck one of my students, and that is a first.”
A deep feeling of satisfaction settles into my bones.
She’s told me before that she’s done nothing but keep things casual, that relationships aren’t something she’s gone looking for.
Hell, I could see it the other day—the way she sat on the couch like I was some experiment she had to figure out in real time.
For Gwen, doing the most mundane things might feel more monumental than they should. But those domestic moments…those are what I crave.
The same ones that Gwen hasn’t had at all.
I’d be lying if I said there haven’t been times when the thought of her with Tripp hasn’t kept me up, driven me to distraction, and made me jealous. And yet, it strikes me now that she’s giving me something far more precious than what she had with him.
With contentment glowing in her eyes, she reaches for a marshmallow and tosses it across the grass.
The raccoon backs up a couple of steps, and I watch as it rubs its grubby little palms together like it’s just found something exceptional.
It scampers forward, snatches the marshmallow, then sits down on its haunches, rotating the puff of sugar while munching away like you would corn on the cob.
“Oh my god.” She sighs. “Is that not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”
I stare at the oversize rodent. I won’t lie. I’ve spent time and energy keeping raccoons off my property by placing my garbage in a shed and generally scaring them off. But sitting here now, watching this raccoon devour a marshmallow, I have to confess, “Yeah, Gwen, it’s pretty damn cute.”
She hums happily. Like she’s relieved that I don’t hate her new friend. “Should we name him?”
“You say that like it’s a child,” I quip.
“Yeah, except I wouldn’t name a child Marshmallow.”
“Marshmallow?” I ask. “You’re naming him Marshmallow?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”
I watch the raccoon. “I mean, it’s just not very dignified. Do you think he’s going to run back into the bushes and tell all his friends that the hot blond lady who lives here named him Marshmallow?”
She shakes her head. “You might be overthinking this.”
“Gwen, how am I supposed to trust you to name our first child if you can’t even give this raccoon a respectable name?”
We both freeze then. God, there’s so much unsaid between us, so much implied. I really have to stop stepping in it like this, making things awkward.
But, of course, nothing with Gwen is ever truly awkward.
“Do you remember,” she starts, “that night in the airport? How badly I put my foot in my mouth when I went on about us having a night to tell our kids about one day?”
I chuckle softly. “How could I forget?”
She nods, teeth strumming over her bottom lip. “Now we’re even.”
A low laugh rumbles in my chest as I pull her close and drop a kiss against her hair. I breathe her in. She smells like lavender and coconut. No doubt some oil blend she’s using at the studio. “Yeah, Gwen, now we’re even.”
We spend the next several minutes figuring out what to name the raccoon while tossing him different foods from the tasting menu I created. We settle on the name Sly because she thinks it suits his mischievous nature and I think it sounds kind of badass.
Because if I’m about to become a raccoon dad, you’d better believe it’s going to be the coolest raccoon that anybody’s ever known.
Out of all the offerings, we find Sly seems most enthusiastic about the watermelon. He comes close enough to reach his grubby little paws forward and take it from Gwen’s hands. Her ensuing excitement scares the shit out of him, but he comes back for seconds, so clearly he isn’t too traumatized.
Gwen is over the moon.
Watching her tonight makes my heart swell like the Grinch’s on Christmas Day. It also erases any lingering guilt I felt about that night I snapped at her.
I may not be good with verbal apologies, but I will go out of my way to make up for mistakes. And it feels like I achieved that tonight.
When Sly ambles off, looking satisfied and ready for a nap, I offer to clean up while she showers.
I find myself grinning at absolutely nothing—like the lovesick fool Clyde accused me of being—while standing at the sink, scrubbing each bowl.
And by the time I finish putting them back in the cupboards, that grin hasn’t faded.
I almost have to pinch myself as I head up the stairs to my bedroom— our bedroom. It feels surreal.
And it’s made all the more surreal when I step inside our room and find the balcony door open. I can see Gwen. Buck naked, wet hair slicked down her back, bent over the railing.
Waiting for me .