Chapter Six
Five forty-five.
I have fifteen minutes before Juliette gets here.
This place needs to look perfect. I swung by the country store to get the lavender and sage goat’s milk soap she likes for the bathroom, her favorite apple scented candle, and their homemade apple cinnamon cheesecake made by Ms. Patti.
That woman can make anything and she’s good at it all.
The perfect person to own a country store.
I know my limits. And this chili is about the only thing I’m good at in the kitchen.
And I made sure the boots are out on the porch with a freshly swept and mopped floor.
Pulling out the lighter, I light the candle on the table, when there’s a knock on the door.
I don’t know what I expected her to do, but knocking on her own front door wasn’t in my realm of possibilities.
Very awkwardly, I open the door to invite my wife into our house like I haven’t been buried deep inside her in every room of this house.
“Hey.”
Fuck, she looks gorgeous. She’s dressed in her favorite bootcut jeans with her cowboy boots and a soft pink sweater.
I don’t think, I just kiss. I at least think enough that I only drop a kiss to the top of her head instead of pulling her close like I want to. Walking on eggshells leaves me feeling like a fish out of water with her. And I hate it.
“You look beautiful.” I whisper into her hair.
“Thank you.” She looks down next to the door and taps my boots with her foot. “I see the shoes are outside.”
A smile graces her lips as she toes off her own boots.
“Even mopped the floor.” I step aside showing off the lower level of the house and how clean it is. Hopefully she won’t look in the coat closet though. I didn’t get off work early enough to actually put things away. But I will.
“Wow. Color me impressed.” Stepping further into the kitchen she sniffs the air. “Is that the apple candle from Ms.Patti?”
“Sure is. Got your favorite soap too. But you’re stuck with chili for dinner because I’m still me, and I shouldn’t be trusted in the kitchen with anything else.” I stir said dish on the stove, letting the aroma fill the air around us.
“I love your chili.”
“Oh! And…” pulling open the refrigerator I hold out the cheesecake.
“Yum. That looks so good.” She steps closer into my space, wrapping her arms tentatively around me. “Thank you.”
“Of course. I told you it’s going to be different this time.”
She only nods with a tight smile.
Lady May by Tyler Childers begins playing. Our wedding song.
“Dance with me?” I ask.
She wraps her arms around my neck and we begin swaying across the kitchen floor. Her head rests on my chest and I feel like I can breathe again with her in my arms.
“I stopped dancin’ with you.” The admission of guilt feels like it frees something in my chest. Recognizing all my parts in this mess is hard, but necessary.
“You did, but I stopped asking too.”
“I never want to stop dancin’ with you, babe.”
“So don’t.”
The song drones on in the background. But she just asked me to not stop fighting for her. Not in so many words. But I can read between the lines. At least now.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when the song ends.
“Starved.” The way she takes in my body has me questioning what exactly she’s hungry for.
Serving up two bowls of chili, I carry them to the kitchen table, serving her.
“Cal, this smells so good. Thank you for cooking.” She looks up at me smiling.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you came. I’m not going to lie, I was nervous. Like this is our first date, and not our seventh year of marriage.” I chuckle, awkwardly taking my seat that I’ve sat in next to Juliette since we moved in.
“It is a little awkward isn’t it? I didn’t know what to wear. I had about seven outfits laid out and I berated myself a little because you’ve seen me naked. Why did I care? But I did.” Shrugging, she digs into her food.
“You would look like the most beautiful woman in the world no matter what you wore.” I hold up my beer, waiting for her to hold up her glass of wine with me. “Here’s to awkward first dates with my wife.”
She giggles at the equally awkward toast, my intended effect.
Despite how we both felt at the beginning of dinner, it was nice to connect with her. I took advantage of the fact that she would always be here. I didn’t take the time to appreciate her while she was here. I didn’t take the time to talk to her about our days, or what we both have going on.
I had no idea she was toying with the idea of selling her home brew beers at the bar in small batches. She’s never been confident enough to even let anyone try them if they knew it was her beer. She always lies and says it’s just a small batch we picked up somewhere.
I think Jess and I are the only ones who know she brews her own beer. And it’s dang good. I’m proud of her for taking the leap.
The cheesecake was a hit too. We demolished half of it, foregoing plates and just grabbing two forks.
Now, we’re stuck trying to figure out how we end this date. If it were up to me she’d climb those stairs and crawl into our bed with me.
“I was thinking, you should move back here. I can stay in the guest room, or move into the bunkhouses. It’s not fair that you’re camping in the office of the bar. And I don’t like you being there at night alone. At least on the ranch I know you’re safe, and I’m close.”
“Cal. I don’t think it’s a great idea that we live under the same roof right now. Living together is our problem, it’s the wedge between us.” She fidgets with rolling the napkin between her fingers.
“Okay, so you come home and I’ll move into the bunkhouses. I just want to know you’re safe so I don’t spend a majority of the night wondering what’s going on or if you’re okay.”
“Are you sure? The bunkhouses are… something.”
The bunkhouses are like frat houses. Constant drinking, and full of young kids. So no, I’m not sure. I want to be here with my wife, holding her in my arms in our bed instead of in a small twin size shitty bunk. But if it makes her life better, I’ll do it.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Won’t be my first time staying in there.”
“But you’re not a nineteen year old kid anymore either.”
Ain’t that right. My back cracks like a glow stick every damn morning and I can only imagine how bad it’ll be now.
“I’ll be fine. You move home tomorrow. Need any help? I can swing by in the morning with you to help you get your stuff home. I’ll pass off some chores onto the guys.” I extend my hand out across the table, hoping she’ll take it.
“I’ll be okay. I’ve got the same amount of stuff I left with.”
“Right.” My hand is still empty so I pull it away.
“I should get going though. I’ve got a delivery coming early tomorrow morning.” She stands, gathering her things and walking halfway through the kitchen before looking back to see if I’m following her.
“Sure. I’ll walk you out.” I follow her to the door where she stops just outside to slip her boots back on, and I slip on my shoes to go out to her car with her.
We walk silently, but I press my hand into the small of her back, letting the warmth of her body soak into me.
Keeping in line with the awkward teenager feeling of the night we both stand at her driver’s door in the driveway. Stalling and dancing around the question of whether I should kiss her or not.
I take a step toward her and she doesn’t back away so I take that as my invitation.
My lips press to hers, my hands left in the pockets of my jeans. I don’t trust myself to touch her and stop at just a kiss.
“Drive safe, babe. Please text me when you’re back so I know you’re tucked in.”
She nods, “Okay.”
I stand in the driveway, watching those tail lights disappear. Kicking rocks on my way back up the porch. I make sure to leave my shoes on the mat outside the door.
It fucking sucks watching your wife leave, and knowing that I’ll be sent to the bunkhouses tomorrow.
That shouldn’t raise too many questions.
Me: > I just want you to know that I’ve listened. And I know. Every time I see you, there’s a new fault I’m discovering. A wrong to right.
Wifey: I’m home. > I love you and all your faults. I just want to feel like I’m loved too. Thank you for dinner and the date. Goodnight. >
Home. That word kills another piece of my heart. She isn’t home. And I know she just meant she’s where she’s going to sleep for the night, but her home is here. With me.
My mind snags on something else she said, she doesn’t feel loved. I love her, and she knows I love her. But am I actually showing her that? No. I can’t even clean up a mess that she’s asked me to clean a hundred times. That’s not showing her love. That’s showing her she needs to be my mother.
Me: Goodnight, beautiful. >