41. Daisy
CHAPTER 41
daisy
Christmas morning consists of coffee and eggs, snuggles, and lazy kisses around the house. And it feels like I’m floating on air.
Landry and I have to use the timer a few times to keep ourselves in check, especially after we forget about the batch of peanut butter cookies I was baking in the oven. Thankfully, he’s better than I am about realizing when it’s time to take a break, and he insists on making another bread pudding together so we’ll have something edible to bring to his sister’s later. He also admits that we could both use the distraction.
“Are we going to live off of this one recipe forever now?” he muses as he slides another pan into the oven, and my heart swells at the “forever” he’s so casually slipped in.
I haven’t used the L-word again, mostly because I don’t want him to feel pressured to say it back before he’s ready. But I’m almost afraid to learn he isn’t there yet, because I can’t imagine his affection having any room to grow. He’s already been making me feel so loved and adored.
The oven door swings shut, and Landry turns to lean back against the counter in our tiny kitchen. He crosses his arms and smirks at me while I take him in.
“What?” he asks, shaking his head.
My face warms, and I shrug. “Nothing. It’s just … you’re so cute.”
He snorts, but his cheeks darken, too. “No, you’re cute. I’m … what’s the opposite of cute?”
“Sexy?” I offer.
He lifts his brow in appreciation. “Am I?”
I don’t even bother with a verbal answer as I close in the space between us again.
“You’ll have to start a separate timer on your phone for this,” he mumbles in between kisses. “Mine’s already set for the oven.”
“Can’t we just use the same one for both?”
A rumble resonates from deep within his chest, and he grasps my hips firmly as he moves his mouth to my jaw. “I don’t know. I can do a lot in forty-five minutes, Blondie.”
I shiver at the thought of what he might accomplish with that much time. “Fine, just let me get my phone out.”
“Go ahead. Don’t mind me,” he says as he continues down my neck.
I giggle. “Right, because you’re making it so easy for me to concentrate.”
He groans and nips at my shoulder. “Okay, I’ll quit for now. But I’m not sorry for making you think I’m so sexy,” he teases when he straightens.
I shove him playfully. “How do we manage our jobs and everything after this? What do normal married couples do?”
“ It , probably.” He grins, and I attempt to reprimand him with a glare, but I’m unable to stop myself from smiling. “They go on a honeymoon to get it out of their systems, I suppose,” he adds, reaching out to hook his fingers through mine. “But I think that could backfire in our case. I have a feeling it’s going to take more than a week of being trapped in a hotel room together to reconcile this much attraction.”
That one nearly knocks the wind out of me, and it takes me a second to remember how my lungs are supposed to work.
Oh, right. They’re involuntary.
“So what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” I choke out.
He bites his lip and shakes his head, his eyes locked onto mine. “Hell if I know.”
“Maybe we need a diversion. Going back to work might be for the best,” I offer, still trying to regulate my breathing. “And I should probably be studying for my certification test next week.”
He furrows his brow. “You’re still planning on taking the home ec position?”
“I haven’t found a better option,” I reply with a shrug.
“Hmm. Where’s that study guide?” he demands, his tone shifting. I point to the book on the coffee table, and he marches over to the living room to retrieve it.
He holds the book up in front of me when he returns. “Daisy, do you want to keep teaching?”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “But I?—”
He interrupts me by taking the book in both hands and splitting it down the spine with barely a strain. Then he turns and dumps it into the trash can behind him.
“Landry, what are you doing?” I cry, my eyes wide.
“I’m not letting you force yourself into a career that isn’t making you happy,” he says plainly.
I cringe. “No, I mean, that wasn’t my study guide! I borrowed it from Claire.”
“Oh.” He lets out a loud exhale. “I’ll buy her another one. But only if you promise not to take that test … or that job.”
“I can’t promise you either of those,” I say, laughing incredulously.
“Yes, you can.” He steps forward and takes my hand again. “Let me handle the financial stuff until you figure out what you really want to do.”
I swallow hard. “I can’t ask you to do that. Not when we’re just …”
He frowns. “I know you can take care of yourself, and I’m not trying to rob you of your independence. But we’re still married, at least for now, and I took a vow to support you. Let me help you, please.”
I let go of his hand and take a step back. My chin trembles, and it takes me a couple of tries before I can speak again without my voice cracking. “Do you really want to help me? Or are you doing this to make yourself feel better about divorcing me in a month or two?”
“Daisy,” he begins. “I may not have all that long-term stuff figured out yet, but I meant it when I said I was reconsidering my stance on commitment for you.” Then he pauses and shakes his head. “No, that didn’t come out right. Being with you makes me want to rethink commitment for my own sake. And I think we should hold off on a divorce until we make absolutely certain it’s the right decision.”
I blink at him as his words settle. “So you basically want a Josephite marriage until you come around to deciding what’s best for both of us?”
“A what?”
I barely suppress an eye roll. “You want to skip ahead to the part where we act like a married couple in every way except we’ll have to remain celibate while you figure out whether you can handle commitment?”
He cringes. “Well, when you put it that way …”
“Look, I know what you’re trying to do. You want to keep me on your insurance as long as you can, but …” I trail off when I see his expression fall.
“It’s not about that,” he says sadly, shaking his head. “Well, it’s not just about that. And it doesn’t have anything to do with the extent of my feelings for you, if I’m being honest. I just need more time to consider what a lifetime with me might do to you. I can’t bear the thought of killing your spirit, Daisy, and it sounds like that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
I sigh and step forward to take his hand in mine again. “You’re right, I’m not being very optimistic right now. But the truth is that I’m scared, too, because I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want this with you. And even though I wholeheartedly trust you to take care of me, regardless of what happens between us, allowing myself to depend on you for everything is only going to make it that much harder if things don’t work out in the end. I’m not trying to force you to make any kind of declarations before you’re ready, but I can’t keep letting you save me if you can’t promise me forever.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry. I get it, though. I think I may finally be trending in the right direction but trying to force things out of order. And if it seems like I’m giving you all kinds of mixed signals, it’s only because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
I laugh softly. “Maybe.”
“How about we table the job discussion for now?”
“No, I think I’ve made my decision … somewhat,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m going tell them I’d like to continue working as a substitute teacher for now, at least until they find a permanent replacement for Mrs. Joanie. That is, if you’re okay with leaving me on your policy until I figure things out.”
He looks relieved. “Of course.”
“I realized it wouldn’t be fair for me to take the position, anyway, since I’ll probably need some time to get everything settled with my service dog. And I think I should make that my priority for now, even if it means being patient and accepting help, because having an SRD could open up more possibilities for me in the future.”
“Look at you, adulting like a pro.” He grins and wraps me up in a hug.
“I know, right?” I say with a laugh.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“Thank you,” I mumble, my eyes watering. “I’m proud of myself, too.”
He laughs and pulls away, stopping for a short kiss on the lips this time. But I fist my hands in his shirt and hold him there, and one small kiss leads to another. And before we know it, he’s lifting me and setting me down on the countertop, and I’m tugging his shirt up over his head. His hands slide up my bare thighs, his fingertips edging beneath the cuff of the cutoff shorts he asked me to put on this morning, and I’m not sure whether I’m more annoyed or relieved when the alarm begins blaring on his phone.