15. nix
NIX
I step onto the front porch and adjust the cuffs at my wrists, then ring the doorbell.
It only takes a few moments before I see her outline heading toward me through the frosted glass of the double front doors, but it feels like it takes forever.
I can tell she’s uncertain of who’s at the front door by the quiet, cautious way she’s moving.
I wanted our evening out to truly feel like a date, so I made my way out of the house without telling her.
I want to woo my wife. My truck is washed and parked in the driveway, ready for our escape.
She pauses at the screen on the wall that displays our front porch area. “Good girl,” I murmur.
Within seconds, the front door flies open, and Abbi literally steals my breath.
A soft pink knitted dress hugs her curves down to her knees, and while it isn’t revealing with its crew neck, it leaves nothing to my imagination.
I know exactly what’s hiding beneath the fabric—well, I used to know.
My eyes drop to her feet, covered in high-heeled black boots that come a short way up her calves, leaving roughly twelve inches of her sexy legs exposed for my perusal.
My eyes continue to trace a path up her body, noting the curve of her hips, which is more pronounced these days than it used to be, and the soft roundness of her stomach that never quite went away after carrying our two babies no matter how many exercises she did.
She hates that part of her body, but I adore it because it shows how incredible she is.
I used to love resting my head there while she scraped her short nails through my buzz cut.
We’d talk about the kids and our hopes and dreams for them well into the night whenever I was home on leave.
She’d catch me up on the little details of their lives that were too insignificant to mention during our timed calls, and I’d soak up just being with her and the soothing sound of her voice.
My gaze travels further, noting the way the soft fabric falls over her breasts and higher to her beautiful face.
Abbi can be red-nosed and puffy-eyed, suffering from hay fever and I still consider her the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but when she’s made up for an evening out, she is in a class all of her own.
Her raised eyebrows and wide gaze peer at me as if she can’t make sense of what she’s seeing.
Her mouth drops open a little, and I know I’ve caught her off guard by knocking at the front door to pick her up for our date.
“Abbi,” I breathe as I drag the bouquet of pink peonies out from behind my back.
It’s a similar arrangement to the one she carried down the aisle toward me on our wedding day.
I chose it to remind her of our happier days, hoping to set the tone for this evening.
It’s only the second time she’s allowed me to take her out since she asked for a divorce, and I want to make tonight memorable for her and hopefully make some progress toward permanent healing.
Her beautiful dark eyes drop to the flowers and then snap back up to my face. My smile is rusty, feeling stiff and foreign on my lips, so I try to push the edges of my lips up higher, hoping I don’t look like a serial killer.
“Nix?”
I hold the flowers up a little and step in close to press a kiss to the silky skin of her cheek, then move my lips closer to her ear.
“You look beautiful,” I whisper as I gently glide my hand down the length of her hair.
She has it curly tonight. When I pull back, her eyes glow with warmth beneath the golden porch lights, and my lips tip up in a genuine smile when I see the look of wonder on her gorgeous face.
“Th-thank you. I-I didn’t expect any of this.” Her eyes drop to the pink blooms in her hand, and a slow grin exposes her dimples. “These are beautiful; they remind me of my wed—”
“Wedding bouquet,” I finish, and she nods.
“Let me put these in water, and I’ll be back!
” She spins on her heel and rushes back into the house, and like a gentleman picking up my date for the first time, I don’t step foot over the threshold, waiting for her to return.
However, being a gentleman only goes so far, and my eyes devour the sight of her tight, curvy ass in that skin-tight dress. Damn!
I already left a vase filled with water on the counter, so I know she won’t take long.
Tonight is an important night for us—not that Abbi knows my intentions—and I don’t want to mess up anything.
I want everything to be perfect. My stomach twists and turns as I think over some of the things I want to share with Abs tonight.
I only hope it helps us to build a bridge between us, as Harry suggested.
When she returns to the front door, she’s a little breathless, and her cheeks hold a pretty pink hue. She tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear and smiles shyly. “Thank you again.”
“It’s the least you deserve,” I tell her with a morose smile. Guilt has been festering inside me for weeks. Her request to end our marriage was a huge wake-up call. One I’m not taking lightly. The mistakes I’ve made won’t be repeated if I can help it.
She grabs a coat and her purse, then locks and closes the front door.
When she turns, I’m waiting with my arm outstretched, ready to take her hand.
Once I have her hand secured in mine, I tug her close and press a kiss to her temple, holding my lips in place for a few precious moments.
My eyes drop closed, savoring the peace I feel being this close to my wife.
Grateful that she’s giving me another chance to make things right between us.
I open the door to my truck and help her inside, dragging the seatbelt across her body to ensure she’s safe.
I smile to myself as I close the door and round the front of my vehicle.
When I climb inside and turn on the ignition, the playlist I chose for our ride starts automatically.
Abbi doesn’t seem to notice as I place my arm behind her and reverse down our driveway to the road.
We’re both quiet as the sounds of Madonna’s Vogue fill the cabin, and I head toward what used to be our favorite restaurant for date nights.
I can’t even remember the last time I took Abbi on a date.
Work commitments have ruled my life when I should have let my employees step up and take on more responsibility so I could focus on my family.
I’ve already missed too much time with them all because of my years in the Rangers.
Now that I’m home permanently, there’s no excuse to be absent.
The song changes to King of Wishful Thinking by Go West, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Abbi face me, her lips widening a little. “These songs take me back to good times.”
I look at her. “My evil plan is working then,” I say with a wink.
We both chuckle, and she reaches across to slap my thigh playfully.
I capture her hand and hold it in place, taking it as a win when she doesn’t pull away.
A familiar comfort I took for granted settles between us as I rub my thumb back and forth across her soft skin to the beat, while she hums the tune coming from the speakers.
We pull into the parking lot to George Michael and the smile that lights up my wife’s face could sustain me for the rest of my days. “Oh, Nix. We haven’t been here in so long.” The way she’s practically bouncing in her seat reinforces that I made the right choice for tonight.
“I know.” I find an empty spot, park, and turn off the engine, then swivel in my seat so I’m facing her.
“I’ll apologize every day for the rest of my life for taking our relationship for granted.
For taking you for granted. I hope I can earn your heart again,” I tell her, hoping she can hear my promise to do better …
be better in my voice. “I know I can do better. Be a better husband.”
Her smile falls, and the joy that was in her eyes a few moments ago is nowhere to be seen.
I did that. I stole her joy. Again. “Nix.” She wraps her hand over mine and squeezes—she may as well be squeezing my heart—pausing until our eyes lock.
“Both of us can do better.” She leans forward and softly presses her lips against mine.
It’s barely a butterfly touch, but I feel it all the way to the deepest recesses of my soul …
the connection I always feel when I’m with Abbi.
It’s still there for me, and I can only hope it’s still there for her.
We study each other for a long moment, and then her lips tip up a little, and I think we’re okay … for now. I just need to ensure my head stays out of my ass, and I may have a chance at saving my marriage. “Shall we?”
She nods and unclips her seatbelt. I take my cue to climb out and head around to open her door, like the gentleman my mother raised me to be.
Once her feet are on the ground, I lock my truck and link my fingers through my wife’s, grateful when she lets me.
We walk along the cracked sidewalk, and I pull the door open, guiding Abbi inside toward the hostess with my hand resting low on her back.
A woman about our age with jet-black hair greets us with a warm smile. “Welcome to Parable. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes, we do. Nixon Steele.”