Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mike
“Ren,” I whispered, “we’re home.” My wife had fallen asleep, and my chest constricted as I watched hers expand and contract. My wife. I pulled her into my arms and shut the door as easily as I could with my foot. I wanted to kiss her again so badly that my chest ached.
“Mike,” she murmured sleepily, her eyes blinking open.
“Hey, sleepyhead. We’re home,” I whispered, holding back the urge to wake her up with that kiss I was longing for.
She jostled slightly as I walked to the door. “I can walk. You don’t have to--.”
“Not sure if it’s an Italian tradition or not, but I will be carrying you over the threshold, my little Spitfire.”
Ren looked up at me, her light brown eyes narrowed. “Spitfire?”
I juggled her and my keys, finally getting us both inside, setting her down triumphantly. “Yes, my dear. That’s your new nickname.”
She snorted, our banter making her slightly more awake. “Vicky gets Little Fairy and Leyla gets Hyatim.”
I shrugged. “Then you shouldn’t be so stubborn.”
I took her by the hand, heading for the guest bedroom I’d prepared for her. She’d never been here before, and we both looked nervous as she stood in the open doorway, peering in.
“Too tired to argue, but you’re going to change that name soon,” she warned with a wide yawn. Vicky had sent Miles over earlier to leave Ren’s bag. When her parents left the next day, we would get the rest of her things.
“We’ll see about that,” I said with a smirk. We both stood there, not quite sure what to do. Finally, I leaned over and kissed both her cheeks. She seemed to like that earlier. “Happy wedding day, Ren.”
She closed her eyes and nodded with a smile. “Happy wedding day, Mike.” She opened her eyes, and I waited to see if she’d say more, but she walked into the room and quietly closed the door. I leaned my head onto it for a breath.
“Night, my wife.”
Ren and I pulled away from the airport after seeing her parents off.
They’d let her know that the apartment in Tuscany had been taken care of, and the things she didn’t need would be moved to their home in Rome.
Whatever personal items she wanted would be shipped to her here, making a trip back to Italy unnecessary.
I was relieved knowing she didn’t have to come and go again, as I’d mentioned to my parents.
Our pastor was going to handle sending the marriage license to the county clerk’s office, and once the official marriage certificate was issued, we could start the immigration process.
“Have you looked up what we have to do to apply for your work visa?” I asked as we passed the harbor.
Ren breathed out heavily. “Yes. The lawyer who helped Vicky said that once we get the marriage certificate, we could apply for several things at once: my green card application and marriage petition, which is 10 to 18 months, and a work visa, which, thankfully, is much less, at three to six months. We could fill out that package from home, then wait for the immigration interview appointment. Citizenship could take up to three years or more.”
“Okay, well, we knew this would be a long process. I’ll check tomorrow with the clerk’s office, then get a packet with all the paperwork.” I leaned my hand over the center console and held her hand. One day at a time.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
Ren enjoyed our wedding, that much was clearly evident. The way she talked to me, that sweet second kiss, our banter all added up to what I hoped was her starting to feel something deeper than just our friendship.
Sneaking a quick look at her profile as I drove, I could see her mind whirling around.
With the conversation of paperwork and long processes, it made sense.
But I’d seen that same look a few times yesterday at the wedding.
It was as if she couldn’t let herself go completely.
I knew her confession that she didn’t know if she was capable of being in love had been worrisome to her.
But everything since then had seemed to change.
Or at least I had hoped so. My plan was to keep loving her, showing up for her, and praying she’d see we were meant to be together.
“How about I make you something really special for dinner tonight?” I offered.
She turned her head to face away from me, but not before I saw her smile. When I pulled up to a traffic light, I leaned over to see her face.
Ren looked over at me and said, “That sounds great, Mike. Just as long as it’s not stir-fry. I hate the stuff.” Her face was screwed up like she’d smelled something sour.
My face fell. “What?”
“Stir-fry. I’m up for anything but that,” she repeated, her body shuddering. I’d looked at her, heartbroken that I’d never be able to make her my special meal, when the car behind me honked impatiently.
I waved and kept driving, still unsure what to say.
Her shaking shoulders made me quickly glance at her again, and I realized she was silently laughing. When her eyes met mine, a loud laugh barreled out of her.
Understanding dawned, and I shook my head. “Are you serious, right now? They told you? When?”
Ren was still trying to compose herself, but every time she looked at me, she’d start up again. Soon, we were both laughing like hyenas.
Finally catching her breath and holding her chest, she spat out, “Last night after the wedding.”
“I’m gonna kill them.”
“I wish you could’ve seen your face,” she said with a snort, her curls bouncing as she shook her head.
“So not funny, Spitfire. So not funny.” I pulled up into our driveway (I really liked saying that), parked, and turned off the truck.
“I’m sorry, Mike. I couldn’t help it. I was going to go along with it and just enjoy your ‘special’ meal,” she said, her fingers wildly making quotes. “But this was so much better.”
“And you wonder where I got Spitfire from.” She scoffed as I slid out and walked around to help her down.
“The man who spoke vows to me in Italian can’t come up with a better nickname.” She said this as she carefully climbed down from the tall truck, refusing my help this time. I stood there with my eyebrows high, with a look that conveyed “see what I mean?”
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, not moving fast enough to cover her smile.
We walked into the house, and I pulled out my phone to text my neighbor about picking up Max from him. His wedding gift was watching him for us last night.
“I’m getting Max back in about an hour. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
She pushed her purse higher on her shoulder and looked around. “Me too. I’ve never had a dog, so this will be fun. Mike, do you not have a bowl or something to put your keys in when you get home? You know, something decorative?”
I looked down at where I’d thrown them on the kitchen island. Her eyes followed, and she smiled. “If you’d like, I could get us some items that could help with organization. But only if you want.”
“Ren, this is your home, too, so yes. Please do what would make you comfortable.”
She squeezed my forearm when she passed, her eyes and hand lingering on it.
I looked down too, unsure what held her attention once again.
She’d looked at them strangely last night, too.
If anything, I feared Ren wouldn’t like that I had so much hair.
I had Grandpa to thank for that. Luckily, he had a full head of it even into his late seventies.
I had teased her about my hairy chest when she mentioned how she liked her espresso strong, but her answer was not clear.
“Thank you, Mike. That means a lot. Hey, I’d love to see your man cave Grammy told me about.” Her eyes were wide with curiosity and mischief. I loved that she was interested.
“Speaking of that, I don’t think I’ve told you how much I love my wedding band. I can’t stop looking at it.”
She smiled, pleased with my statement. “There’s a beautiful artisan Vicky told me about. When I saw it, I knew it was made for you.”
I wanted to say, I was made for her as well, but decided to just smile back.
“Okay, change into something you don’t mind getting dirty, then I’ll show you my workshop.”
A few minutes later, we walked down the back patio steps and took the cement paver path to my shed. Grammy referred to it as a workshop, but it was a glorified shed most people stored lawnmowers and such.
“Oh, the smell of this place is amazing,” Ren said, picking up scraps of wood and smelling them. I laughed to myself, knowing I did the same thing.
“I’ve been working with cedar lately. That’s what smells so good.” I lifted a cloth off the gift I’d made for her while she was looking around, picking up tools and smiling.
“Mike, this is incredible,” she said, looking around as she spun in a circle. When her gaze came back to me, she looked down at what I had in my hands. “Oh my gosh, that’s beautiful.”
She walked over to me, and I handed it to her. Turning it around, her hands reverently passed over the striations in the wood. Engraved in the corner were gardenias.
“It’s for you. Well, for us, I guess. It’s a cutting board for all that stir-fry I intend to make you eat after your laugh fest at my expense.”
She chuckled and brought it to her nose, inhaling with a hum. Her fingers traced the flower’s outline. “I forgive you for your lack of culinary prowess. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.” Stepping closer, she kissed my cheek.
“You’re welcome. Glad you like it. The gardenia reminds me of you.”
“Mike, it’s perfect and incredibly sweet. Grammy was right. You could easily sell these.” She was still marveling over it.
Everything about woodworking brought me joy, but selling the pieces I’d made didn’t seem feasible. I gave most of them away to friends who reacted the same way as Ren had.
“Think so?”
Ren looked at me. “Absolutely. Once our design firm is up and running, I intend to feature these proudly. No matter what happens, I will help you see your worth.”
My eyes narrowed, trying to decipher what she’d meant, but she interrupted me. “Look at how beautiful this is.”