Kate #3
I consider making a risqué comment. It would be so easy to bring some life back into his face.
But instead I straddle his thighs and lower myself onto his lap.
It’s more of a squat, since I don’t trust his strength or this rickety old chair to support both of us, but it takes some pressure off my lower back and puts me at the perfect height to finish trimming his overgrown beard.
But here, I’m close to him. Closer than I’ve been in weeks.
The heat of his breath unfurls something deep in my core, and the dark expanses of his eyes melt me.
I silently remind myself that I can’t treat him like the husband I know and love right now.
It takes everything in me to keep from kissing him.
Grinding against his lap. Running my hands all over his body and feeling his touch all over mine.
Who knew shaving his face could be this intimate?
I take a deep breath before resuming the beard trim.
Jackson cuts through the silence. “Was this what it was like when you took care of my mom?”
“Yes, I also frequently shaved her face.” I laugh, my finger tilting his chin up.
“No. This isn’t the same at all. For one, because by the time I arrived, there wasn’t any hope to be found here.
My job was ensuring she was comfortable for her last few months.
And for two, because that was a job and this is me upholding my end of our wedding vows. ”
“Mom didn’t make it to our wedding, I’m guessing?”
“We eloped, so nobody came, actually.” The memory of that day inflates my chest. “But no, we didn’t get married until a few years after she’d passed.
She knew how I felt about you, though. I didn’t have anybody else around here to confide in, and Lucy was such a romantic.
She loved hearing every little detail—the first time you and I sat up talking all night, our first kiss, all of it. She ate it up.”
I feel the weight of his gaze as I start trimming the hair on his upper lip.
At one point I’d tried hard to convince him that a mustache would look good, and he argued until he was blue in the face that he’d look like he belonged in a seventies porn movie.
This would be the perfect opportunity to run away with the trimmer, but I don’t think he’d fight me on it.
And oddly enough, that makes the idea of him sporting a mustache so much less exciting to me.
Once I’m confident I haven’t missed patches of hair, I tilt back slightly to check that his sideburns are even, and Jackson’s large hand instinctively comes up to brace my back.
I feel the burn of his splayed fingers through my shirt.
The protective grip of his fingertips firmly pressing into my flesh.
Heat prickles from my core down the fronts of my thighs.
“You good?” he asks.
Honestly? No…yes…I don’t know.
I want things to be normal, so I can kiss my husband and drag him into the shower to wash off the small whiskers scattered over us like itchy glitter.
“Y-yeah. Had to check my handiwork.” With a sexually frustrated exhale, I peel myself from his lap before I do something crazy like kiss him. “More handsome than ever.”
I step aside so he can see himself in the large bathroom mirror. He beams at the reflection, twisting his head side to side for the full view, then his eyes meet mine. “Looks good.”
I brush a couple stray hairs from his chest. “Should we do your balls now?”
He bites back a smile, lips rolling together. Like I’m twenty again, I’m addicted to seeing this man get flustered around me. Might follow through with the push-up bra, short shorts, and sparkly boots, after all.
“How about my head?” It lists sideways so the shaved patch is visible in the mirror.
The surgery site is healing nicely and looks significantly less scary since they removed the staples a few days ago.
His fingers gingerly stroke the thick, red scar.
“Might make this mess back here less noticeable if my entire head’s shaved to match. ”
“I love this scar.” I reach out and place my hand on his. “This is the reason you’re still alive, and that’s the only thing I care about.”
Our hands fall away from the stubble of brown hair surrounding the scar running across his head. And Jackson slowly stands to brush loose beard hair from his shirt, littering the bathroom counter and sink.
“Shit. Sorry.” He grimaces, frantically splashing water around, trying his best to clean up after himself.
“Damn, like you never left. All this facial hair on the counter.” I shake my head in annoyance, but it’s hard to be irritated with something so small when I consider how close we came to not having him here at all.
“Trying to fake it ’til I make it with this husband thing.”
“Oh, yeah?” I chuckle. “What are your plans for today?”
Maybe we could sit out on the porch swing, or he could play blocks with Rhett, or he could come to the kitchen and visit with his family, or…
“Honestly…I’m so tired, I could fall asleep standing up. The damn painkillers tire me out.”
“Oh…” I try my best to hide my disappointment. “Well, we don’t need you doing that. I have a ton of work to catch up on, anyway. I’ll refill your water, then leave you be.”
I help him finish cleaning the counter with a damp cloth, then urge him toward the dark bedroom.
“Thank you for all of this, Kate.”
“Napping while you ate pancakes, then sitting on your lap and shaving your beard. I’m so hard done by.” I watch him flop down on the bed. “Get some rest, handsome.”
When the bedroom door shuts and I’m alone in the hallway, I clutch his empty water glass to my chest and curl in on myself with a silent sob.