16. Astrid
ASTRID
Declan: I can’t make it to lunch today. Can I take you to dinner instead?
I stare at the text message from my husband.
He can’t make it to lunch?
What could’ve possibly come up? He’s been in town less than forty-eight hours. It’s not like he has friends here. I’m not sure he has friends other than Iris anywhere.
He got along great with the team last night.
Yeah, yeah, of course he did.
Declan is charming when he wants to be. And it’s very hard not to like the hockey players.
I sigh.
Last night was really nice.
Not just at Perks and Rec, but also at home.
At home when we were kissing.
The kissing was really nice.
But also when he was so upset about me having a simple, small splinter in my hand. And when he was taking care of it. And when he was taking care of the ducks.
If I had known that Declan O’Grady would actually be a caregiver, I would have been even more adamant about avoiding him.
He’s becoming impossible to resist. And I was already having a very hard time not having big feelings for him.
The feelings were more than physical last night but…those were there too, for sure, and stronger than ever.
But then he petted a duck.
His big hand gently moving over the little ducks’ heads, him looking intimidated by the little creatures, but caring for them anyway.
I didn’t give myself an orgasm last night before I fell asleep as part of my pelvic floor physical therapy. I did it because I had to. He had me all worked up, and I couldn’t fall asleep without it. And then I had very dirty dreams. About him.
That’s not new. It happens a lot, in fact. But last night…whew.
Which is why I slipped out of the house extra early this morning, left him a note, went to hide out in my office at the arena, and answered his text asking if I’m okay and if he can take me to lunch with a simple okay.
But now he’s putting me off.
I suppose something could have come up with work in Portland, and he had to jump on a conference call or something.
Astrid: That’s fine. Everything okay?
I send it before I think about it. Why do I care if everything’s okay? He’s a grown man who has been running his huge, very successful business for years on his own. Certainly without me.
Declan: I have people at the house. But don’t come home. And Oscar is fine, he’s with Patty. And the ducks are fine.
I stare at the message, trying to make sense of it. But not a single word of what he sent truly computes.
He has people at the house? My house? That almost sounds…social. I do appreciate that he knew Oscar and the ducks would be a concern to me. But I’m not supposed to come home? To my own house?
Oh, he has to know that is not going to work.
“I need to run home for a minute,” I say to Nora and Sutton.
I got bored alone in my office after a few hours, so I headed to city hall again, and have been hanging out in the Parks and Rec office.
Nora didn’t hesitate to put me to work. I cut out cardstock cookies, cupcakes, and pies for some down-the-road bake sale, then they gave me an extra laptop to design a flyer for a bus trip over to Autre to the animal park.
But now, Sutton suddenly straightens, and Nora says quickly, “No, don’t go home! Stay with us.”
“What? Why?”
Sutton jumps in. “Yeah, stay here. We could use your help with…” She scans the whiteboard.
“Gardening Club,” Nora replies without looking.
I prop a hand on my hip. I am not the Gardening Club type. I have lots of flowers and plants around my house, but they were all there when I moved in, and thankfully, the Louisiana climate takes care of them without me needing to do a thing.
While I do appreciate the beautiful lushness of my yard, I don’t have the first idea how to keep it going without the temperate climate, occasional rainfall, and seeming constant humidity.
They know something about what’s going on at my house.
“Okay, girls, why can’t I go home?”
“Alex is just over at your place hanging out with Declan,” Nora says breezily, waving a hand.
I think about that. First, is Alex “people”? Declan could have just said my brother was over at the house. And why can’t I come home if Alex is there? And is one person “people”? No.
Besides, I wouldn't exactly call Declan and Alex friends. They’re acquaintances. And now they’re brothers-in-law. As the Grays' owner, Declan is Alex’s ex-boss, too. Alex is over getting cut from the team, but I still wouldn’t call the men friends.
“Why is Alex hanging out with Declan?” I ask.
“He knows Declan doesn’t know anyone here. He’s trying to help him feel more comfortable.”
Nora won’t meet my eyes. My very sweet future sister-in-law is a terrible liar.
“Alex is Team Miles,” I tell her.
“I don’t think so,” she says, her gaze finally bouncing up to mine. “I mean, he doesn’t think you and Miles should get married or anything.”
“No, but he likes Miles better.”
Nora sighs. She can’t deny that.
I look at Sutton. “Is Beckett over there too?” I don’t know why this occurs to me except that Sutton and Beckett are joined at the hip and Beckett can’t keep a secret to save his life.
He also has stars in his eyes when it comes to my husband.
If he’s over there “hanging out,” it’s very possible he bragged about it to his sister.
Sutton doesn’t even try to lie. She nods. “Yeah, they’re helping with some work on the house,” she spills.
“The house?” I repeat. “My house?”
Sutton nods, but now she looks a little worried.
“What kind of work?” I demand.
Sutton swipes a finger across the screen of her phone, then turns it so I can see it.
It’s a selfie from Beckett. He’s grinning, holding up a hammer, standing on the roof of my house in front of the attic window that has been completely torn out.
She lifts her hand and swipes again. The video makes my mouth drop open.
It’s Declan. He’s on a ladder, with a drill in hand, wearing yet another T-shirt that hugs his body and shows off the bunching of his shoulders and back muscles as he does whatever he’s doing to the frame of the window on the side of my house.
The one in the living room. The one I can wiggle open when I forget my keys and can’t get into the house.
It’s only happened once, and it was before I put a key under the otter statue on my porch. Hey, I came from a high-rise building in Portland where we had keypads. I wasn’t used to keeping track of an actual key that had to be on a keychain in my purse or pocket to get in and out of my apartment.
“They’re replacing windows?” I ask.
I try to ignore the twinge of disappointment I feel when Sutton turns her phone away from me, and I lose sight of Declan O’Grady doing manual labor with a power tool.
That is an image I do not need to have in my head.
Or maybe you do. That could be handy when you’re working on your therapy.
Yeah, yeah, so I’ve been using images of my husband while I work on my pelvic floor physical therapy.
I am working with dilators and a massage wand to stretch and relax my tight muscles, and it’s simply easier when I’m turned on. Because sex, especially penetration, is painful, I tend to tense up further even when imagining sex.
So, I’m also supposed to mentally rehearse sex.
It’s just like the visualization basketball players use to work on their shots or pianists use to work on their pieces when they’re away from the piano.
I’m supposed to visualize actual sex while I work with my fingers and vibrators to give myself orgasms.
Thea, my physical therapist, is the only one who knows that Declan is the one I envision, that I wear one of his button-down shirts at night, that I bought the same bodywash he uses, and that I shower with it at night before bed to surround myself with his scent.
Including Declan in my therapy always works to help me relax and anticipate pleasure rather than pain. In my fantasies, he’s take-charge, dominant, dirty, but caring and patient and…perfect. Like he is in everything he does.
A lot like he was when he thought I was choking on shrimp.
Exactly the way he was last night when he was kissing me, and then when he realized how hazardous my porch is, and when I had a splinter.
Turns out my fantasy Declan is pretty damned close to real-life Declan.
But I have always envisioned him as the put-together, somewhat intimidating businessman in his suits and ties at his desk. Now he’s adding to my fantasy fodder. T-shirt, bulging muscles, flat stomach, perfect ass…and power tools.
“I don’t know why they’re doing it,” Sutton says, holding her hands up. “I just know Beckett is really excited to be there with everyone.”
“Wait, everyone?”
“Well, Wes was hired for the job,” Nora says. “But because it was so last minute and a rush job, Wes recruited the whole hockey team. At least as many of them as could show up.”
I stare at them, processing this.
“So my hockey team is at my house replacing windows?”
“And your front door,” Nora says. “And they’re doing something in your backyard.”
Sutton nods, turning the phone again and showing me a photo of more guys out behind my house, working on my fence.
“And,” Nora starts, but I know what she’s going to say even before she fills in, “Your porch.”
Sutton looks at me with wide eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask Sutton.
“Because…” She glances at Nora.
Nora just shrugs. “Everyone knows your porch is a disaster. And everyone wants it fixed up. The town took up a collection.”
“What?” I look back and forth between them. “Why does everyone suddenly care about my porch so much?”
“Oh, it was months ago. Before your hot, rich husband came to town and started handing out money.” Nora grins. Then shrugs. “It’s overgrown and falling apart. I mean, the yard in front of the porch is overgrown, so it’s hard to see but people know.”
“It’s lush. And the plants are native.” I assume they’re native. I actually don’t know. “It’s really pretty and green and…natural.” The big fern-looking things and flowering bushy things are kind of nice. I think.
“It’s green,” Nora agrees.