Chapter 45
MORNING WOOD
GREY
This can't be real.
It's almost the only coherent thought I've had since I walked in the door last night. Molly's making coffee. I'm stirring pancake batter. She already put the pan in the stove to heat up and got out the eggs. We've been working around each other like this like it's second nature.
She catches me watching her and smiles, her hair wild and curly and shot with sunshine. She's wearing my jersey again, my name on her back, her feet bare and those goddamn shorts on. Her velvety brown eyes are soft and full of adoration and understanding and love, and I bask in it, in her.
This can't be real.
I can't stop looking at her, so I smirk, wink so she'll look away and I can watch her again in peace. I've never known anything like this, never known anyone like her. Everything is different now because of her.
I'm different.
I don't want to go back. I can't go back to the lonely life I had, the lonely man I was before her. Now knowing that this exists, Molly in the morning light with the scent of coffee in the air and her in my shirt. The terrifying possibility of this every morning. Her, always and forever.
I can't imagine my life without her in it anymore.
Distantly, I understand what's happening--the feeling is pressing, insistent. The word hovering, unspoken between us.
I feel it in every moment like a physical presence.
Last night, it was on my lips, waiting to be spoken into existence.
It's not just the sex--though, fuck, the sex--it's how she trusted me completely, without hesitation.
How she looked at me like I was everything.
It's in everything I do, every move I make from the whisk in my hand to the way I touch her, as if my fingertips could whisper it to her skin, my lips sigh it into her mouth.
This morning, I woke up to her again, her body soft and small and warm against mine. Lost myself in her again. Found myself in her again.
For the next eleven days, I hope I never have to come up for air.
As she passes, I grab her around the waist and pull her into me, leaning to press my lips to hers for a long, lazy kiss. She melts into me, her arms winding around my neck until we part.
"What was that for?" She asks, smiling.
"Just…you."
She beams. "I like just you kisses."
I steal one more and let her go. "Good. You're gonna get a lot of them."
"I'm the luckiest girl," she says, meaning it. She heads for the eggs and starts to crack them into a bowl.
"You've got that backward, peaches. It's me who's lucky you'll put up with a grumpy old asshole like me."
"Well, that's easy since you're not grumpy with me."
"Maybe not anymore, but I used to be."
"And why was that?" She asks knowingly.
"'Cause I wasn't allowed to have you."
"I always thought that was a dumb, self-imposed rule designed to torture us both."
I snort a laugh.
"Hard to be happy when you've always got yourself restrained."
"You've seen what happens when I'm off the leash."
She pins me with a look. "Are you kidding? Off the leash Grey is my favorite."
Chuckling, I lean over to kiss her again. "I can see you appreciate him now, but I woulda scared the shit out of you a couple of months ago."
"Maybe, but I wasn't going anywhere."
"No, you sure fucking weren't," I tease.
"Hey, you were the one who was like Sigh, I'll teach you baseball. Sigh, I'll fix your house. Sigh, I'll sleep over." She says it in that low pitched, dumb boy voice. I can't stop smiling.
"Well, you were all, Oh, coach--teach me how to drink. Oh, coach--teach me how to play baseball. Oh, coach--teach me how to kiss," I say in my high pitched, girly voice.
She can't stop smiling. "Well, how else was I going to get you to kiss me? Good god, did you need a permission slip from my mother?"
"Why, think she would have given you one?"
A laugh bursts out of her. "Had I gone to public school, I doubt she'd give me one for the museum, never mind fucking my coach."
I almost choke. "Jesus peaches. Your mouth. I swear."
One of her brows arches. "You weren't complaining about my mouth this morning when your cock was--"
I shut her up with another kiss, this one long enough that I smell the first pancake burning. With a swear, I leave her blinking up at me as I flip the pancake and confirm its ruin.
When I glance back at her, she's still looking at me like I'm the pancake, dripping with butter and syrup.
This can't be real.
"Watch it, babygirl, or we're skipping another meal."
"I will happily skip every meal if it means you'll do what you did to me last night instead."
"I'd make a promise, but I'm afraid we'll starve to death."
She picks up the bowl of eggs, tucking it her waist, laughing as she walks past me, bumping my hip on the way. "Wouldn't be a bad way to go. What all should we do today, since we're apparently not allowed to spend the day in bed." I get a pointed look.
"Trust me--we are gonna spend so much time in bed, you're not gonna be able to walk straight.
" God, I love the sound of her laughter.
"I wanted to go down to Hal's and order a window.
I was thinking…" I pause, unsure all of a sudden, eyes on the pancake as I flip it.
"Well, I thought maybe we could put a bay window in instead of the two that were there.
I could make you a window seat for your library. "
She stills. "How much more will that cost?"
"Don't worry about that."
"Grey--"
"Molly." I set down the spatula and turn to face her fully. "I want to do this. For you. For us."
"But it's my house, my money--"
"See, that's the thing." I step closer, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I don't see it that way. Remember what I told you after the storm? That I don't see your problems--I see ours?"
She nods, her eyes soft.
"It's like that. What hurts you hurts me. What you need, I need. If we shared a bank account, were married"--the word punches my heart--"this would be our house, the fixes would be ours. What's mine is yours, peaches. That's just how it is now."
For a second, she doesn't move--didD I say too much? Oh god, I said too much--but then her face somehow crumples and glows at the same time, and she launches herself at me.
"I want it," she says into my neck. "The window seat. All of it. I want all of it."
"Then you'll have it," I whisper into her hair, my eyes falling closed, my heart straining against my ribcage, holding her to me too tight. I can't let her go.
She pulls back, cups my face. "Us against the world?"
"Us against the world, babygirl."
She kisses me, and I could die right there in her arms.
This can't be real.
I almost don't set her down, but we really do need to quit skipping meals. So I find my strength, and we get back to breakfast, talking about nothing, eat with our chairs pulled close so we can touch each other with the hands not occupied with cutlery. Every day, I could have this.
The hope is too much.
This can't be real.
When we've cleaned up, I'm already thinking about the shit on my house list today, mostly focused on clearing what's left of the downed tree. Which is a lot.
"Welp, you have a promise to keep me," she says, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
"Is that right?"
"Yup. You. Shirtless. With an axe."
"Think you can handle that, peaches?" I'm pulling off my shirt and heading for the door, stuffing my feet in sneakers on the way out.
"I'll take my chances, McHotbooty."
"That's Wolf Daddy McHotbooty, Esquire, to you.
" I trot down the stairs and to the shed, finding my splitting axe and a wedge along with all the rest of my tools.
I pick a thick slab of trunk to start with and roll it toward the steps of the house where Molly is sitting with Scout in her lap, sparkling eyed and amused.
"Talk me through it, coach. I wanna learn how."
I know exactly what she wants. Smirking, I nudge it over onto its side and grab the wedge in one hand and the axe in the other, holding it near the head, sharp end up.
"Anything you want." I smooth a hand over the face of the wood, stroking it.
"You know, it looks real simple, but there's a technique to it.
First, you need the right tool." I heft the axe.
"For a piece this big, you gotta have one big enough to get the job done.
" I flex ridiculously for show, kiss my bicep to her laughter.
"Now, you want to find the right spot." Again I stroke the wood. "Look for the split, the weak point. Then, it's all about stance." I plant my feet, demonstrating. "Wide. Stable. Solid base." I give her a hot look.
"I'm learning so much," she says, flushed.
"Key is letting it drop. Don't force it. Let gravity do the work." I raise the axe, slide my lower hand down the handle, grip, scrunch, bring it down clean, perfect. The wood splits with a satisfying crack. "See? Hit it just right--" I kick the smaller pieces aside. "Splits wide open."
She fans herself. "Is it hot out here?"
"Little bit." I pick up the biggest of the pieces off and stand it on top of the block. "Now, see how thick this one is?" I run my hand over it. "Gonna take more effort. But the bigger they are--" Crack. "The harder they fall."
"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"Just being thorough."
"Educational even."
"That's me. Always teaching." I take another swing. Crack.
Now I'm just showing off, splitting the big piece into smaller ones getting into the rhythm, the repetition satisfying.
My muscles are working, sweat beading. I stop to wipe sweat from my brow, knowing she's watching that too, thinking about how I'm gonna fuck her all dirty like this and then wash her off in the shower.
This can't be real.
"Trick, peaches, is consistency. Same motion, over and over." Crack. "Find your rhythm and stick with it."
"You're doing this on purpose."
"Doing what?" Crack. "Just explaining my process."
I stop mid setup, look over at her sitting there in the perfect morning light, the perfect moment, the perfect woman. My chest aches so bad, I can't breathe for a second. I go back to my task, smiling like a fucking idiot.
"What are you smiling about?" She asks, curious and warm.
"Nothing, just…" I look at her again. "Nice morning."
The sound of a car engine precedes the crunch of gravel, and I pause, mid swing as a car pulls into the drive. I can't see who's inside the Subaru, but when I look at Molly, cold uncertainty trickles through me. Because she's shocked. Frustrated. Worried.
I see every emotion pass across her pale face, her body tense, eyes wide.
I'm about to ask what's going on when the car comes to a stop, and out pops a happy man and a woman with Molly's smile and curly blond hair.
And I hear Molly say, "Mom! What are you doing here?"
And I only have one thought in my addled brain.
This can't be real.