Chapter 6 Theo
Chapter six
Theo
Kissing Cora just might be the closest to heaven on earth I’ll ever get.
The feel of her head cradled in my hand, her soft lips against mine, her hands fisting— fisting—my shirt.
Did she mean to do that? Was it for show?
When she’d pulled back, her cheeks were quite possibly the most adorable shade of bright pink that exists in the universe.
I spend the first half of our car ride resisting the urge to bring my fingertips to my lips, clinging to the memory. Cora is chatting away, somewhat forcefully, and I get the idea she’s trying to push the awkwardness out of the cab. Talk over the embarrassment, get over the elephant in the room.
That we really just did this.
We’re married.
And there’s no going back now.
When I pull into the local grocery store parking lot, Cora shoots me a quizzical glance from the passenger seat.
“My bride wanted cake, remember?” I say with a grin before hopping out of the truck.
She hops out as well, smiling up at me as we walk inside and beeline to the bakery section. It’s not large, and it’s certainly not fancy, but like any grocery store, it has a variety of cakes set out on tables and behind display cases.
Cora purses her lips in thought as she peruses the choices.
“Are we trying to stay on theme?” I ask, glancing at the wedding cake selection—although those seem to be on the pricier side. Figures.
She doesn’t even look up. Simply shakes her head. “I’m more interested in flavor than festivities,” she answers.
The corner of my mouth quirks up without my permission. God, she’s cute. I mean, she’s always been cute, but something about standing in a grocery store at 5:30 p.m. on a Monday night about to buy her a cake for our wedding has my insides turning to goo.
“This one,” she decides, grabbing a double chocolate cake, the plastic crinkling under her grasp.
I nod in agreement, and we head to the register. When Cora reaches for her purse at the self-checkout counter, I practically elbow her out of the way.
“Theo, I’m the one who suggested cake,” she protests.
“And I’m the one who just vowed to take care of you for the rest of our lives,” I retort.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly.
I pull out my wallet, swiping my credit card. “Or at least until the United States no longer considers you a national threat,” I add.
Cora giggles, putting me at ease.
Within minutes, we’re back in the car, and soon we’re pulling up to my house. Cora’s four-wheel SUV sits in the driveway; we’d met here after work before carpooling to the courthouse. I grab the cake from the center console and head inside, placing it on the kitchen countertop.
Cora stands awkwardly in the kitchen entrance, glancing around, even though she’s been here before. I glance at the clock on the wall. In order to make our court appointment, we weren’t able to get dinner at the ranch like we usually do.
“How do you feel about cake for dinner?” I ask, although I do have a frozen pizza if she feels like something more appropriate.
But her eyes light up, and then her smile follows suit. “That sounds fantastic.” She steps forward, taking a seat at one of the stools at my kitchen counter while I pop open the plastic cake container and search for plates and forks.
Cora rests her elbows on the counter, her chin in her hands, watching me cut two slices. “You know, this is the perfect way to celebrate our nuptials.”
My eyes flash to hers as I scoot her plate toward her.
“Just because our marriage is fake doesn’t mean we don’t deserve cake,” she says, digging in immediately.
I chuckle, taking the stool beside her with my own plate of cake. “It’s a great way to start a marriage,” I agree. “You know,” I add, bumping her knee lightly with mine. “We probably get along better than most married couples.”
Cora laughs, nodding as she swallows a bite of cake. “You’re right. We’ve never once had a fight.”
“Some would say that’s unhealthy.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Should we fight now?”
“What would we fight about?”
She shrugs. “I could pretend I’m mad at you for smearing cake on the counter and not cleaning it up.” She gestures to where I’d accidentally dropped a dollop of icing on the tile.
I chuckle. “Oh, mad at me for leaving cake on my countertop?”
She smirks. “Our countertop for the time being, darling.” She emphasizes the pet name I’ve called her recently, and it pulls a genuine belly laugh from me.
And suddenly, it’s as if the last few days haven’t even happened. All the awkwardness, the hesitancy, the nerves are gone, and in its place is just Cora and me. The way we always are. The way I want us to always be.
Comfortable.
And I’m reminded—for probably the millionth time—why I’ve never told her how I really feel. Because the possibility of losing this—us—is unfathomable.
One piece of cake turns into two, and then three, and the sun sets outside the windows, leaving us in the dull glow of the overhead kitchen lamp while we talk and laugh and stuff ourselves.
“He looked bored to death,” Cora wheezes, her eyes welling with tears of laughter. “How many weddings do you think that man officiated today?”
“It can’t be that many,” I protest through a chuckle. “This town is the size of a postage stamp.”
“I’ve never seen a more uninterested officiant.”
I snort, shaking my head.
Cora’s laughter dies down, and a comfortable silence settles around us. It’s then that I realize her stuff must still be in her car outside. I straighten. “Let’s grab your stuff, and I can show you your room,” I say.
Cora nods, straightening too. “Yeah. That’s right, I live here now.” She chuckles, hopping down from her stool.
We make our way out to her car where she pulls a suitcase and a duffel bag from the trunk and then shuts it.
I stare for a second. “This is it?” I ask. Sure, the suitcase and duffel bag are on the larger side, but still.
She shrugs. “You saw how tiny my cabin was.”
“Fair.” I reach for the suitcase first and then the duffel, but Cora angles her body away, shaking her head.
“You don’t have to take both,” she protests.
“Yes I do.”
She snorts. “No you don’t. I can carry one.”
“Give it to me, Cora.”
“Do you forget I work on a ranch too, cowboy?” she quips. “I’m more than capable of carrying a duffel bag.”
I step forward, reaching, but Cora angles farther away, glaring up at me in defiance.
And now we’re locked in staring match, inches away from each other while I tower over her.
Sure, I could wrangle that stupid bag from her easily, but that feels like crossing a line. Whether it’s mean or … something else.
Cora swallows, and I watch her throat roll.
“Let your husband carry your bags, Cora,” I say, my voice low, a command but also a plea.
Her lips part slightly, her eyes narrow, and for a moment I think she’s about to fight with me again. But then she takes a small step back and surrenders the duffel. I take it from her with ease, tossing it over my shoulder.
I turn and carry both bags into the house. Cora closes the front door behind us, and I incline my head up the stairway.
“Both my room and the guest room are upstairs,” I explain before making my way up. I hear her soft footsteps behind me on the stairs.
I make my way down the hallway and stop outside her door, flipping on the hallway light switch and then reaching into the guest room and flipping that one on as well.
I hold out an arm, gesturing to her room with an exaggerated flourish.
She snorts, her eyes sparkling. She walks in, looking around. The room is small, but it’s got a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. Hopefully to her liking.
“My room is this one,” I say, pointing to the door right across the hallway. “And the bathroom is right down there.” I point. “We’ll have to share it, but I’m a quick shower-taker,” I say with a small smile.
She grins, coming back out into the hallway, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her dress. “I’m more of an evening showerer anyway,” she admits. “Makes more sense to shower after working at a ranch all day rather than before.”
“Same,” I admit.
“Well, then I’ll try not to take up too much evening shower time.”
I wave off her comment. “We’ll figure it out.”
I clear my throat uncomfortably. We’re talking about showering. Showering. And now I’m thinking of Cora in my shower, next to all my soaps and shampoo, wrapping herself in one of my towels, and suddenly my head feels a bit fuzzy.
Cora chuckles softly, staring down at her bare feet. She must’ve taken off her flats at the front door. “Probably not your typical wedding night, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah. I bet not many freshly married couples go to sleep in separate rooms.”
“Maybe after a month or two, but night one?” Cora says, smirking. “I’ll bet we broke a record.”
“A record we have to keep to ourselves because, you know …”
Cora’s eyebrows rise in remembrance. “Right. According to everyone else, we spent the evening having wild, passionate sex.”
I almost choke on my own saliva, but I swallow thickly and nod. “Yep. That.”
She’s chewing on her lip now, not looking at me. And her cheeks have returned to that perfect shade of pink I’d noticed earlier. “Well … I should probably go to sleep. I know it’s not all that late, but today was …”
“A lot,” I finish for her.
She nods, her gaze finally meeting mine. “A lot.”
We stand there awkwardly for a second. I should really just say goodnight and let her get some sleep.
But it feels wrong just turning around and leaving her here.
Wrong and awkward and strange. But before I can think up something acceptable to do or say, Cora spans the distance between us, wrapping her arms gently around my torso, her cheek to my chest.
A small sigh escapes me, and I wrap my arms around her small body, hugging her against me not nearly as tightly as I want to.
“Thank you, Theo,” she says softly.
“Of course,” I whisper, and without thinking, I press a soft kiss to the top of her head. It’s not sexual or even that romantic in nature. It just feels … right.
Cora pulls back, smiling up at me softly. “Goodnight,” she says, slinging her duffel over her shoulder and then rolling her suitcase into her room.
“Goodnight,” I say before she shuts her door.
I turn around and head into my bedroom, shutting the door and then leaning my head against it with a sigh. It’s going to take a hell of a lot of self-control not to think about my wife, naked, in my fucking shower.