29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Rina
We broke the bed.
We broke the fucking bed, and I can’t stop laughing.
“My builds would never break,” I gasp out through my laughter.
“How the hell did we break a bed?” Arlo sounds like he’s in shock, and it only cracks me up more. I can’t say I’ve ever broken a bed while having sex, but it’s definitely one for the records books.
“You were a little aggressive,” I offer with a giggle.
He rolls off of me, and I immediately feel the loss. I’m not sure what just happened outside of the bed breaking, but this felt like the start of something special. It wasn’t just sex; it was pouring our love into each other. It was showing each other that we’re all in.
“Was I too rough?”
His concerned tone has my head rolling to the side to look at him. “No. Hell no, that was … the best,” I say wistfully. He turns his head to look at me, and I’m blown away by the depth of feeling I see in his eyes. It makes me wonder if he sees the same within mine.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says.
“Oh, yeah?”
“You make me a new bed that I will pay for, obviously, when we’re serious. Like, ‘move in, ready for the whole life together’ serious. ”
I stare at him, not knowing how to respond. Mainly because after tonight, it feels like we’re already kind of there, which is scary as hell.
“Deal,” I whisper.
His smile starts small, then grows to take over his entire face. He looks gorgeous like this, happy and full of hope. I just want to keep that look on his face. But I can’t guarantee anything right now as much as I want to. I still need time with him, time to learn if we can really be together, if I can trust him with my heart again.
But I’m dangerously close to that point already.
He reaches for my waist, dragging me over his body as I laugh at his playfulness. It’s such a change of pace for both of us that I don’t know how to act.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh this much, Emmerdeur,” he murmurs as he nuzzles my neck. His scruff scrapping deliciously against my skin makes me want round two before I’ve recovered from round one.
“What does that mean? You’ve always called me that, yet I’ve never looked it up,” I ponder. It always sounded so romantic; I didn’t even question it. It was just what he called me, and I loved it.
“I’m not even sure. Uncle Charlie used to say it all the time, and I always thought it was said with reverence, so I just stole it from him.”
“You gave me a nickname, and you don’t know what it means?” I laugh.
“Correct.” He nips at my neck.
“Give me a phone. We’re looking this up.” I swat at his shoulder. He reaches over to his nightstand, grabbing his phone, unlocking it, and handing it to me.
“How do you spell it? ”
“E-M-M-E-R-D-E-U-R,” Arlo says in between kisses. I barely focus enough to type it into the search engine.
“Shut up.” I laugh as the long curious question gets answered on the screen.
“What?” He pulls back.
“It’s the masculine version of annoying in French.” I bite my bottom lip to stop from laughing. It’s the most ridiculous and perfect thing I’ve ever seen. It fits us to a T, even when it was supposed to be romantic.
“No, it doesn’t.” He gasps. He looks horrified as I show him the screen. “Oh my god, I’ve been calling you annoying this whole time.”
Laugher bursts out of me.
“Stop, this is so far from funny,” he groans into my neck.
“This is literally the best thing ever,” I say through my laughter. “How fucking perfect is it?”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I’m telling everyone! You can’t make this up, Arlo.” I giggle. “I’ve gone around hating you for the last fifteen years, and your nickname for me is ‘annoying’. If that doesn’t explain our relationship, I don’t know what does.”
“How fucking embarrassing,” he groans into my neck. “You’re going to tell people about us? About my terribly picked nickname that’s lasted longer than I want to admit?” he asks, sounding all kinds of hopeful.
“Well, we did go on a date at Sal’s. It feels fitting to tell everyone how bad you are at picking nicknames too.” I giggle.
“I lied. Emmerdeur fits you perfectly.” He nips my neck again before kissing the same spot.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I sigh and can’t help but think about how perfect everything feels. I just hope it lasts .
For now, though, I think round two is in order.
I finally made it home after round two, a shower, and a very long kiss goodbye.
An attempt was made to sleep, but I found myself standing in my workshop wide awake and needing to do something. My computer shows a couple of new inquiries for builds, which I promptly email back to work out more details.
I inventory all the projects I’m currently working on or that are coming up, as well as materials, and set my calendar accordingly so I can stay on track, but my head is still firmly distracted by a certain sheriff.
Things have changed, and although I’m still not sure what to do with the fact that we’re still married, being together feels more right than anything has in the last decade. It’s terrifying, exciting, and downright perfect all at the same time. My head is all over the place, and the only thing that will clear it is working.
My computer pings with an incoming email, and I’m thankful for the timing. I just finished everything organizational I had available.
Thanks for the quick reply. Ideally, I’d want you to do whatever you want. Whatever your perfect bed is, that’s what I want. Money is no object.
-T
I stare at the email, getting a weird feeling about it. It’s not uncommon for people to defer to my expertise, but they all still have some idea of what they want. It’s strange that a client wants “my perfect bed” when it’s their furniture and in their house. Something grates in my head, this sense of unease, and I’m not sure what to do about it. I rarely turn down clients if the build is feasible for me, but I’m questioning this one.
This sounds interesting. Would you mind giving me more information, like if you’re able to pick up or if it’s for delivery? Where you are located and general size specifications for the project. And wood preferences. Also, a good number to reach you at.
Thanks,
Rina Hutton
Hutton Custom Furniture
It may not lead anywhere, but at least I’ll have more information and I can pass it along to Arlo to look into. This stalker situation is causing me to want to be more thorough with everything.
Since they wrote back so quickly the last time, I decide to stay at my desk while I wait for their reply.
My mind wanders to Arlo’s bed that we broke, and I pull out my notebook with all my plans in it. Opening to a fresh sheet, I start sketching the bed I’ll eventually make for him, for us. God, that feels weird to say, but my pencil starts moving before my mind can catch up.
I’ve got the basics down before my laptop pings again. Opening up the email, I shudder runs through me at the response.
I will be picking it up from your workshop. A king is perfect unless you prefer a queen. Wood preference is whatever your favorite wood to work with is, and my number is 555-1845.
I look forward to seeing the progress,
-T
I stare at the email and immediately know something is up. The wording is too much to ignore, and I internally start to panic. What if this is the stalker? What if I start making this and it ends up being the way he really gets to me?
Just send everything to Arlo and Oakley, and let them take over. Don’t do anything else.
Logically, it makes sense, but I’m having a hard time separating that voice from the one that hustles for business, that treats every client like their family. Shutting my laptop, I decide I’ll deal with this mysterious T character tomorrow. For the rest of the night, I sketch out not just a bed for Arlo but furniture to fill a whole house.