But I don’t want to think about him—or any of that. If I only have Tate for today and tomorrow, I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
I throw in his clothes, along with my own, and more from my hamper.
“I have more here,” he says, coming in with his backpack.
“Toss them in.”
“Then can I take you back to bed,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I respond. “Let me feed Waylon first. Then we can go back to bed.”
“Deal.”
After feeding Waylon, another round of lovemaking that leaves me completely spent, stopping long enough to put the clothes in the dryer, and then going at it two more times in the shower, I’m starving. I’m also far too happy and relaxed to even think about shopping or baking.
“How about we get takeout and just stay home?” Tate whispers as I pull everything out of the dryer.
“We can do that,” I say with a smile. “I might poop out on you early tonight, though.”
“I’m tired too,” he says. “So let’s stay in. I spoke to Angus and they’re talking about renting a van tomorrow and driving up to Montreal. I can go with them or…” He hesitates and I turn, cocking my head.
“Or?”
“I can stay here another day.”
“How will you get to Montreal on Tuesday?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I can rent a car. Or fly. It’s up to you, though. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You’re not…in the way.” I lift the laundry basket. “It’s nice having you here.”
His eyes meet mine and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. All I know is that he’s looking at me like he wants me. Again. Because five times since early this morning isn’t enough.
Oddly enough, it isn’t enough for me either.
But it’s more than just how good the sex is.
Because he’s so sweet. Thoughtful. Romantic, even.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay until Tuesday?”
“As long as you don’t mind the mundaneness of my life,” I say, carrying the basket into my bedroom and dumping the clothes on my bed. “Tomorrow we’ll have to get up and go to the grocery store. Then I have to come home and bake. I rely on the extra money I make from my pie business.”
“Do you just sell to the diner?”
I shake my head. “Dolly buys about a dozen pies a week and there’s a bakery in town that only buys my chocolate peanut butter pie—and she takes as many as I’ll give her. Sometimes I only manage one. Other weeks it’s three or four.”
“So you bake all of that in your single oven?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’ve been saving up to buy a double oven but it would mean completely renovating the kitchen and I just can’t afford it yet. In addition to keeping up with the house and all the normal life expenses, I pick up the slack for Mom. She gets her pension from teaching and a little Social Security, but that all goes to the nursing home. She has Medicare for her medication, but sometimes I have to help with the copays, so every month’s finances are different. Which is why I bake and wait tables and occasionally pet or house sit.”
“You’re a good daughter,” he says, grabbing his boxers out of the pile and putting them on. “What about your dad?”
I snort. “He bailed a long time ago. New family, new life, couldn’t be bothered with me. Paid child support until I turned eighteen and then disappeared like a thief in the night. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I mean, I know where he lives—just outside Albany—but he behaves like I never existed. And that’s fine. My mom was the best.” I pause. “Fuck. I just referred to her in past tense. Dammit.”
“It’s okay, honey.” He squeezes my arm. “She doesn’t know you anymore, so you’ve already lost part of her. I don’t think she would be upset that you miss the mom she was before she got sick.”
“Thank you for saying that.” I pull in a deep breath and force myself to smile. “So—what are we ordering? There’s a great Thai place that delivers. Also Italian, Chinese, and pizza.”
