Having Abel home has been amazing, too. Eli has always been near perfect, but now that his brother is home, it’s like there was something missing before and now he’s whole. Abel isn’t big on the group scene, though. He wants his wife and son with him at all times. Literally, every second. He wants to see Eli and their mom a lot, too, but his wife and son have to be there, or it’s not happening.No solo twin stuff.Eli seems fine with it, though.
Eli keeps saying that he can’t imagine what Abel has been through for the past year, and honestly, I can’t either. The guy was literally hunted like an animal. Everyone keeps talking about what a badass Eli is, and well, he is for sure, but Abel’s no slouch. He was essentially presumed dead, trafficked, left in a coma, sold again, hunted by some people who reeeeeally wanted him dead, and then somehow, he killed all the bad guys and clawed his way back from Russian to get home in time to save all our asses. Oh, and he did all of this while adjusting to a missing limb.He’s definitely the hero of the moment.
Abel refused to bring his family out of the country.Understandable.Mama didn’t want to come either. She said this trip was for young people. Actually, this trip is for me and Eli, but Eli wasn’t leaving the country without his new team. He doesn’t like it when I call them his team, but I swear he’s training them. They target shoot together, talk strategy on hypothetical situations, and they’re teaching each other things. I haven’t forgotten what he said about his new job.He gets to pick his own team.
Cal has taught them all some basic computer stuff. Eli has shown everyone how to throw a bomb together with household products. Cotton subtly mentions influential people or people who aren’t necessarily influential but who have access to desirable places or things.It all feels very teamy, if you ask me.
“Hey there, wife.”
“Husband.”
“Mrs. Washington.”
“Mr. Washington.”
Eli keeps greeting me in this way. He’s stalking toward me on the white sand of the beach, wearing a sexy dimpled grin. That’s it. Just the grin. This beach is private, but not that private. And it’s not a nude beach. The rest of the crew is up at the rental compound. Winston found us this amazing collection of rentals right near the beach.It’s perfect.We’ll all be near but not too near one another, and we’re still close to the clear blue water and this amazing beach.
I didn’t get a chance to come down here on our first trip, but Eli wouldn’t shut up about it. Apparently, there’s a half feral wombat/lemur pickpocket that Eli needs to settle a score with. All I’ve seen is my massive, tattooed, naked husband tossing bits of my favorite candies to a sweet little mongoose. He kept talking to it as it followed him up and down the beach.
One of Eli’s random ass playlists is crooning beside me by way of his ever-present Bluetooth speaker. The track changes and Chris Stapleton’s melodic voice flows through the crisp, clear air. I can see the moment it reaches Eli’s senses. He feels it all over.
Suddenly, the score appears decidedly settled as he’s back, looking like a hot nudist soldier with a devious plan. Stapleton trills on about “Tennessee Whiskey” as Eli comes closer. He already stripped us both as soon as we got down here, claiming that tan lines are illegal in Barbados.
The, new to me, lounger I’m lying on is hot pink and light pink. One of those vintage folding ones. Winston took us to a flea market last night when we arrived, and Eli bought it for me.No idea how I’ll get it home but, I love it. Winston is crazy resourceful. I bet he can get it back to the US for me.
After rifling around in my beach bag, Eli pulls out a metal...corkscrew? Or a leash anchor, maybe. No way.
“We can’t keep a mongoose in the apartment.”
“Good thing we’re house hunting when we get home.”
“We are?” My excitement is evident in the squealing tone of my words and the kicking of my feet.I love the apartment. WE love the apartment. It’s where our love story began and blossomed into what it is today. It’s where we got Eve.It’s just...our own home? Ours? Real privacy and carte blanche to decorate how we want. I CAN PAINT! Okay so we can decorate how I want. Eli doesn’t have an opinion.
“Well, no, not exactly house hunting.”
The way I visibly deflate actually causes Eli’s dimples to deepen.Dick move.
“The survey should be done by the time we get back, so we can hunt for the right house plans.”
“House plans.” It comes out like a statement, but, in my mind, it’s a question.
“House plans.”
He’s squatting down behind the head of my lounger with the corkscrew. I’m too confused to confuse myself further by wondering what the hell he’s doing back there.
“What’s a survey?”
“Well, in this case, it’s a land survey. We bought a plot of land that’s part of another property, so our plot has to be surveyed out so that we can start building our house on it.”
My loud gasp is muted with my hand over my mouth.
“Build?! We get to design the whole thing?!”
“Of course you do, Little Devil. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He says this in a way that makes it obvious he knows this is exactly what I want. The thing is, we’ve never had this conversation. I’ve never even had this thought. It hadn’t occurred to me that it would ever be an option available to me.He’s going to build me a home. And we’re going to build a life in it.
He comes back around the front of the lounger to face me now. My mind is racing with thoughts of butler’s pantries and walk-in closets when my husband pulls the leather strap from his damp hair. The song changes again, and Ray Wylie Hubbard sings about “Ramona” and the snake farm she works on. This song does something to Eli. Knowing what’s coming next, I hold out my wrists together in offering to my husband. The leather strap seems like it was made to secure my wrists.
