I pretended to weigh the question. She wasn’t officially my wife yet. I had every intention of remedying that. “Sit. You’ve had a hellof a day.”
She grinned, and for once, she did as she was told without an argument. She curled up at the head of the table, folding one leg underneath her, and watched as I ladled out the stew. I made sure to give her the best pieces—the ones with the fat melting off and the big hunks of carrot. I set the bowl in front of her and poured her a glass of tea.
“Smells like heaven.” She breathed in the aroma with her eyes closed. “You’d make someone a damn fine wife.”
“Look who has jokes." Fuck, she made me happy.
She laughed, and my world brightened at the sound.
I sat beside her, just watching her. She dug in, bread in one hand, spoon in the other, and for a while the only sound was her eating. Every time she looked up, I was staring.
She caught me at it, finally. “What? Do I have pepper in my teeth or something?"
“Just making sure you’re still here.”
She went quiet, then reached across and took my hand.
“I’m not going anywhere, Finn. Not tonight. Not ever.”
I swallowed, then nodded. “Good.”
We ate the rest in an easy rhythm; her telling me about the gallery plans, how Lysander wanted to hang the biggest canvas right in the window, how he’d gotten her to agree to paint a mural on the alley wall. Her hands moved as she talked, animated and alive, her eyes bright in a way that I’d never seen.
“You’re really doing it.” I wanted to heap all the praise I felt she'd deserved on her. I wanted her to realize how big this was.
She shrugged, but the pride was obvious. “I guess I am.”
“You still have doubts?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not when you’re around,” she said. “You make me feel… possible.”
I didn’t have a word for what that did to me. Maybe there wasn’t one.
"When I look at you Maverick, I see magic just stored up waiting to be unleashed. You only needed someone to believe in you. You only needed to believe in yourself."
Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “To think the love of a good man could make all the difference.”
"I think it was just good love that made the difference."
I kissed her on her cheek and picked up her empty bowl. She tried to help, but I waved her off, made her stay seated while I loaded the dishwasher and put the leftovers away. She wanted to argue, but I shook my head.
“You’ve done enough for today, Maverick. Let me take care of you.”
She watched me, head cocked, like she were seeing something new.
I wiped down the counters, rinsed my hands, and dried them on the old towel. The house was still and quiet, the only sound the hum of the fridge and the clatter of dishes as I set them in the racks.
When I finished, I came back to the table and found her still watching me. She got up and took my hand and led me to our bedroom like she was worried I might vanish if she let me wander. She kept her hand wrapped around mine, thumb stroking the scar at my knuckle. When we made it past the doorway, she stopped and looked up at me, eyes steady. I thought she might say something wise or philosophical about survival, about how lucky we were to still be here, but she just reached up and dropped the towel from her hair and untied her robe, letting it fall open.
She shrugged it off her shoulders, and it drifted down her back, pooling on the carpet. She stood gloriously naked before me. But I stood stock still, hands clenched into tight fists at my side. I wanted to see what she would do. This was her show for now. But the sight of her standing there, bare and wild-haired, punched the air out of me.
I didn’t even get a word out before she hooked her fingers into the waistband of my jeans and started walking backward until she was close to the bed. She started to undress me, beginning at the collar of my shirt. Onesnap and then the next. She was precise; methodical. When they were all undone; her small hands moved inside to push the shirt off my shoulders, caressing my skin with the movement. She laid small kisses to my nipples my abs, my navel, until she reached the waistband of my jeans.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” she whispered against my skin, voice gone rough and needy.
I tried to answer, but her hands had already moved to my belt buckle, undoing it then popping the button and pulling down the zipper. Luckily, I had removed my boots when I came through the door, so there would be nothing stopping her from taking my jeans to the floor.
She roughly tugged my jeans and boxers down my hips in one not-so practiced motion. My cock sprang free, hard and already leaking, and her turquoise eyes sparkled with hunger as they met mine.
