Zoey:
If you bring up my brother and his dick one more time, I’m kicking you out of this group chat.
Zara:
When are we doing a girls’ spa day?
Zoey:
Every day.
I laugh and add on to the text messages.
Me:
I am almost packed and ready to go. I can’t wait.
I put the phone down when I hear the front door open and then shut. “Lexi.” I hear Kirby call out my name.
“In the office.” I lean back in my chair and then watch the office doorway, waiting for him to walk through it. He surprised me one day by converting one of the bedrooms into a home office so I can have all my things in one place. He obviously called Ariella and let her design it and she was spot-on. The light-brown desk is in the middle of the room on top of a plush white carpet. The wood floors are bleached, so it makes the carpet pop more. He had built-in shelves installed behind me and they are filled with pictures of my family. Two big, cushioned chairs are in front of the desk.
My eyes go to the wall facing the desk, where the seven frames he gave me for my house are hanging on the wall that face my desk, right above the big couch. A reminder of everything I’ve been through to get to this point. A coffee table is in between the two chairs and the couch and has a vase filled with colored flowers. Something he gets me every other week, after he heard the story about how Trent made me throw away the pink flowers.
I hear the bell on Jefferson’s collar alongside Kirby’s steps walking down the hall. “Are you following me,” he asks her and the smile on my face gets even bigger, “or are you going to your favorite hangout?”
I will say that Jefferson spends most of her days on the couch, where I’ve bought her a nice blanket for her to lie on. She, of course, lies there with her back to you, and if you get on the couch next to her, she looks at you with dragon eyes, and I think secretly plots your murder.
“Hey,” he greets, walking into the room, holding Jefferson in his arms, cuddled like a baby. The minute he gets to the couch, he drops her on her blanket.
“Hey.” I watch him walk around the desk and come to me, bending and kissing me on the lips—one, twice, three times. “How was your day?”
“Good.” He takes off his baseball hat and tosses it in one of the chairs in front of my desk. The chair also has the hat he was wearing two days ago still sitting in it. “How are you doing? Are you packed?”
“Almost.” I lean forward on my desk. “I have a couple of things to throw in there and then I’ll be good to go.” I look at him and he flops down in one of the chairs. “You have yet to pack,” I remind him.
“I don’t pack to go to Arizona,” he tells me, “so I just have to pack for Turks.”
“You don’t take any stuff from here to Arizona?” I ask him and he shakes his head. After Turks, we are going straight to Arizona.
“I have all my stuff there. Whatever you take there this time should just stay there. Or don’t take anything and just go shopping once you get there.”
“Oh, just like that? Get a new wardrobe,” I say as if it’s nothing.
“Um yeah.” He nods. “Take Kylie with you. She knows where my card is.” Kylie is also going to be coming to Arizona with us for a couple of weeks, at least after the vacation.
“I’m not spending your money,” I huff out, getting up and walking around the desk, and he opens his arms for me to sit on his lap. “It’s enough you won’t let me pay for rent or anything in this house.”
“Lexi,” he mumbles my name as I wrap my arm around his neck and cuddle closer into him. “I want to be the one who takes care of you. We know that you can take care of yourself. You’ve proved that, but with this, I’m taking care of you.” He gets up with me in his arms. “Now come with me and pack.” He carries me to our bedroom that I’ve added stuff to. Next to my side of the bed is a picture of us from my divorce party, and on his side of the bed, he's opted with a picture of just me from that night. I’m looking directly at the camera, a champagne glass in my hand and a huge smile on my face. My other hand is pointed at the camera, the smile on my face goes from ear to ear. Then behind that one is the picture of me in the stands at a game, standing with his jersey on, celebrating one of his goals. The last picture on his table is of me and Jefferson.
“How long are we going to be in Turks?” he asks me, setting me on my feet. “Two weeks, right?”
“Yes,” I reply, walking over to his closet and picking out six T-shirts. “The house has a washing machine.”
“It does.” He comes over and grabs a handful more, not even counting as he dumps them on one side of the open suitcase that he set up while I was choosing the ones I wanted. “But we’re on vacation.”
“Do you know how much laundry we are going to have if you don’t wash for fourteen days?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, going to one of the drawers that holds his shorts. “But I know I will have nothing but time and a good dry cleaner who can wash them for me once we get back.”
