She smoothed the hem of her shirt and picked up the note. I watched her read it, her eyebrows shooting up halfway through.
“What?” I asked.
She handed me the card.
Charlotte,
Welcome back, darling. Let’s meet tomorrow morning to discuss what clubs you’ll be joining and to plan a shopping trip. You need a proper car. A truck is much too masculine for your delicate frame.
—Claira
I shut my eyes. “Lord, give me strength.”
Charlotte laughed. “She means well.”
“Yeah, she also means for us to not forget that she’s here,” I joked. “She wants to take you shopping for a car, babe. Has she ever even asked you if you wanted one?”
“She brought flowers,” Charlotte pointed out, touching the petals.
“Bribes,” I corrected.
She bumped her shoulder into mine. “Be nice.”
“Iambeing nice,” I said. “You should see me when I’m not.”
She moved into me then, fitting herself against my chest. My hands slid to her back, holding her close. I pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Do you want a car?”
Being here, at home, with her in my arms and rain tapping softly against the windows soothed the beast inside, making it impossible to get annoyed even with my mom right now. All the chaos in Chicago felt far so away, we were finally free to live our own lives, and if my wife wanted a car, I’d get her one. Not my mother.
She looked up at me. “Well, I’m here for good now. I’ll need to get around somehow without always having to call you for a ride. Have you got a truck I can borrow until I’ve had some time to think?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “Let’s go to bed, wife. I’ll give you the keys in the morning.”
“That’s sounds good.” Her smile was slow and warm as she pushed up on her toes and pressed a hot kiss to the side of my throat. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now anyhow.”
I groaned and pulled back to catch her lips. My heart did insane things in my chest when I sealed my mouth over hers. It didn’t last long, though. As soon as I felt myself tightening my grip and bringing her closer, I broke the kiss and went to grab our luggage.
“Come on,” I said once I was back in the house, striding through the foyer and looking at her over my shoulder. “No more kissing until we’re in our bedroom.”
Charlotte chuckled and trailed behind me on our way upstairs, chatting about everything and nothing all at the same time. She told me about how she wanted to reorganize the pantry, that the living room could use a bit more color, and how she was absolutely sure my mother would have her wearing pearls and white gloves by noon tomorrow.
With her voice in the air and just her presence behind me, the house felt warmer than it ever had. Hell, it felt lived in for the first time.
Every shadow seemed less empty somehow. I’d spent years walking into this place and hearing nothing but my own boots on the hardwood. Now? That was different.
“You know, we should probably get a shoe rack for the entry,” she said when we reached the landing. “Also, your closet is ridiculous. I counted four identical flannels when I was packing before we left and?—”
I turned, scooped her straight off her feet, and threw her over my shoulder. She squealed. “Trent!”
“You’ll live,” I said, carrying her down the hall and leaving our luggage behind. “I’m being gentle.”
“Put me down!”
“Nope.”
I nudged the bedroom door open with my foot and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced once, hair falling into her face,her blue eyes wide and her lips parted in that way that always,alwaysgot me.
“What was that for?” she muttered, pushing her hair back.
