Jonah
Iwake up with Renée in my arms and giddy with anticipation. Today is the day. Today, after all the time I’ve spent lingering on her doorstep giving goodnight kisses under moonlit skies, Renée Wilde is finally letting me inside her home. The thought sends a fresh shiver of excitement down my spine.
This is more than just a home tour; this is a symbol of her trust in me, of her ultimate vulnerability, of the deeper connection I crave.
Because shedoestrust me, and that’s no small achievement for either of us.
She stands with her back against the front door, and the way she looks at me speaks volumes. Hope, excitement, and a sliver of nervous energy hums between us before she wordlessly steps inside, my hand firmly in hers.
“This is it,” she says.
I knew her house was small, but it doesn’t feel that way. The house is quiet. “Everyone's sleeping in today. There’s not much to see,” she says, before taking my coat and hanging it in the bifold closet.
Backwards, she leads me through the tight galley kitchen, and from the window above her kitchen sink I can see my place just beyond the garden. Countertops and floors are both laminate, both clean. A four-person dining table sits just off the kitchen next to the back sliding door I’ve become very familiar with these last few weeks.
The laminate floor gives way to the shag carpet of the living room. Children’s artwork hangs on every wall, and framed pictures top every available flat surface—bookshelf, TV stand, end table. I can’t stop myself from picking up a frame holding side-by-side newborn photos of her daughters.
“Oh my God,” I say with a pout. “They were so tiny and cute.”
Renée sighs, and it’s a beautiful sound. “So bald. So perfect.”
“Was it scary?”
“Oh, terrifying. Especially with Delta. But when Lo came, I had more experience so I wasn’t as scared. I had worse things to be afraid of than taking care of babies.”
I know she’s referring to Greg, and my heart hurts all over again. Here she was, raising babies while living in fear of her husband. What kind of life is that? No one deserves that. Her predator husband, however, deserved his early death—that, I’m sure of. I’ve never wanted to kill somebody the way I wish I could’ve killed that man.
Disinterested in discussing her past, Renée shows me to the front bedroom where her two redheads lie sleeping in two twin beds, both loaded with stuffed animals. A rainbow of bright colors blare from every wall, craft, and blanket.
“I like what they’ve done with the place,” I whisper.
She chuckles. “They have an eye for detail, don’t they?”
She gestures to Amber’s room, but we don’t disturb her. Finally, the last door. Hers.
“Are you ready?” she asks, placing both hands on my chest.
I used to think I was. Until a couple months ago, if Renée Wilde would have asked me if I was ready for her, I would have said yes without considering there could be more beyond my sexual attraction to her. Now that I’ve seen what’s inside, I know the kind of partner she needs, and I’mready to be exactly that.
I lean down and kiss her. “I’m ready.”
Much like the rest of the house, her bedroom is small. Everything is a shade of earthy brown, tan, and white. Her bed is low to the ground, perfectly made with a fluffy duvet and extra nonsense pillows.
The mandolin I gave her for her birthday lays atop her dresser with nothing else. I open the case to find she’s attached the custom strap, and run a thumb against the clover she had imprinted in the leather. My heart swells.
“I’ve been playing it for the girls,” she says, and wraps her body against mine. “It may just be the best gift I’ve ever received.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Absolutely. I feel like my daughters are seeing the real me for the first time. Our lives are so much richer because of you.”
My throat works as love bubbles up inside of me. She doesn’t mean the size of my bank account or the amount of money I spend on them—she thinks her life is better with me in it.Me.The guy most people don’t take seriously; the guy who couldn’t be relied on.
I make her life richer.
I turn around and we hold each other there in her modest bedroom, and I hope she can feel the weight of my gratitude.
“I like your room. It suits you. Including this tiny bed.” I gesture to the double bed and laugh. “I don’t know how I’m going to relax with my feet hanging off the end, but I’ll make it work.”
