“She sounds feisty.”
“With one touch of her talon, you’re transported into ye old ages full of glitter battles and fleshy sword fights.”
He chuckles. “Fleshy sword fights, huh? I like the sound of that. Very intriguing.”
“I’ll be sure to send you the rough draft.”
With a smile over the lip of his coffee mug, he nudges my leg and says, “Seriously, what are you writing?”
“A list.”
He circles his hand. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about how I haven’t been feeling right and, to get myself out of this rut, I came up with a list of things to do before I get married.”
“Like a bucket list?”
“Yes, but this could be called the knot list.”
“Knot list?” he asks, his eyebrow lifting in that cute way of his.
“You know, instead of kicking the bucket, I’m tying the knot.”
“Aah, I’m following you. Okay, so what’s on your list?” I hand it over to him, and I watch as he reads it over, slowly nodding. “Well, for one, you’re already pretty, so no need to worry about that.”
I roll my eyes and steal the list from him. “I want to do something that makes mefeelpretty. Something different, and I have an idea. Want to go with me?”
“Go with you where?”
“To check off the first item on my list. I want to go today. Get this ball rolling.”
“Oh,” he says and then winces. “I, uh, I have that date with Birdy today.”
“I forgot about that.” I glance to the side, disappointment heavy in my shoulders. “That’s okay. I can do this by myself.” I flash my eyes up to him. “But some of these I’m going to need a cohort in. I won’t do it alone.”
“Any other day, I’m free,” he says. “I’m there for you.”
“Thank you.” I smile and bring my knees into my chest.
“Care to tell me what the thing is that you’re doing today?”
I shake my head. “No, I want it to be a surprise.”
“Okay.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “And what about this circle of trust? Am I in it?”
“You’re the core of it.”
That makes him smile. “Good. Just checking.” He glances around and asks, “So did you get breakfast, or am I supposed to house youandfeed you?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
He sighs and stands from the couch. “What’s it going to be? Waffles? Pancakes? Omelets?”
“The pickle special, please.”
He glances over his shoulder. “If it’s going to be the pickle special, then you better get your little behind in here and help.”
“But I’m emotionally spent,” I playfully whine.
