WINNIE
I wakeup the next morning feeling warm and sated. I yawn and stretch, and then roll over to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s 9:00 a.m., which is later than I’ve slept in years. I guess that’s what getting eaten out on the couch by your husband until you scream and beg for him to continue does.
I can’t help but smile as I think about what Jonah and I did last night—how he made me feel. A man hasnevershown that amount of dedication and attention to my pleasure. And honestly, him making me admit that I’m his wife was really hot. I might have even encouraged him by being intentionally stubborn.
I get out of bed, shrug on one of my long robes, and stuff my feet into ridiculous, pink fuzzy slippers. I pad into the kitchen, hoping to find Jonah at the kitchen island, sipping on a mug of coffee. But the kitchen is cold and empty. A quick glance outside tells me that Jonah is still home, both cars still parked in the driveway. It seems he’s slept in even later than I have.
I make coffee for the both of us, and stare out the window at the gently falling snow while I wait for the machine to be done. Jonah is a grump in the morning without his coffee, so as soon as it’s done, I pour him a large mug and knock on his door.
No response comes from his room, so I carefully open the door, hoping to sneak it onto his bedside table before he wakes up. But I have to smother the laugh that escapes my mouth as I take in six-foot plus Jonah squeezed into a tiny twin sized bed. His feet are hanging off the end and one of his arms is dragging on the floor. He’s sleeping with the duvet partially thrown off, and I have to force myself not to look too long at the muscular lines of his back. I feel a twinge of guilt. He gave up his king size bed for me, and is sleeping somewhere that is barely suitable for him. And I’m not even that large. I’d fit in this twin bed just fine.
I place the coffee cup on the table within arm’s reach of him and turn to leave, but he says, “Winnie?” His voice is rough with sleep, and I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever heard him sound like this. I’ve been living with him for weeks, but I’ve never seen him in bed, just woken up.
“Hi.” I turn back towards him. “We both ended up sleeping in later than usual.”
Jonah rolls onto his back and groans, and then sits up and stretches. He’s probably a bit stiff from sleeping in such a contorted position. Maybe I should offer to let him sleep in my bed with me.
“Is that coffee?”
“Yep. Strong and black, just how you like it.”
“You’re a saint.”
Jonah sits up in bed and the covers fall off of him completely. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers underneath and my mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Jonah may have seen me undressed and undone last night, but I’ve never seenhimlike that. His abs are as cut and defined as his arms, and the ink that wraps around each arm flows onto his chest as well. He takes a gulp of his coffee and I watch as he swallows, the column of his throat strong and defined.
I blush and turn away from him quickly, and then flee the room. My husband is sexy in the morning, and if I’m not careful I’ll end up in that twin bed with him.
“Enjoy the coffee,” I call over my shoulder.
I shut myself in my room and grab my phone. I need to distract myself with something. I text Candice, and ask her if anything is going on at the barn.
Candice: Nathan and I are working on some ideas for the house this morning, but then after that I’m free. Want to have your first riding lesson?
Me: Yes!!! Definitely.
Candice: Come by after lunch.
Ugh. That’s hours away. I flop back onto the bed and scroll through my phone. But without being signed into any social media apps, there isn’t much for me to look at. Taking a deep breath, I type my name into the search bar and hold it as the results load.
Surprisingly, there isn’t much new about me out there, barring a few articles about where I might be. My parents obviously haven’t announced that they’re suing me, though I expect someone to find it soon. The lawsuit is going to make them look really bad. They must really be incapable of making money without me.
I check my emails and see one from Shelley that I must have missed on Friday. She wants me to send her my entire text message history with both of my parents. That’s easy enough. I never delete anything, though it does mean I’ll have to turn on my old phone, which means confronting whatever text messages my parents undoubtedly sent me once they realized I was gone.
I find my old phone buried in one of the dresser drawers, and I reluctantly plug it in. After a few minutes, it turns on and is immediately flooded with texts. I wince as I scroll through the ones from my mom and dad. I just skim them, not needing to linger over their false concern for my whereabouts and then their anger at my disappearance.
Still, a few of them stand out.
Mom: Where the hell are you? This little game you’re playing is getting old.
Dad: You need to come home. Now, Winsome. I’m fuckin serious.
At a certain point, the texts abruptly stop. I guess their lawyer told them not to contact me anymore or something. I figure out how to export the messages after a few minutes and then send them to Shelley.
The brief encounter with my parents, even just via their texts, has me exhausted and climbing back into bed. I close my eyes for a few moments, trying to think of anything but them. I can’t stop the anxiety from worming its way through me, though.
I think of the time, two years ago, when I asked them what they thought about me moving out and exploring other career options.
“This is a family business Winsome, you don’t just quit,” my mom says, glaring at me.
