I can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter and inconceivably hopeful.
“Okay, wifey,” Owen says, linking our pinkies, pulling them to his lips, and pressing a kiss to mine. “Do your thing. I’ll head upstairs and have my protein shake.”
“Okay.” I bite down a tentative smile. “I’ll be up soon… hubby.”
The smile on Owen’s face as he climbs the ladder upstairs has me convinced that I’ll be saying yes tomorrow, too.
13
STARGAZING
MYLES SMITH
OWEN
Suite Hearts, Day 15
“Good morning, Suite Hearts,” Sumer Morrison sings into the mic that splays through the speaker in our Tink.
Brooke and I startle, jumping from the bed like we were caught making out as teens, and not just a grown man and his wife waking up to the woodpecker outside their window, then spending the better part of the morning whispering secrets in the dark.
“It’s Day Fifteen which means we have our first offer ready for you on your roofs. Please be out in five and ready to make a deal.”
I can’t help but growl at the interruption, though I can’t be mad when for the fifth day in a row, Brooke saidyesto being my wife when I asked her this morning.
She giggles, sticks her finger in my side, then jets out of the bed before I can retaliate. Resituating my sling, I chase herquickly to the ladder and wrap my good arm around her waist before she can escape, pulling her back flush against me.
“You are…” I bury my face in her neck, letting myself breath her in and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
“Faster than you? Adorable? The best wife ever?”
I can’t argue with any of it.
“Yeah,” I sigh, wiggling my fingers against her stomach where I know she’s most ticklish. “You took the words right outta my mouth.”
She squirms and squeals, but I manage to keep my hold on her until I’ve fallen to the floor, pulling Brooke to my lap as she wrestles to get away. “Owen, stop,” she shrieks, pushing halfheartedly on my good shoulder. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
With Brooke straddling me and smiling like she is now, I’d gladly accept another injury if it meant we stayed like this for the entirety of our day.
“Worth it,” I sigh, wrapping my good arm around her waist so that she’s nice and close. I hate the sling on my arm and the restriction it creates to fully holding her. I’m a good multitasker, but with one hand I can’t keep Brooke exactly where I want herandpull back the hair from her face. Or trace the curve of her lips with my fingers. I might be an eternal optimist, but with the way she’s looking at me right now, I don’t think I’ll have to.
I’ve been careful to give Brooke consistent affection since we started the show. The same light touches and friendly kisses I’ve given at any point during our years of friendship, finding her lips only when there’s a camera or others present. She seems okay with it all, and though I do love our moments of closeness, I’m always painfully aware that Brooke is never the one to initiate any of that affection. Not even a hand-hold.
Other guys might lose heart, but I’ve seen what my wife looks like when she wants to kiss me. My mind is seared by the waythose chocolate brown eyes went from fear to fire when she let go in that moment of decision years ago. I want a repeat of that. I can almost taste the memory of her on my lips. And the longing in her eyes right now tells my heart to stay the course.
But this thing between us is fragile. I don’t want Brooke tofinallykiss me of her own accord in a moment of impulsivity. I want her whole heart and intention. After a life of living on fault lines that could, and did, shake her world without notice, I want her to finally feel and know that she’s on solid ground. With me.
I meant what I told her, all those weeks ago, on the night of our surprise engagement: The love I have for her is about much more than the physical relationship I’m desperate for. I’m not interested in anything that makes Brooke feel as if she's not the most important person in my life, which includes not letting her act on the buzz of electricity simmering between us thanks to the last four perfect days we’ve shared.
She slowly leans forward. It’s totally counterintuitive, and physically hurts to stop what I’ve been praying would happen for years, but I squeeze her waist and rest my forehead on hers. “Brooke.”
Her breath hitches. She clears her throat and starts to pull away, the pain of rejection flushing her cheeks. I can’t have that.
I tighten my one-handed hold on her waist. “Will you go on a date with me? Please. Tonight?”
“Um…” The sudden tension in her body slackens as she swallows and nods. “I’d like that.”
“Me, too.” I kiss her forehead, the only affection I’m capable of if I’m to stay resolute. “How ‘bout we go make a deal upstairs and, then, plan our first date.”
