The morning after my arrival in LA, we both slept in. When she stumbled into the kitchen in skimpy sleep shorts and a hoodie, I tried to act like I didn’t notice and made us breakfast. She made coffee. We moved around the kitchen like we’d done it a hundred times. I unpacked my stuff, and in the afternoon, we headed to the grocery store and Target since I’d only brought the bare essentials on the plane.
We even stopped for an early dinner at a place Pres loves near her place, and I met the owner. She didn’t even hesitate to introduce me as her husband.
I took it as a good sign.
But then, evening arrived, and I offered to help out at the bar. She waved me off, saying she had it covered and was just going in to do some paperwork.
When she returned a few hours later, her mood was different. Darker. She went straight to bed, and ever since, she’s been quiet. Guarded.
Jonas
That’s understandable. There’s always an adjustment period. Keisha and I had ours, remember? You just need to give it time.
Me
You adjusting to having all of Keisha’s stuff around is not the same thing.
Jonas
I had to give up half my closet.
Me
I feel for you, I do. But, I’ve got to go.
Jonas
Say hi to the Mrs. for me!
It’s now been five days since I got here, and thanks to our mismatched schedules, I’ve barely seen Presley. When she’s bartending at night, I’m sleeping. When I’m working, she’s back at the bar doing inventory or catching up on more mysterious paperwork.
I know from our weeks of texting that she doesn’t usually clock this many hours unless she’s understaffed. But the loss of one employee wouldn’t account for the number of hours she’s putting in during the day.
Unless she’s just using it as an excuse to avoid me.
As I step out of the shower, I try to think of a reason why. Is it something I said? Maybe she’s having second thoughts. I wouldn’t blame her. What we’re doing isn’t exactly normal.
I dry off my hair and reach for my shirt, but quickly realize it’s not there.
Shit, I forgot my clothes.
I keep everything in Presley’s room to maintain the pretense that I sleep there in case anyone visits, but I always pull out fresh clothes the night before so I can shower when I wake up.
I did all that, but left them lying on the chair in the living room.
I glance at the door and then at my phone. It’s still early, and I’m usually the first one up. I don’t like the thought of her having to tiptoe around her own living room.
Plus, I like having the coffee ready for her when she wakes up, which probably won’t be for another thirty minutes.
I should be safe.
I turn the handle, step into the hallway, and run straight into my wife.
She gasps in surprise as I try to jump back, but my smart watch with the chunky metal band that Jonas insisted was stylish gets caught in her hair, and we’re instantly stuck together.
Stylish, Jonas? Try deadly.
“Shit, Pres. Are you okay?”
