I thought I’d be upset with myself for agreeing to this month, but a calm sense of right lingered around me. My eyes were brighter. My face had more color.
My parents always preached that your body spoke to you about your happiness. It let you know when you were happy, and when you weren’t. I’d thought the idea was a little wild and that my parents were still enjoying their hippie phase, but my body felt happy knowing I’d spend more time with Connor.
With a smile, I left the bathroom and found Connor frowning at the counter. A bag of coffee, a carton of eggs, and bread all sat in a row. His gaze moved to me, and his frown disappeared instantly.
“Hi,” he said, appearing so damn cute that my insides swirled.
“Oh, hey.” I joined him and nudged his hip with mine. “Is there a reason we’re staring at the food?”
“I can’t cook at all. I had this wonderful idea to make you breakfast, but I don’t know how to make a French press coffee, which is all I have here.” He sighed in defeat.
I snorted.
“That’s… sad.”
“I know, Laney.” His expression tightened, and his movements were stiff. “It reminded me that we never talked about how you always took care of us with food. You shopped, you cooked. I never even asked if you liked it or wanted to. You just did it at the start, and I never checked in.”
Flashes of frustration hit me. The nights I’d cook for us and his dinner would go cold. The lack of appreciation. I pushed down the urge to avoid the conversation and said, “Sometimes, I was resentful that you always assumed.”
He nodded. “Can you teach me?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “I’ll show you, but I hope you know this is ridiculous. What grown man doesn’t know how to make French toast or eggs or French press?”
“One that was selfish and assumed his wife would do it.” His jaw tightened. “I need to learn all this because I don’t intend to lose you ever again, and that means we take turns cooking.”
I don’t intend to lose you.
My body hummed, loving that answer. I had no idea if dating for a month would truly solve our problems, but I knew it was the right thing to try. I just had to make sure my heart wouldn’t completely shatter by the end of this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CONNOR
I didn’t want to leave our home. I didn’t want the storm to clear or the power to come on, but it had. We ate French toast, and I knew we had to return to Laney’s hometown, where she would stay with her parents and I’d wake up alone.
She was giving us a chance, and I wanted every second with her.
But Petra wouldn’t stop calling or texting, and it was better to deal with that alone. It felt too soon, too raw, to talk work while my wife was finally looking at me with joy instead of devastation.
Laney wore my clothes with her cute, messy hair, and my heart swelled. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get to this place, especially after she had insinuated that I had cheated on her. That hurt the most out of all of this—that I led her to believe I’d put Petra and my job first. I had to fix that somehow, but that was a problem to brainstorm later.
Right now was about us talking more.
“Honest thought,” I said, waiting for her to face me. Shedid, her chin tipped up as she stared at me with her stunning light brown eyes. “I wish the storm had lasted longer, and we were stuck here, just us.”
“Honest thought,” she whispered, blushing. “I kinda do too.”
“Do you want to stay another night?”
She blinked, and I instantly regretted asking. Of course she didn’t. She wanted to go back home and have space. I even needed it to regroup, but this was our home. She didn’t answer right away, and I winced.
“Sorry, that was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have asked and put you in this position. Let’s go—”
“Okay.” She nodded.
“Okay… what?”
“Let’s stay here one more night.”
