“Want company?”
Josie’s red curls peeked around the shower curtain before the rest of her followed.
“Always.” He shifted away from the spray to let her step under the hot water and to give himself a better view of her soon-to-be wet body.
“Everything set for today?” She brushed against him as she reached for her body wash, and his hands automatically dropped to her waist and tugged so her back was pressed against his front in all kinds of interesting ways. It thoroughly chased the subject he needed to discuss with her from his head, but he was happy to let it go for now.
“Yep.”
“I see we’re having a talkative morning.” She tilted her head back and looked up at him with a grin, and he seized the opportunity to pluck the bottle from her hand with a grunt.
A sharp citrus scent filled the shower as he slicked the gel over her skin, and as always, he experienced a mild state of awe that he was the man allowed to put his hands on her in the shower every morning. Just one of the perks of cohabitation with the woman he loved.
She purred in appreciation as he stroked his fingers under her breasts, then sighed. “I still can’t believe Finn and Tom planned their engagement party for my birthday weekend.”
“It’s not all about you.” He spun her so she could rinse under the spray.
“It’s alittleabout me,” she said matter-of-factly. “Turn, please.”
He did as instructed and stood still as her fingers invaded his hair, the pads massaging shampoo along his scalp in languid strokes that he felt in each nerve ending.
“Is your mother going to make it?” he asked as she worked.
“No.” Her answer was short but more rueful than bitter. “It’s okay. We had coffee last week, and I only got shouty once. You’ve mellowed me.”
“Or social justice has mellowed her.”
Although Pamela hadn’t gotten the Art Institute residency she’d been angling for, she’d secured a grant to work with an organization collecting stories and photos of Chicago’s homeless population. By some miracle, the project was making her marginally better at basic human decency when it came to her daughter.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s me.” She stroked conditioner through his hair now, taking her time to work it in the ends before sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his back. “How did I end up with an Iowa farm boy who has more haircare products than I do?”
He turned in her embrace. “That’s what happens when you pick fights on public transportation.”
She laughed and then she kissed him, and then they communicated in nothing but sighs and caresses for a time.
Afterward, they managed to get dried, dressed, and downstairs with an hour to spare before the first guests arrived at the shop for the low-key friends-and-family celebration of love. As Josie filled a tray with mocha espresso cupcakes, Erik fetched the centerpiece cake from the fridge and debated how to bring up a potentially touchy subject.
“So uh,” he began, and she groaned.
“I know that tone. What is it? Gina’s not coming after all, is she?” She gestured impatiently at the cupcake in her hand. “She and Christine got stuck in Iowa, so you made these gluten-free for nothing.”
“No, they’re still coming. And Jake’s bringing his girlfriend, last I heard.” Hey, just look at that personal growth: nothing but happiness that the guy in the suit had found his own happiness. Of course, it helped that it was with someone other than Josie.
Josie, who was looking at him with curiosity all over her face. Time to jump in.
“So I got a call from your TV friend Yousef this week.”
Her hands stilled over the outer circle of cupcakes, and he rushed to banish the apprehension creeping across her features. “He asked about doing a monthly segment on baking techniques”—deep breath, push it out—“and I told him yes.”
The only sign that Josie had heard him was the slight flicker of her eyelids, so he continued as if she was absorbing the news like normal. “I guess the station manager liked that god-awful first appearance I did. It was popular with viewers.”
More silence. Even her eye twitch had fallen still.
“Oh no. I’ve broken you.” He bent down to her eye level, a flicker of concern growing. “If you hate it, I’ll tell him no. But I thought—”
“You don’t have to do this for me,” she blurted. Now that she was talking again, she burst into motion, wringing her hands, biting her lip, and all but crumpling with pink-cheeked anxiety.
“No, I… I want to try it. People still mention that segment sometimes when they come in. Let’s grow the business. We’ve got that second location to pay for after all.”
