Would it kill you to hang a picture on the wall, Hutch?
She hadn’t been the first with all that noise.
But she had been the last.
Not one woman he’d been remotely serious about wanted him just for him.
Change this.
Niggle that.
Get out of the Navy so you’re home more.
Work harder.Kiss ass.Go for that promotion.
Be someone else.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to compromise.
He did.
He just refused to compromise on the core of him being anything but who he was.
He didn’t know if his old range could bake a loaf of sourdough bread.
What he did know was that every woman who walked over his threshold saw his home as a huge waving red flag, sharing he was not a keeper.
This was not his plan, but it worked for him anyway.
He hated television.There was nothing worthwhile on it.It was a time suck and a mind fuck.
He didn’t give a fuck about paintings on the wall.
But if there was a single woman in this world who could handle him as he was, she could do whatever the fuck she wanted.He’d help.He’d pay.And if it made her happy, he’d be glad to do it.
He wouldn’t like it, but he’d even mount a TV.
But that first part was impossible to find.
Since it happened, he’d refused to think about it, but learning everything about Mabel, it surfaced.
I’m impressed.
Another thing Bree rode his ass about?
Live a little, Hutch.What’s an ice cream cone gonna hurt?It’s like you’re no fun.
He closed his eyes thinking about ice cream and expended the effort it took to shake that off.
Then Mabel’s words returned.
I’m impressed.
He opened his eyes.
Not,Take it.Eat it.It won’t kill you.I worked hard on baking that bread.
But,I’m impressed.
