We let Ghost free from his bindings, but he isn’t allowed at the Pack house or my house or anywhere else without Dylan or Felix present. While James didn’t react to these rules, he doesn’t seem to be the type to follow rules. I guess we’ll see how that plays out.
I was given the duty to live my life as I normally would. As if there wasn’t a person out there who wants me dead. Regardless, I more than welcomed the idea of living as if everything was absolutely perfect. It’s about time I caught a break.
“I can’t make up for something I don’t feel bad about.”
“Eddie, you’re not helping your get out of bed argument,” I mutter.
“Let’s go buy books,” he says, and I contemplate. I’m tired. Tired of life at this point, but books? Should I go buy books on his dollar? It would be a hell of an apology. But did I want to get out of bed?
“I guess,” I say playfully, rolling my eyes. “Let’s go buy books.”
“Great! I picked your outfit out already,” he says, crawling out of my bed and heading towards my closet. Picked out my outfit? How long has he been up?
Rolling over, I set my feet on the ground, taking off my bonnet. I gaze towards the end of the bed, seeing the so-called outfit Eddie is laying out for me. He picked a maxi length black dress and one of my little shoulder bags to match. For browsing the shelves of a bookstore, you couldn’t go wrong with a long and flowy dress, but I’d switch out the shoulder bag for a crossbody instead. My hands need to be free.
My eyes trail up to his face. His adorably concentrated face, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him the shoulder bag isn’t ideal. His braids have grown slightly and trail in front of his eyes as his head swishes around, looking back and forth between the accessories I own.
Sighing, I get out of bed with a smile I couldn’t get rid of even if I tried. Once Eddie is done fiddling with my outfit for the day, he goes off to, I hope, the kitchen to whip up some tea and pancakes.
Goodness, I love tea and pancakes, and I love when he makes them for me even more. How did I get so fluffing lucky? My face is refreshed now that I’ve washed it, and it’s time for the most dreaded, but most rewarding, part of my morning routine: my hair. My curls never, and I really mean never, do what I want them to do. I can only hope that we are on the same page, and today I’m guessing that we’re on the half up, half down page. Wrangling my curls for about twenty minutes is all the energy I have for today for my hair. Thankfully, it comes out decent and I make my way to the star of this morning: breakfast.
“One of these days, I’m going to wake up early enough to make you breakfast instead,” I say as Eddie is setting down plates and mugs when I enter the kitchen.
“How about lunch instead?” He smirks, as if he knows I’m probably never going to wake up early enough to make my man breakfast.
“I can do lunch,” I agree, sitting in my seat. I look over at Eddie, slightly surprised to see he has black cargo pants on, matching my black dress. Is he matching my dress? Black is a common color, right? Maybe a coincidence.
“Eddie, are we matching?” I ask. My eyes are glued to him. Even if we aren’t matching, cargo pants are as attractive as dress pants, and now I’m thinking this man could pull off anything, and that in itself is really unfair.
“Would you look at that,” he says. He slides into his chair and eats. “We’re both wearing black.” Hmm, maybe it was a coincidence.
We eat in a comfortable silence, and I’m glad. I love this time with Eddie. I don’t have to keep up conversation, or host, or entertain with him. I can just be, and I haven’t had this kind of peace in forever. With everything about the ceremony and the James situation swirling in my mind, I don’t have enough room to put on my mask of normalcy.
“Let’s get going,” Eddie says. He takes our plates, and we argue over who is going to clean them. He wins, but I refill our to-go cups, his with water and mine with tea, of course.
“So, what book did you want?”I ask, pressing on to the romance section of the bookstore. It’s my favorite and, honestly, the only section I bother with. That I, until today. My eyes glaze over new and familiar covers as Eddie grabs my arm and steers me towards a section I typically don’t even process exists: the self-help section. “Eddie,” I mumble, my bear growling with me.
Those books were, I’m not sure how to describe them exactly, smart? I could admit that, but where was the excitement? Where is the thrill? The love and angst? I roll my head to the side,bringing Eddie into view, who acts as if he is about to burst with laughter.
“It’s Rich D?—”
“Do you want me to read one of these?” I interrupt as my shoulders slump. I only then realize I might be dumping on a genre that he might enjoy, and the guilt of being a hater is filling my stomach with rocks. I stand up straight, trying to fix my face into a cheerful smile. “I mean, do you like this genre? What’s your favorite?—”
“I’m messin’ with you. There is not a single book on your shelf that isn’t a romance, and believe me, I checked everywhere. But I do have a book recommendation I think you might like.” He guides me back to the romance section, searching through the alphabetized books. I’d probably already read it, but for him, I’d read it again.
He lands on a book with a couple holding a basketball in their hands. “I think we’d both love this,” he says, pulling two copies off the shelf. “It’s about a woman who falls for a ballplayer who turns out to be an ass, and then she falls for another ball player while trying to get away from the original one. It’s got love, thrill, and sports. A little something for both of us. People rave about it online.”
“You did research for our next book?” I ask.
“Yeah, your recommendations are great, but I wanted something that would be new to both of us.”
“Eddie,” I say on a ghost of a whisper, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Eddie is thoughtful. He is kind, funny, and cuddly. He’s everything. I stare at him as he holds two books in his hands. His eyes meet mine, and his face flushes. Actually flushes. His shoulders become hunched slightly, and he quickly looks away, as if embarrassed.
“If you don’t think you’ll like it?—”
“I’ll love it. I just, I don’t know, that is incredibly sweet.” I cut him off before he can downplay the kind act he’d done for me. I grab his shoulder to raise myself to press a kiss to his cheek, catching the corner of his lip. It isn’t nearly enough to express my happiness, but for now it will have to do. “Thank you, Mr. Enchanted.”
“You’re welcome, Buttercup.” I can hardly hold his gaze. Intense instinct and hard-to-get-rid-of thoughts cloud my mind as I turn to gaze at the other books. Is this what being with your mate is supposed to be like?
