“Yep. He said a prime example was when you were little. That you wanted to learn to ride your bike without training wheels.”
“Oh, I know this story.”
“Did you ever take note of the respect in his tone?”
She pulls a face. So no.
“He explained there was so much going on at home that you were toldnext weekendfor a while.”
“Big families. Not enough parents.” She scrunches her nose again. “You can’t take a ticket like you might at the deli because someone older or with a more pressing need jumps the queue.”
“But not you. Whit says you went into the shed, jimmied open your dad’s toolbox—he said the lid was probably as heavy as you.”
She laughs again. “Yeah, then I tried half a dozen tools. Cut my finger, too.”
“But you managed to take those training wheels off, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
She says this like it’s obvious. Like other kids wouldn’t have given up.
“They were purple. I’ve always hated that color.”
“Not only that but you also taught yourself to ride. All by yourself, without anyone’s help.”
“It took me ages. Not to mention most of the skin from my knees and hands.”
“But you got back on. Because you’re Lavender. Anxiety or not, I’ve never met anyone like you. I wish you could see how special you are. The way you worried about seeing Whit, and the way you handled him.”
Her mouth drops comically open.
“Dangerous,” I murmur as she allows me to close it with my index finger under her chin.
“You sneaky thing. You listened in on our conversation?”
“A little,” I admit. “I wanted to make sure he wasn’t being an asshole to you. If he had been.” I shrug. “I know you wouldn’t have appreciated it, but I would’ve stepped in.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have liked that, but I would’ve understood.”
“Because you would do the same for me. For anyone. Because that’s the person you are.”
“I’m perhaps a little more partial to you than I am random people,” she says.
“And I’m grateful for that.” I give a soft laugh. “But what I heard told me you didn’t need me there. You had it all on your own. You are strong and resilient, and you are a survivor, Lavender. There isn’t anything you can’t do. Your brother knows that and said as much. You need to see that, too.”
“Thank you.” She tries to scowl, though how can she when her eyes sparkle? I begin to lower my head, craving a taste of my unstoppable wife, when the sound of shattering glass freezes us in place.
“Oops!” calls a little voice. “I might need a little help in here!”
41
LAVENDER
“So. Much. Butt. Stuff!”
From behind me, Raif’s laughter soundssosmutty. “Was that an invitation?”
“It was not!” I complain—and laugh. “Stop touching my bum,” I insist as I try to shimmy along the kitchen counter. Instead, his arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls my bum into the cradle of his thighs. “What is it with you getting handsy when my hands are busy?” Leaning forward, I drop the bag of flour to the countertop, where a white cloud billows up. I cough, fanning it away, and shiver as Raif presses his lips to my neck.
