“I’m yours to command,” I say, as her eyes drift down my body in my white t-shirt and over-worn jeans. She blushes, flustered, just the way I like her.
“Hey now—eyes up here. But if you need me to stay late and handle anything else, I’m always happy to put in the long hours for my favorite manager.” I hint at her and wink.
She bites her lip, and I swear she’s thinking about more than her to-do list. But I keep it light.
“Is window washing on your list?”
She shakes her head like she’s trying to rejoin reality. “Uh, yes. Yeah, it is.”
“Great. You eat. I’ll start.” I grab the ladder from my truck and head toward the already-spotless windows. They don’t need washing, but if my woman feels better with an exceptionally clean place, then that is what she is going to get.
As I am finishing up the last window, I feel her eyes on me. I peek over my shoulder just to check. “You’re staring, baby.” I grin.
With no shame in her game now, she responds, “Just admiring the view.”
I could fist pump the air with how accomplished I feel, bringing back her playful side with me. I turn and start walking toward her, pushing her legs wide on the tailgate and standing between them. “You can stare at me anytime you want, darling, it’s all for you.”
Her smile lingers, mine does too. But neither of us closes the distance, not yet.
Preparing to give out the marching orders, she reachesout and takes my hat off my head like she used to, without thinking, without asking. For a second, I forget everything that went wrong between us. Before she can dictate the list, her phone buzzes. She pulls it out, and I can see the text message.
Phi
Hello, new roommate! Some unexpected evidence popped up in a case I’m working on. I won’t be there when you head over. The code is #1029. Make yourself at home!
“Alright, I have a few more things to do here, and then I will head over to Phi’s house.” She exhales before almost muttering to herself, “It’s only temporary, not home.”
I feel the sadness in her tone—the urge to return to her routine, to build her roots. I psyche myself up to ask something she may not be ready for.
“About that,” I say, unsure how she will take this idea. “I don’t want you moving into Phoenix’s. You have a lot going on, and you deserve to feel settled in your space. I want you to move back home.”
She freezes, eyes hardening, the playful atmosphere instantly leaving.
“Sam, things have been going well between us, but I am not ready to live with you again.”
Shit. She’s right. How do I make her see that I physically can’t take her security like that again, that I would rather tear my heart from my chest than make her feel so vulnerable again?
“I know, baby. As much as I wish that weren’t true, I get it. I was going to suggest that you move back home, and I will move out.”
“Oh,” she responds, surprised by my idea. “I don’t know, it’s your house, Sam. I wouldn’t feel right about that.”
“Becca, I am so sorry for what I said, and I wish I had re-negotiated that postnup. Not because I disagreed with you getting one, but I should never have made you feel that our house wasn’t ours; I should have made it clear and legal. I can barely stand to be there right now without you.”
I let her see the truth in my eyes before continuing. “If, God forbid, you wanted to get a divorce, there is no way I could keep staying there, no matter how many great memories I had growing up.”
I push through the pain of announcing my worst fear, trying to convince her to get back home.
“Please, you love that house. Go back home, relax in the clawfoot tub you found and demanded I install for you. Sleep in your sheets. Use your coffee maker. I’m begging you, if I know your home, I know I will sleep better at night.”
She pauses, staring at my face. I don’t rush her; this is a big step I am asking of her.
“I can’t move back as if nothing happened.”
She gathers her thoughts before continuing, “But … I can stay there. For now.”
I visibly exhale in relief. “Thank you, baby, you don’t know what this means to me.” I lean in and give her a soft kiss on her forehead.
“Where are you going to go?” she asks a question I knew was coming but don’t want to answer.
