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Emerson

Page 115

by Kat Marowe

“I don’t want it quick and dirty, Emerson. I want you naked and panting in our bed. Sweaty and trying to hold in your moans while I take you apart one kiss, one touch at a time. I want you begging for me, baby. That’s what I want.”

He stops, cheeks turning the prettiest shade of pink. Plump lips part, and he watches me walk up to him.

“I could probably agree to that,” he croaks out. I’m about to throw him over my shoulder, but he holds up a finger with a wide-eyed look. I watch him turn the sink off, close the dishwasher. Then he grabs one of the many stacks of sticky notes laying around and a pen from the jar by the coffee pot. He bites off the cap, then writes himself a note before smacking it on the fridge.

Emerson:

Buy lube & Ellie treats

Don’t forget to pick penny up @ 12:45

We need more fucking flour so Dillon can make cupcakes

My heart does a flip in my chest seeing that note there.

“What are you waiting for?” he says, walking backwards out of the kitchen.

“Nothing anymore.”

His eyes dance, and my heart sings when he mouths ‘I love you.’

Epilogue

When I open my eyes, there’s a familiar pink box sitting on the nightstand. I smirk, stretching in bed. It must be a fresh batch; I can smell the sweet scent of cake baking in the air. Almost worth waking up to an empty bed. Almost.

I sit up, leaning against the headboard before taking the cupcake box in hand and opening the lid. Ellie lifts her head from the empty spot next to me, looking as judgey as ever.

“I’m allowed to eat a cupcake in bed, Eleanor. It’s my birthday.” Said cupcake is beautifully frosted and pink, sprinkled with a glitter because he knows how much I love a good dramatic cupcake.

I curl my toes and lift it from the box but pause when I see under the cupcake he wrote ‘don’t freak out’ on the bottom of the box. I frown, swiping my tongue over the frosting. I don’t hear him in the house, but I slide into my slippers, peeling the paper off the bottom as I go. This one has a strawberry center–my favorite.

“Dill?” I call, peeking into Penny’s room but neither of them are in there.

There is another box, though. In the center of the hallway floor. I huff a laugh and bend to grab it.

It feels heavier than normal, and I shove the rest of the cupcake in my hand into my mouth before opening it.

There’s a cupcake inside, all right.

It’s just not a real one.

A small cupcake figurine sits inside. Based on the funky color combos and patchy painting, Penny decorated it for me. My chest warms, and I hold it carefully.

“Pen?” I call around my mouthful of cupcake.

And that's how I find them. Mouth full, hair a mess, cow slippers on that match the ones I got Penny for Christmas.

Dillon is on one knee in the middle of our living room, and Penny is on one knee, right next to him.

She giggles as soon as I get to the end of the hallway, and Dillon bites back his smile.

“What…”

“Emerson, we wanted to ask you something.”

Oh, God. I’m gonna throw up.

I choke, trying to swallow the rest of the food in my mouth. “Okay,” I rasp.