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Maybe I should have left then, to avoid creepy watching-new-husband-while-sleeping behavior, but the man did order a head rub. So, I spent a few minutes sitting on the coffee table, dragging my fingers through his soft hair. Why the man isn’t set up with a shampoo sponsor, I don’t know. I should send a letter to Pantene or Herbal Essences or whatever the kids are using these days. But then, I hate the idea of even a stylist having her hands on his hair, so maybe not.
I didn’t expect jealousy to come standard with the wedding band, but here we are.
After my hand started to cramp, I scrawled Eli a little note, smiling at the use of the wordshusbandandwife, then came to bed feeling satisfied and also … very alone. I thought the whole kissing him with my dress half undone would have maybe been enough to let Eli know he was welcome to stay with me. If not for consummating the marriage—I want to kill Shannon for cementing that word in my brain—then just to sleep. I could imagine waking curled up beside Eli, his warm weight with me like it had been the night Annie came, when he climbed into my bed.
Anyway. I guess we have time for that? Or not. If that’s not what he wants. While I feel almost sure we’re on the same page, Eli seems just as reticent to talk about it as me. Probably not for the same reasons—where I struggle with words and saying things I want, the man seems unable to hold back.
Except with me. And I don’t know how to take that.
There are too many maybes in my head right now. They’re breeding like rabbits and did so until around two o’clock in the morning, when I fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep.
I spin the rings on my finger, taking off the band Eli placed there yesterday, reading the engraving again, then running my fingers over the letters.Awkward together. The thoughtfulness and the quirkiness of it makes a huge smile stretch across my face.
I should have come up with something like that for him. His ring is a plain gold band. It’s what he asked for, but now it doesn’t feel like enough. Though the present I’m planning to give him today is something I know he’ll love.Morethan love. I actually can’t wait.
In the long run, I know there’s no way I’ll be able to keep up with Eli’s level of thoughtful giving. He’s Olympic-level. I’ll just need to find my own ways of making him feel special.
I slide the ring back on my finger, staring down at how foreign my hands look with such beautiful jewelry.
A door slams, and then I hear noises from the main room of the suite—a rattle, grunt, and a jangle—approaching the bedroom. I sit up, straightening Eli’s button-down shirt. I really thought he had to have been exaggerating about Annie’s prank, but he might have downplayed it. When I opened my suitcase, I swear a purple, lacy thong practically shot out at my face. The only time I’ve seen that much lingerie is walking by Victoria’s Secret. Definitely nothing wearable in there. At least, not forthisparticular honeymoon.
But I’m grateful to have had the excuse to sleep in Eli’s shirt, smelling him against my skin while I slept. I’m not going to look this gift shirt in the mouth.
I would have preferredhim.
There’s a knock at the door, and I scoot back against the pillows, pulling the comforter up over my bare legs. “Come in,” I call.
As Eli backs into the room, still in his lime-covered muumuu and tugging a silver rolling cart, I realize I didn’t wash off my makeup last night. Which means it’s still on my face, probably in none of the places it’s supposed to be.
To complete this elegant post-wedding look, my hair is a wild nest. I tied it into a knot last night because I hate the feel of hair heavy on my neck when I’m trying to sleep. Now it’s loosened but not fully unknotted. When I lift a hand to it, I’m surprised a squirrel doesn’t dart out, making a break for the door, stopping for one of the pastries on Eli’s cart.
“Morning,” he says, stopping at the end of my bed and turning to grin at me. “I am pleased to bring you your honeymoon breakfast service.”
Unlike my still sleep-rumpled state, Eli’s hair is damp, and the smell emanating from him screamsfreshly showered. There must be a second bathroom in this suite—I didn’t get a good look last night when he carried me in half asleep. Unless he snuck in here while I was sleeping and showered in this bathroom. My eyes dart away from the stack of pastries to the bathroom door, then back to the food.
I could worry about if Eli tiptoed through, seeing me sleeping. But: pastries!
“Would you like full-service breakfast in bed? Or would you prefer self-service?” I start to swing my legs over the side of the bed, not wanting Eli to go to any trouble, when he holds up a finger and says, “And if you’re choosing self-service to be nice even though what you really want is for me to serve you, put those pretty legs back in bed.”
He must see my hesitation, or maybe it’s the way I froze when he said pretty legs, but he arches a brow, grinning. “Imean it. Back in bed with you. If it makes you feel less guilty, I’ll join you.”
Eli rolls the cart closer so I can tell him what I’d like. It looks like he ordered one of everything and two of things that are sweet: chocolate chip pancakes, cinnamon buns, and chocolate-filled croissants.
“I wasn’t sure what you would like,” he says.
“You knowsomeof what I like,” I tell him, pointing to my plate laden with sweets. And two strips of bacon as my token protein.
“I’m learning,” he says.
I want to be learning too, so I watch as he heaps his plate with eggs and bacon, along with what looks like a salad. Then he climbs into bed next to me, nudging my elbow with his before tucking into his food.
“You made fun of me for salad pizza, yet you’re having salad for breakfast?” I tease.
He rolls his eyes. “With all the traveling coming up and the extra games, I’m trying to stick to our meal plan. Which includes more spinach than I’d prefer. Want some?” He holds out a forkful, and I wrinkle my nose.
“Nope. I’m happy with my chocolate,” I tell him. “So, you reallydohave a meal plan?”
“It’s a bigger deal in the NHL. A lot of our guys are looser with things, though we often have as many games and almost as much training. I don’t like being strict with my diet, but I do feel better if I’m more regimented about it.”
