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The last time he had brought the idea up, she had said she needed them as bedrooms for her sisters. No one had slept over for over a year, but that night, all of Agatha’s sisters had stayed the night. Not that it had proved her point; it just proved how stubborn his wife was and to what lengths her sisters would go for her.
But an office was needed. Since getting married, she had released five more books in her little series, and they had been instant hits. A few times she had even gone on book signing tours. She grumbled about it but secretly loved that people liked her books as much as she did.
“I just like to draw, Chris. Not the rest. I am not a president. I think I’m going to hire Buzz to be president.” She glanced at her sister, who was once again pregnant and miserable. Even Jonas had to admit his wife complained a bit too much during pregnancy, though Chris was sure that had gotten back to Buzz based on how attentive Jonas had been lately.
Reaching up, he touched his wife’s cheek. “Except you’ve been working that end since you started, and you’ve been doing great at it. More than great. You don’t need Buzz. Quit hiding behind a sour attitude, Ag. It doesn’t work with me.”
“It should.” She huffed and crossed her arms, turning back to the valedictorian speaking on the stage.
“It never will again; I’m on to you. Poppy gets her personality right from you.” He kissed her cheek, which caused to smile, but she didn’t turn to him.
“Not a chance. That is all her grandma,” she argued as if he hadn’t lived with her long enough to know her inside and out.
He kissed her again. “It comes from you, and I love that you’re still hiding it from your entire family. Though they have been catching on.”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty good at telling them what I want them to know,” Agatha stated, and Chris knew that at least half of her sisters had heard what she said.
“Stop fighting. Can’t you just enjoy Emma’s day?” Sera turned from the row in front of them and gave them a death glare,one that instantly melted before she reached back and took the baby out of Chris’s arms, which was perfectly fine with him. Then he had two hands to touch his wife. He slipped one over the back of her chair, and with the other, he took her hand and pulled her close. She settled into him and sighed.
While making lazy circles on her bare arm, he toyed with the wedding ring and promise ring she wore every day. They sparkled in the sunshine as he counted the red stones on the ring, one for each year wasted as they grew up together but apart.
Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “Hey, Chris.”
“Hey, Chris.” She covered his hand with hers and squeezed.
“Happy Graduation, Agatha Christie.” And he smiled when she wrinkled her nose at her name, then turned her attention to the stage as Emma’s name was called.
As one, the entire family jumped to their feet and cheered. Chris took the moment of confusion to kiss his wife and make out at a graduation. He was never going to regret not doing something again when it involved Agatha, or Chris, or Christie, or whoever she wanted to be. Not ever again.
The End
