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“Don’t start, Fox, or we’re sleeping here tonight, and you aren’t going to work,” I warned, trying to stay focused.
“You forget, dear Ryleigh, that I can work from bed,” he murmured, his breath tickling my ear.
“Naked, I hope,” I shot back, trying to maintain my resolve.
“But of course,” he replied with a mischievous grin.
“Get dressed while I pack. What am I going to do with my furniture?” I asked, needing a practical solution.
“Didn’t you say that Lisa and Benny are looking for a place in the city?” he suggested, already a step ahead.
“Yes, but they wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on this place,” I pointed out.
“What rent? The place is paid for. All they have to pay is the maintenance and taxes. That’s less than the rent would be on an apartment this big,” he explained, his practicality shining through.
“It’s up to you. It’s your place,” he said, looking for my approval.
“I think it would be a nice gesture. They want to save up to get married, and commuting to the city has been rough on Benny,” I reasoned.
“Then it’s settled. Your furniture is brand new. Do you want to gift it to them?” he asked.
“I think that would be nice. The furniture and everything else. I have a swanky penthouse to move to,” I said, my eyes twinkling.
“Then get packing, Mrs. Fox,” he teased, his voice full of affection.
I stretched languidly across Oliver's bed—our bed—feeling a contentment I hadn't experienced in ages. The scent of lime and basil clung to my skin, a reminder of the luxurious bath I'd just enjoyed. My belly was full of dim sum from Ming's, and my husband lay beside me, a solid, reassuring presence.
Resting my head on Oliver's chest, I traced lazy circles around his nipple with my fingertip. The low murmur of financial news from the television provided a soothing backdrop.
"Oliver?" I whispered, my voice barely audible above the drone of stock reports.
He shifted slightly, his arm tightening around me. "Yes, sweetheart?"
I hesitated, then murmured, "Thank you."
"For what?" Oliver's voice held a note of curiosity.
I smiled against his skin. "Coming to your senses."
Oliver's chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. "I came to my senses a while ago. I was just too scared to say anything."
My finger stilled its circular motion. "You should've tried. You would've saved a lot of heartache and tears."
I spent so many nights crying myself to sleep after our separation and when I was awake, I teetered between devastation and anger. I knew I gave in too easily, let him off the hook for his behavior but we would hash it out when we went to therapy. He would know how he made me feel.
He began to stroke my hair, his touch gentle and soothing. "I know. I told you I would spend my life making it up to you."
I bit my lip, wanting to change the subject. "Have you heard from Jonah?"
Oliver's body tensed almost imperceptibly. "No. He'll eventually surface when he gets in trouble or needs money. It's his MO." He paused, then added firmly, "But I don't want to talk about him. I want to talk about us."
"What?" I tilted my head to look up at him.
His eyes met mine, filled with determination. "When would you like to start therapy?"
I felt a flutter of hope in my chest. "As soon as possible. We have a lot to get out."
"I agree," Oliver nodded. "I can look for a therapist tomorrow. I think there's a few in my building."
