Page 25 of If I Didn’t Have You

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya, Pop.”

I grunted as he walked out of the room, then sat down on the stairs, waiting for my wife to return home to make me some food. Without her at home today, I was forced to make myself a sandwich, which wasn’t at all satisfying. The way Clara made sandwiches, you’d think you were in a deli. There was always some special sauce spread between the layers of meat, which I didn’t remember until after I put the mayo on the bread and it soaked through the thin layer.

And since she hadn’t made bread this week, I was forced to eat grocery store bread. I hardly ever ate that, and after today, I wouldn’t care if I never saw another slice of the inadequate bread.

Tugging out my phone, I called her number, but it went straight to voicemail. It was like she was purposely ignoring me. I went to the den, figuring I would watch some television, but forgot she’d taken all my things out and moved her own in.

So, I went back to the kitchen and I waited. Another hour slipped away before she finally pulled up in her car, and when she walked into the house with bags dangling from her hands, I nearly lost it.

“Woman, do you have any idea what time it is?”

Laughing, she smiled over her shoulder at me, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

It was those damn shoes.

Heels, to be precise, and they were paired with a dress that showed off her perfect calves.

Fuck, I was instantly hard.

“Ben, are you gonna help me or just sit there?”

I wanted to get up and move, but my brain was short-circuiting at the sight of those gorgeous legs. Some guys were breast men. Some were ass men. I was a leg man. I could watch her walk around for days in nothing but a shirt of mine, but that hadn’t happened since…

Well, a really fucking long time.

Sighing, she huffed and walked away. “It’s fine. I’ll carry it all.”

As she stomped up the stairs, my brain finally came back online and I rushed after her. “Let me help you.”

“I’m almost there, now,” she grumbled, shoving through the doorway.

“What the hell is all this stuff?” I snapped, mostly angry because she looked so damn hot, and I was filthy, not fit to touch her like this.

“It’s my new wardrobe.”

I paused, sure I had heard her wrong. “Your new what?”

“My new wardrobe.” She turned, smiling at me. “Do you realize that I haven’t changed a thing about the way I look in nearly thirty years? If anything, I look more and more like my mother with every day that goes by,” she said as she started tugging things out of her bags.

“What exactly is wrong with what you wear now?”

At my harsh tone, she turned, her eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just—what you had is fine.”

Rolling her eyes, she stomped over to her drawer and started emptying it onto the floor. “If it’s about the money, don’t worry. I didn’t spend a dime from our joint account.”

That’s what she thought this was about? “Clara⁠—”

But I didn’t get another word out as she spun on me. “You know, for years, I haven’t done anything for myself. Whenever someone needed new clothes, I made sure they had them. Do you realize that some of my clothes are things I wore when they were still toddlers? I have underwear that’s over five years old!”

“I didn’t⁠—”

“Is it really too much to ask that I get to replace my wardrobe once every fifty years? Or maybe I should just wait until they shove me in a nursing home. Then I can walk around in a hospital gown all day. I’m sure it’ll be really stylish!”

Rushing over to her, I grabbed her flailing hands and tugged them to my chest, forcing her to look at me. “I didn’t say you don’t deserve a new wardrobe.”