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“Love, love, babe.” He says the words we’ve said from day one to me. Lifting my chin, he presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Now, go shower—for more than two minutes—because you do kinda smell.”
Swatting at his chest, I yell a defensive “Hey!” but really, he’s right. I do smell. I take a shower—a long, hot shower—and feel so grateful for this man I married almost seven years ago.
Chapter Two
STELLA
It’s been three months since Nolan and I talked about me needing more time to myself. Every Thursday, my little sister, Grace, comes to help with the kids. She’s five years younger than me and in college. She needed a job that would work with her school schedule, and this worked out perfectly for the both of us.
In addition to Thursdays, Nolan has booked a hotel room for me one weekend a month to get away. Grace stays then too, so if he has to work or travel, someone we trust is there with the kids and we’re both able to do what we need to.
Today, I’m sitting in a little coffee shop I found a couple of weeks ago. It’s become my favorite new place to go to relax and actually enjoy a cup of hot coffee—as opposed to gulping down lukewarm coffee for the caffeine. I usually sit and read for a while, soaking in the quiet and not being interrupted seventy times in a ten-minute span by hearing ‘Mom’ yelled at me over and over.
Lost in my book, I glance up when I hear a voice that sounds rough and sexy at the counter. Looking up, I see an attractive man ordering coffee. His pants hug his butt perfectly. I watch a little too closely while he orders and walks to the table next to mine.
Smiling to myself, I drop my eyes back to my book. I can’t concentrate though. Sneaking a peek over the top of the pages, my eyes meet his and he smiles as he takes a sip of his drink. He jumps when the hot liquid touches his lips, most likely burning the sensitive flesh.
I cover my laugh at his expense and drop my eyes again to reread the same sentence I’ve read about twelve times now. Biting my lip, I chance another look, and his eyes instantly find mine as he raises a questioning brow.
“You know, it’s not nice to laugh at another person’s expense. Especially when they burn the shit out of their lip, tongue, and throat,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down the corded column.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I ask while trying to hold back another laugh.
He throws a half-smile my way. “You seem real sorry over there with your perfectly tempered drink. But yes, I’ll live. I won’t be able to taste or feel my tongue for a week, but I’ll be alright.”
I lift my cup to show him that it’s actually empty. “It was perfect and so good too,” I tell him through a widening smile.
“Can I get you another? Ask them to make it extra hot even?” he teases with a crooked smile.
“I’m good. Thanks for the offer though,” I laugh. Closing my book, I tuck it away in my bag as I get ready to run the rest of my errands for the day. “I am sorry you burnt yourself. You have to be careful with those paper cups.”
“Yeah. I’ll be saying ‘for here’ and getting a mug next time, that’s for sure.”
“Well, better luck next time.” I wave goodbye and head for the door.
“Have a good day!” he yells when I pull open the door.
“You too,” I say and leave feeling weird. Was that flirting? When the hell was the last time I flirted with someone? I don’t know if I ever really did.
Shaking my head, I get in my car and head out to get groceries for the week. All by my glorious self.
* * *
“Oh, it smells good in here. What are you cooking?” I yell to my sister as I carry an armful of bags inside.
“You had a terrible selection of food in your cupboards, so I worked with what I had. It’s meatloaf,” she says like it’s slug-laden.
“I can’t wait; it smells delicious. Thanks for making dinner,” I gush, giving her a quick hug before heading back out to my minivan for another armload of bags. “You know, if you want me to get anything specific, just tell me. You can either add it to the grocery list on the fridge when you’re here or text me while I’m out.”
“You make it sound like I’m a five-star chef or something. I throw stuff in a pan or your crockpot. It’s no big deal.” She shrugs.
“Grace. You have no idea how much I appreciate not having to think about dinner once a week. You are a godsend.”
“I don’t remember you being this appreciative of me when we were younger,” she chuckles, bending down to help put groceries away.
“That’s because when we were younger, you were a brat and showed Nolan the family photo album with my awkward middle school phase pictures in it.” I hip-check her as she’s bent over, making her fall into the cabinet.
“Bitch,” she grumbles rubbing the hip that caught her.
