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Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Come on, Rory," my wife says, "you can't stay holed up in your office twenty-four seven. Get your fine ass out of that chair and come outside with me. It's a beautiful day, and fresh air is good for you. So instead of drinking whisky in here, by yourself, try a little sunshine on the lawn with me."
"Why do you assume I drink whisky in my office?"
She gives me a look that implies we both know I do exactly that. Not every day, though. On occasion. Mostly after Emery has gotten annoyed with me.
My wife settles her bonnie erse onto my desk—right in front of me. She's not on the opposite side where the chairs are. No, she took it upon herself to commandeer my desk, though I still control the executive chair. "Give in, Rory baby. You know you want to come outside with me, so just say yes."
"I have work."
"Uh-uh-uh. That excuse is super old and not acceptable."
"The lawn hasn't been mowed yet."
"Yes, it has. Tavish mowed an hour ago."
What's the point in arguing? I might as well get some fresh air. "Fine. I will go outside."
"Yay!" She claps, though not loudly.
Then Emery seizes my hand, hauling me through the house and out onto the lawn, which has been neatly mown.
At the edge of the grass, I dig in my heels to halt us. "What are we meant to do out here?"
"Dance on the grass."
"I don't dance."
"Well then, spin with me."
"Spin?" I might've shouted that word. If she'd told me to strip naked and prance about like a bampot, I wouldn't have reacted with less shock. I shake my head. "Emery—"
"Chill out, Rory." She releases my hand, spinning and skipping across the lush green grass, twirling even faster as she returns to me. My wife offers me her hand. "Give it a try. Please. For me."
My entire face "scrunches up," as Emery would say. And she has said it, several times lately. I "scrunch" when I'm "uptighting" myself again. Not sure if "scrunch" is a legitimate word, but "uptighting" absolutely is not.
She grasps both my hands, leaning back. "No skipping or prancing, I promise."
"But you expect me to spin."
"This one time. If you hate it, I'll never ask again."
I screw up my mouth this time, instead of scrunching it, though I'd rather be screwing my wife. Then I sigh with all the resignation of a condemned man. "What am I meant to do?"
"Hold my hands, lean back, and then we both turn in a circle together. Slow at first, but faster and faster with each circuit."
I plant my feet on the ground opposite hers and slant backward.
As one, we rotate in a circle. At first, I feel my face "scrunching" again because this is bloody ridiculous, but I discover the motion relaxes me more with every rotation. As our pace increases, I realize I sort of like this feeling of spinning round and round for no good reason. The faster we whirl, the more her hair flies around her face and the centrifugal force stretches our arms. I stop trying to see our surroundings, instead letting the world blur into the background while we keep spinning and a strange sensation of weightlessness overtakes me. Emery starts laughing, her smile so full of joy that I can't help myself. I laugh too. Soon, we're spinning so swiftly that all I can see is her eyes gazing back at me.
One of us trips—hard to say who—and we tumble to the ground. Emery lands on top of me. I wrap my arms around her. We both keep laughing for a moment, but then it fades away, and we just lie here gazing into each other's eyes.
I smile, really smile, for the first time in…I don't know how long. Since Lachlan's wedding, I think. No, it must've been Aidan's wedding. Aye, I'd been happy on those days, but it wasn't the kind of smile I'm giving my wife right now. She grins in response, looking more beautiful than ever because I've made her this happy.
Spinning made me happy, but only because I'm with her.
The clouds separate, admitting a golden ray of sunshine that lights up my sweet and wicked angel. And I laugh again.
