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It’s how we decided to repurpose my mother’s mansion into a luxury boutique inn and build our own house on Hunter’s side of the island. Quiet, away from people, but close enough to walk over to Hunter and Merritt’s.
I stroke her cheek, then trace the laugh lines around her eyes as she smiles. “You can do this, but you also don’thaveto. Up to you, Sadie girl.”
We’ve practically beaten this topic into the ground. She brought it up a year ago, and since then, we’ve had multiple conversations, spent late nights making pro and con lists, and she’s even made spreadsheets and plugged numbers into a mathematical equation. She wouldn’t be Sadie if she didn’t.
She beams at me. “Have I ever told you I love when you call me Sadie girl?”
“Only a few dozen times.”
“Make it a few dozen and one,” she says. Then, she lifts her hand, fingers hovering over the laptop. “I’m doing it.”
“Need me to hold your hand?” I tease.
She scoffs, but then looks up at me withthelook—the one I can never say no to. I used to call it her Puss in Boots look afterI saw the Shrek movies while babysitting for Lo and Jake’s kids. “Maybe you could rub my head though?”
“Of course.”
I shift in the bed, propping the pillows up behind her so she’s comfortable, but I can still reach her neck and head easily. Since that first time I rubbed her head through the migraine on the boat, I’ve done this countless times. The feel of her hair under my fingertips, the sounds she makes when I use just the right amount of pressure—all of this is familiar. And I love it.
I start to undo her braid while she continues to stare at the email in front of her. I watch her eyes move across the screen, her lips moving as she reads over her email again. I get the braid undone and begin combing my fingers through the long strands before I press my fingertips into her scalp.
“You know,” she says, her eyes fluttering closed, “if this billionaire thing doesn’t work out, you could pursue a career in this.”
“What—head massages?”
“Yup. They’d pay you the big bucks. It’s not a skill with you—it’s an art form.”
“Do you have much experience to compare it to?” I ask. “I mean, how many male head masseuses have you tried, Sadie?”
She snorts. “Enough to know you’re a master.”
“Ten? Twenty? Ahundred?”
Sadie slams her laptop closed and turns, grinning. “There. I did it.”
My fingers still in her hair. “You did?”
“I did.” She draws in a breath. “I quit my job. I mean, it’s more like shutting down my own business but?—”
I cut off whatever she was going to say by pulling her into a tight hug, then rolling us both across the bed, almost to the edge, making her squeal.
“Ben! What are you doing?”
I bury my face in her neck, kissing her as my hands find those ticklish spots by her ribs. Her giggles turn to full-on belly laughs.
“I guess this means you approve?” she says through her laughter, breathless and smiling.
“It means I’m happyyou’rehappy,” I tell her, rolling us again until she’s on top of me, her long hair tickling my bare chest. “Also, that’s a very big thing to have done, and it’s not even nine o’clock in the morning. Whatevershall we do with the rest of the day?”
Her grin starts mischievous, clearly following the same line of thought I am when it comes to ideas for how to pass the time, but then it fades into something softer.
“Speaking of how to spend our time, I have a confession to make.”
As much as I love the wildness of Sadie, I’m a man who thrives on order. Sometimes, her surprises throw me for a loop and require some time and thought before I can get on board. A confession sounds particularly ominous.
“Okay …”
Sadie drops down until her mouth is by my ear. For a very long moment, she just hovers there, breath hot against my neck. Then, she whispers, “Let’s try for a baby.”
