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I laugh.
Burned sauce aside, he’s gone out of his way to give me a warm welcome. There’s cheese and crackers out on the counter. Beside that, two champagne glasses sit, waiting to be filled.
“So is this what I can expect to come home to every day?” I ask as he sets my box down on the island and heads back to check on some sautéing vegetables.
“Barely edible food?” he quips.
I grin before turning for the fridge. Inside, I find the groceries we purchased over the weekend and smile at the memory. A routine I’ve done once a week for the last one thousand weeks turned into something New! and Exciting! with Derek by my side. Strolling those aisles, I found that each of his selections was like a tiny window into his soul.
Celery? Huh…a negative-calorie food. Must be how he maintains those abs.
Sharp cheddar? Interesting choice. I’ve always been more of a mild girl myself.
Double fudge chip ice cream? You dog.
We playfully fought over peanut butter selections. He wanted crunchy. I demanded smooth, sweeping two jars into the cart and moving along before he could protest. In the dairy aisle, he pointed to the whole milk. I nudged my head toward skim. We compromised.
Now, our groceries are arranged in perfect rows. Our yogurt lids kiss, my mild cheese nestled right beside his sharp. In the middle of it all is a brand-new bottle of Dom Perignon. It wasn’t there this morning.
I hold it up in question.
“That’s from Cal.”
I smirk and start to unwrap the foil around the cork. “I told him last week that I was moving in with you officially.”
“I know. It’s all I heard about today. He thinks we should look for a bigger place, something with more room.”
My eyes go wide. “More room? This apartment is massive. There are four bedrooms!” I sweep my hand across the sprawling kitchen as if to further prove my point.
“He thinks we need a big house. He said something like ‘My brood of grandchildren deserve to have a yard where they can run around and get dirty.’”
“Wow. Brood. That sounds like a lot.” I laugh and turn to set the champagne bottle on the counter. My hands find their way around his middle while he stirs the vegetables. My cheek rests against his sturdy back. I feel his muscles ripple while he moves. I inhale deeply, not quite believing my luck.
“What do you think ‘brood’ translates to, roughly?” he asks. “Five?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Think we should start practicing now?”
“Definitely. If we’re aiming for five, we really need to have a strategy.”
With this, he kills the gas to the stove and turns off the oven. I’d assumed we were just playing around. Apparently not. Derek spins, scoops me up so my feet dangle off the ground, and starts walking us over to our bedroom. Yesterday it was his bedroom. Now it’s ours. My bra spills out of the top drawer of the dresser. My book lies flat on the nightstand. He stumbles over some shoes I left out yesterday and we’re headed for an awkward emergency room visit right before we land in a heap on the bed.
“Derek! Now? What about your chicken?”
“It was going to suck anyway. I’m not a good cook.”
He reaches down for my shirt, shimmying it up and over my head while we talk.
“Oh hell.” I sound distraught. “Neither am I. I’ve lived in a dorm without a kitchen for the last few years. I have no practice. We’re doomed!”
“No. We have Ava. We’ll eat at Cal’s or we’ll order takeout.”
His hands are starting to work on my pants. I think if he weren’t worried about hurting me, he’d just tear them off. The zipper gives him a little trouble and he growls.
“Frozen pizza is good too,” I point out, trying to be a team player. We’ll subsist on DiGiorno and Totino’s.
“Yes. We’ll survive,” he says, reaching behind his neck and yanking his shirt off in one clean swoop. Why is that so damn sexy? Is it the show of dexterity? The dramatic magic-trick delivery?
He drops down over me, kissing me while we continue mapping out our future together.
“I hope our kids like cereal.”In the morning, Derek wakes up before me.
“Want to come down to the gym with me?”
I pat his cheek like he’s adorable and promptly go back to sleep. An hour later, he returns with a freshly minted row of abdominal muscles and drags me out of bed. I let him because I know a shower is in our future. We steam up the glass like we’re trying to compete in a raunchy-morning-sex competition and then we towel off like perfectly civilized adults, private smiles in place. At our respective sinks, we brush our teeth. I go for thirty seconds longer than usual just so he thinks, Wow, that Whitney—she’s got great oral hygiene.
