Then I leave her to it, giving her both physical and mental space as I keep myself busy setting the table. She settles on a humorous action movie, and I can almost see the tension easing out of her body as she loses herself in it. With my dog’s chin on her thigh, of course, because Penny seems to have found a person she loves almost as much as she loves me.
I try not to take that as a sign. I can’t let my imagination start rewriting my future or I’m going to get my heart broken again.
Once the food’s been delivered and I’ve fetched it from the front desk, Cara moves to the table. I tell her to leave the movie on, though, because it’s a lot more relaxing to watch a car chase while eating than trying to force a conversation about anything but the fact we’re now married and alone in my apartment.
It’s nice, actually. We put a good dent in the pizza and the crab Rangoon while laughing at the movie and pointing out plot holes and bad dialogue to each other. Before long, any residual awkwardness is gone. Conversation flows as easily as it did when we were young and sitting by the river.
It isn’t until I’m loading the dishes into the dishwasher and catch her trying to hide a jaw-cracking yawn that I realize I’ve been a bad host. Even though it looks comfortable, she’s still technically wearing her wedding dress, and I haven’t even shown her the guest bedroom. She popped into the guest half-bath while I was unpacking the take-out, but she never said anything about wanting to change out of the dress. I should have asked.
After hitting the button to start the dishwasher, I walk over and grab her bag. “I’ll put this in your room for you, and show you around.”
She laughs. “I don’t usually go to bed this early, but I’m exhausted.”
When I turn on the light in the guest bedroom, I can’t help but wish I’d paid more attention to the space. It’s very bland, with a queen bed covered with a beige duvet that matches the light wooden furniture. The lampshade on the nightstand is beige. It’s a very clean look, but even a hotel room has more character, and I wince as she looks around.
“It’s lovely,” she says, and even though she sounds sincere, I have to assume she’s only being polite.
“I guess the key to matching any potential guest’s personal taste is to make the room as boring and bland as possible,” I say, making her laugh.
“Maybe if you spent your life in an old house stuffed with clutter and antiques, you’d appreciate the appeal of a minimalist look.”
“Good point. There’s extra bedding in the linen closet if you want more pillows or another blanket. If you forgot to bring any toiletries with you, anything you need should be in the cabinets in the bathroom. The shower runs nice and hot, and it doesn’t run out of hot water.” I pause, trying to think of anything else she might need to know, but the smile that curves her mouth distracts me. “What?”
“So the thing that pushed me over the edge and made me agree to your utterly ridiculous plan was our hot water heater. It’s on its way out and I can’t remember the last time I took a long, hot shower without worrying about having time to rinse all the shampoo out.”
“You married me because your hot water heater is dying? That seems extreme.”
“Not if you spend your days covered in pet hair and more than a little dog drool.” She chuckles. “Actually, it wasn’t just the hot water heater. It was when my mother suggested we could heat water and haul it upstairs to bathe in, like being a pioneer would be a fun, new adventure for us.”
I try not to laugh, but Cara does, so I give up and laugh along with her. While her circumstances—and her relationship with her mother—are no laughing matter, the concept of having to marry a man to avoid boiling bathwater on the stove is so ridiculous, I have to laugh.
“So I shouldn’t get worried and call 9-1-1 if you’re in the shower for an unusually long time?” I ask once our amusement dies down.
That makes her laugh again. “If you could not have a rescue squad barge into the bathroom while I’m naked in the shower, that would be great.”
My intent was a chuckle, but the sound comes out a little strangled and hoarse. Imagining Cara naked in that shower, with water and suds running over her soft skin, is going to keep me up tonight—in more ways than one.
“Do we have plans for tomorrow?” she asks. “So I know how to dress in the morning.”
“I didn’t plan anything because I wasn’t sure what you’d like to do. Taylor can probably get us tickets if there are any games in town, or a play.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, which doesn’t help push that naked-in-the-shower version of her out of my head—and then gives me a sheepish smile. “I’ve never been to the aquarium.”
“That sounds like a perfect way to spend the day.” She could have said she wanted to spend the day counting the cracks in the sidewalks and I would have been okay with it. I’m just looking forward to spending a day with Cara, away from our mothers and their nosy neighbors. “We can have coffee in the morning. There are some pastries and fruit kicking around. Then, after we take Penny for a walk, we can go exploring.”
“That sounds good.”
When Cara walks toward me, there’s a heart-stopping, delicious moment when I think she’s going to kiss me goodnight. The bubble of anticipation bursts, though, when she reaches down and strokes Penny’s back, not even making eye contact with me.
“Goodnight, I guess.”
I almost make it out of the bedroom, but I can’t help myself. “Goodnight, wife.”
She almost smiles. “Goodnight, fake husband.”
Then she closes the door firmly in my face. A few minutes later, I hear the faint sound of the shower running.
“Time for bedtime potties,” I tell Penny, who sighs dramatically.
