Annabelle holds up her hands. “No. No, no, no—we are not going next door ever again. Ever! Bad things happen at that resort.”
She paces some more.
“Let me at least order breakfast. You can hide in the bedroom when they deliver it.”
My wedded wife hesitates. “Mm. I guess I could eat.”
Good girl.
By the time the food shows up, she’s mostly stopped pacing, though she still glares at the ring on her hand like it’s personally responsible for global warming. I carry the tray outside to the small patio, and she follows, now wrapped in a robe.
Ahh. What a day to be alive!
The lake glitters, and I slide into a chair, stretching my long legs beneath the table, content with the world.
“Truce?” I offer, passing her a mug and filling it with coffee as she settles in across from me. “Let’s not talk about annulments or court proceedings until after we stuff our faces with carbs.”
She snorts. “You’re not funny.”
Sure I am.
After a while, I glance over and say, “Let’s talk about what our actual lives are like.”
She pauses, a pastry halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’ve possibly married, and you’ve seen me naked like six times. Maybe we should backtrack to basics. You know, last names—you know mine, but I don’t know yours. Pets. What our houses are like.”
“Houses,” she giggles. “You’re hilarious—I live in a shitty apartment.”
I inhale. “I’ll start. Callum McBride. I have no pets and live in a penthouse apartment, downtown Scottsdale. My place is actually fucking awesome, but you know—lonely.”
She sits up straighter in her seat. “Annabelle Franklin. No pets. I live in a small apartment in downtown Star Lake, and I dumped the guy I was seeing because there was no excitement. I’m finally putting myself first. I love wine and moviesatthe theater and ... breakfast.”
“See?” I nudge her foot with mine under the table. “This isn’t so scary.”
“Speak for yourself.” Annabelle clears her throat and looks toward the windows. “Tell me something else.”
I think for a second. “I like puzzles.”
She blinks. “Jigsaw puzzles?”
“Yup.” No shame, puzzles are my game.
She stares. “Okay, that isnotwhat I expected.”
I get that a lot. “I’m full of surprises.”
“Scottish and loves a puzzle. What else?”
I consider this, humming low in my throat. “I hate olives with a passion. I’m a sucker for cinnamon rolls. Like, if you ever want to get on my good side, bring me a warm one.”
Annabelle grins. “No to olives, yes to frosting. Got it.”
“My turn,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “Your guilty pleasure?”
“Romance novels.” She looks embarrassed. “Specifically historical Highland romance—or rom-com.”
I nod. “That’s cool—I used to read more, but now I don’t make the time. I’m too busy falling apart.”
