Page 77 of My Husband Problem

“One thousand percent.”

I move as if I’m going to spray her with the hose. She shrieks and throws her hands up, then giggles, and I get hard.

Just from teasing and playing with her in the yard with messy ducks and mud around us.

I’m very, very fucked here if this woman actually wants the annulment.

Because I’m in love with her.

“Why are you all so damned messy?” I ask the three ducks that have been following me around. They came rushing up to us when we stepped out into the yard and have been quacking and wagging their tails like little puppies ever since.

“They dip their heads in the water as they eat to soften and filter the food and help wash it down. They can’t eat without water,” Astrid tells me. “And their nostrils get clogged when they forage in the mud and dirt, so they use the water to clean them out.”

She tosses mealworms, peas, and lettuce leaves into the grass to the five other ducks still on the ground, which helps keep them out of the muddy area I’m trying to clean up.

I mutter a little less about the mess after hearing that. Even though they still rush over to their water bowls as they eat their bedtime treats, which is making the water Ijustreplaced dirty.

I finish with the water, rake up some of the wet bedding, and then settle in for… cuddles.

Yes. I find myself sitting in the grass near Astrid’s swing, literally at her feet, with three ducks in my lap. I stroke their heads and backs tentatively. They don’t seem to mind that I don’t know what I’m doing.

Their bedtime routine apparently includes pets and cuddles, especially with these three, who are particularly affectionate. Astrid and Wilson assume Prentiss, Hotch, and Garcia were hand-reared and imprinted on humans from birth. Which makes it even more heart-wrenching that they were dumped in the park.

She holds Reid, who is shyer than the rest and often misses out on nighttime snacks unless she feeds him specifically. She hand-feeds him peas and mealworms from her palm.

We sit quietly, except for the ducks, and let them finish their treats. Then, to my awe, Hotch heads toward the duck house, and the others follow him.

I look from them to Astrid. She’s smiling as she leans to set the duck in her lap on the ground, then gets up.

“They’re going to bed?” I ask.

“Yep. They know the routine.”

I push myself up from the ground.

She crosses to the duck house and shuts the door behind the last bird.

“Then you let them out in the morning?”

“The door is automatic in the morning,” she says. “I can set it to be automatic at night too, but I like putting them to bed.” She takes a breath and looks around the yard. “It’s pretty back here. Peaceful. I like my time back here before bed.”

I get it. It’s as different from the downtown Portland area where our penthouses are as two places can get. The only thing the two places have in common is that they share the same night sky.

Even though that sky looks completely different here. The stars overhead are stunning tonight.

I follow Astrid to the back porch. She pauses there and turns back to me.

“Thanks for doing all of this,” Astrid says.

“Of course.” I smile. “I enjoyed it.”

She looks down at my shoes. “Were those pants expensive?”

I look at the hem of my pantlegs. “Yes,” I admit. “And I still enjoyed this.”

She shakes her head and laughs softly. “Of course. My spray bottle is completely ineffective with you.”

“What is this about a spray bottle?”