Page 87 of My Husband Problem

Somehow, I pull my gaze away from his face and look around. And realize we’re standing in my front yard with no trace that a lawn party was going on just a few minutes ago, and damn, my front flower beds look really good.

“How are you gonna paint it?”

I turn to Wilson, who’s joined us on the front walk.

“Paint the porch?” I ask him.

“Yeah.” He’s studying the front of my house, his hands tucked into the blueberry blue trousers he’s wearing today with the white linen shirt, orange vest, and straw Panama hat. “Will you go with the Mardi Gras colors you did in your office?”

My office at the hockey arena is cream, with a bright purple velvet couch, two lemon-yellow chairs, and a grass-green rug.The Revelers’ colors are also purple, yellow, and green, like Mardi Gras, while the Otters are black, silver, and green.

I love it. It fits at the arena, and I smile every time I walk into my office.

But as I study my porch, I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What are you gonna do here then?” Wilson asks.

“Maybe I’ll just leave it as is.”

Wilson chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“You can’t keep living inside such a boring-looking house, sweetheart,” Wilson says.

“My house isboring?”

“Itlooksboring. And that’s like a lie. Because the interior is colorful and interesting and full of life.” He winks at me. “And I’m not talking about your living room wallpaper.”

I feel my heart squeeze. Wilson meansme. I’m colorful and interesting and full of life. That’s…sweet. And I wasn’t expecting that. I smile at him. “Thanks, Wilson.”

I feel Declan’s hand on the back of my neck. I like the warmth and the weight there. I lean into his touch.

“If I thought you liked beige, I’d be all for you keeping the front of your house—what people see first about your home—beige,” Wilson says. “But you’re not beige, Astrid. Not in the slightest. Give people a little peek at what’s inside. It doesn’t have to be as bright and delightful as what’s inside. Let the very special people who get past the front door discover all of that, but give people a hint.”

I feel Declan’s thumb stroke up and down the side of my throat.

“I agree, honey,” Patty says as she joins us. She clearly overheard as she was approaching along the sidewalk.

She has Oscar strapped to her in the baby sling. “Hi, Patty. Hi, sweetie,” I greet my cat, stroking his head. “Thanks for cat-sitting. He would have hated being inside with all the commotion.”

Patty undoes the sling and hands it and the cat over. “Of course. I missed out on the snacks and party, but Ilovethe new porch. I can’t wait to come over for cocktails when you get it all decorated.” She also gives me a wink.

I cradle Oscar against my chest and realize that I do have an idea of how to paint it, and I’m thinking about the kind of table I’ll need to get and how I get to shop for a cute pitcher and glasses set to serve my porch drinks in.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been hosting on my porch,” I tell her. “I didn’t realize that I should have been.”

“You weren’t ready,” she tells me, squeezing my arm affectionately. “You’ve been entertaining all of us at the hockey arena. You’ve been hosting us there. It’s taken time for you to get to where you want some of us closer than that.”

That makes my chest squeeze. “But you’ve been coming over anyway,” I say, looking from her to Wilson.

“Some of us are a little more insistent about being loved than others,” Wilson says.

That makes my eyes sting a little. “I’m glad,” I tell him. “I’ve…I’ve never had a porch. Literally or figuratively. I guess I’ve always ‘hosted people’ in arenas and big places like that.”

Patty smiles a smile that says ‘yes, dear, I know’. “I’m glad you’re getting to porch level now,” she says. “Porch gatherings are lovely, but they’re more intimate. You have to be comfortable getting up close with people.”

Yeah. That makes sense. But I’m very comfortable with that here in Rebel.