Page 24 of The Marriage Rebound

We were in a brief stare down before he stood, shook his small body, and trotted off to jump up onto the couch.

Courtney came downstairs yawning and stopped when she got to the kitchen, scratching her head. “What’s all this?”

“I thought I’d do somethin’ to help cheer you up,” I said, rounding the island. I took her non-injured hand and led her over to the table. “I know you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Shit, that came out all wrong. I was trying to do a good thing, and my mouth was gonna mess it up before the day got started. Courtney’s immediate reaction was evidence of that fact.

She rolled her eyes, and my name came out as a heavy sigh. “Sasha.”

“No, that’s not . . . I just . . . I meant not being able to play is hard for you, so I wanted to do this . . . do somethin’ for you. So, I made you breakfast.”

Her eyebrows shot damn near to her hairline, and I tried not to be offended by the shock in her tone. “You what now?”

“I made you breakfast,” I repeated.

A smile lifted the side of her mouth. “You haven’t made me breakfast, or even cooked for me . . . ever.”

I rolled my eyes and gently placed my hands on her shoulders to force her to sit. “I distinctly remember makin’ you breakfast the first night we spent together.”

She laughed. “You brought me a bowl of cereal.”

“I made it, so that counts as making you breakfast.”

She laughed again. “You’re not wrong. It does count as making me breakfast. So, it smells good in here. Did you make this, or are you going to consider putting whatever food you bought on a plate ‘making it for me’?”

I sucked in a sharp breath. Don’t react. Don’t react. I would not let her comment set me off. We were not gonna argue. I wasn’t gonna argue. I wanted to do a good thing for my wife, especially because I could tell she felt some kinda way after her call with Mya. “Since when do you cook?” The question she’d asked yesterday had been tinged with some bitter-ness, maybe.

“Do you think the dishes are for show?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe you put in a valiant effort, then—” She stopped talking, no doubt because she saw the scowl forming on my face.

“I cooked. Remember the conversation we had with your sister about me with the pasta? I can cook, Courtney. You think I grew up with Big Mama and wouldn’t know how to cook?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Then why have I never been a beneficiary of your skills?”

I put my hands on my hips and cocked my head. “Oh, you’ve been a beneficiary of plenty of my skills. Just not the culinary ones.”

“We’ve been married for three years. Not once in that time have you felt the urge to cook for me? I have to say, I’m kinda hurt by that.”

Some of my defensiveness drained from me when I recalled how she’d sullenly trudged upstairs after the call with Mya.

“I’ve made you stuff.”

“When?”

“Whaddaya mean when? Like you said, I made you that bowl of cereal. And I make you great sandwiches. I . . . I have done plenty.”

We had another brief stare down. My assertion was weak. I hadn’t done any real cooking since we’d been together. It was no fun to cook for one person, and I spent more time alone due to the schedule she had. And I don’t know, maybe it was some small act of sticking it to her. Not letting her have all of me since I didn’t have all of her. I enjoyed cooking and wanted to share that passion with the woman I loved, but something had held me back.

Until today.

I’d woken up with the overwhelming urge to present this side of me to her. To share with her.

“Okay, you’re right, my bad,” she relented. “Thank you for making me breakfast today to add to all of the culinary delights you’ve served me.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “This will be the last time I do anythang nice for you,” I said with a pout.

She smiled wide, and like always when she turned her attention on me, my stomach did a flip. It’d been that way from the first time I’d laid eyes on her. Plenty of customers had cycled through The Candy Shop, and to get the best tips I always made sure to make them feel special, but Courtney somehow flipped the script. She didn’t throw out a random marriage proposal, or more vulgar propositions like some did. The way she smiled at me, talked to me, I was more than a lap dance . . . she saw me. Wanted to see me. Made me feel special.