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“E.” I let the phone fall to my lap and curled to face him, too drunk to continue the search. God, he was pretty. Even blurry, he was drop-dead gorgeous. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Elle.” He reached out and found my hand, linking his fingers through mine.
“We’re going to be okay,” I instructed him. “Rich and successful and with lots of babies.”
“I know we are,” he said quietly.
I closed my eyes and tightened my hand through his. He pulled onto the street and I relaxed against the leather, blocking out the knowledge that the Range Rover’s payment was a week late.
“Elle?” He nudged me and I drifted back to him.
“Yeah?”
“Even if we don’t have any of those things, I’m happy, just like this.”
“As a groper of drunk wives?”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
“You could be so much more,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything and it felt like I’d said the wrong thing. I tightened my hand on his and tried to amend the statement, but fell asleep halfway through the attempt.
4
The following Saturday, I perched on the hood of my car, Wayland’s leash looped around my wrist, and watched as Aaron and Easton carried a long toolbox through the front yard and toward Aaron’s truck. “You should have put that in first.”
Easton shot me a look as Aaron angled his end toward the lowered tailgate. It looked heavy, and I moved to my feet, unsure if I could help. Squatting, Aaron got his shoulder underneath it and then up and high enough to land on the gate. I winced at the bang of impact and Wayland whined, lifting his paw in the air and looking back at me as if trying to offer his own assistance. I sat back down and pulled him closer to me, running my hand over his back and scratching the itchy area right above the base of his tail.
“Damn, that’s heavy,” Easton grunted as he got his end in.
I expected the back of the truck to sag from the additional weight, but it didn’t seem to notice. “How much more is inside?”
Aaron brushed off his palms. “Maybe four more bags of tools. A few boxes of clothes.”
“I need a second.” Easton hobbled over and stretched his back before sprawling pitifully across my lap. Unlike Aaron’s truck, my car did sag from the additional weight. I choked out a laugh and pushed at his shoulder, trying to get his sweaty form off. Wayland’s huge paws swung forward through the air, mimicking mine, and Easton yelled at him to stop. “My shoulders are killing me,” he groaned, readjusting to sit on the front bumper in front of me. “Rub ’em?”
I did, finding a bed of knots along his left trapezius, and dug into the tight muscles with easy familiarity. After baseball practice, I used to sit him down in front of the TV for a full hour and given his neck, shoulders, and arms a working over. It was a ritual I missed, and I kissed the top of his head, suddenly nostalgic.
“Me next.” Aaron rolled his neck and I heard bones crack.
“Okay, no. I’m not turning the hood of my car into a massage table.” I gave Easton a light smack on the back. “You guys finish loading up the truck. I’m going to walk Wayland and then I’ll give quick neck massages inside, in the air conditioning.”
Easton rolled to his feet without argument. “Deal. But watch him on the curve by the lake. There were some baby ducks there this morning.”
“I will.”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. I smiled against the kiss, then watched as he returned to Aaron, his sweaty T-shirt clinging to his strong expanse of back muscles.
I’d wasted a lot of time at Florida State, but the massage techniques class I had taken my junior year had been one elective that had come in handy. I flexed my fingers, then wrapped the leash around my hand, tugging on the heavy rope. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”
* * *
By the time Wayland and I made it around the lake and back down the tree-lined hill, Aaron’s truck bed was completely filled, a bungee cord net stretched across the top. Wayland sniffed at his front tire, then lifted his leg, watching me with quiet detachment as no urine came out. He had run out of juice before we even made it to the lake, which hadn’t stopped him from attempting to mark every interesting bush, mailbox, mound of dirt or stick we passed.
I pulled the leash and walked along the front sidewalk, noticing the fresh repair Aaron had made to the gutter downspout—a fix I’d bugged Easton about for weeks, then given up on. There had definitely been some benefits to having Aaron as a guest. The roof leak—fixed. The shower control that had been installed upside down, allowing only either scalding hot or freezing cold water—fixed. The shredded back screen door panel—replaced, though that had been a fairly useless repair and one that Wayland had torn back through with joyous excitement, as if we’d given him a new toy.
