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“Hey.” Jonah catches up to me, reaching out to rope an arm around my waist.
“I’m not in the mood—”
“I know it’s your money. I’m just trying to …” He spins me around to face him. “Fuck, I don’t know what I’m tryin’ to do. Anytime I come into some extra money, it goes straight into the bank.”
“It’s not like I don’t have most of it invested already.” Simon’s financial adviser—I guess I should start thinking of him as mine, too—has tied up most of it in a dozen different ways, ranging from short- to long-term, low risk to high yield.
“I know you do.” He brings his forehead to mine for a few beats before pulling back to show me earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for being an asshole earlier.”
“A big asshole,” I correct, feeling my lingering anger—and hurt, now that I consider it—disintegrate.
“Fine. I deserve that. I guess my priorities are different. I have no idea how we’ll be doing in five years, and I like safety nets. I wasn’t raised to drop cash like this.”
I curl my arms around his waist. “Unfortunately for you, I was.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Simon doesn’t seem like an extravagant guy.”
“His car is older than I am.” In mint condition because he coddles it and keeps his mileage low, but still. The only time he gets new clothes is when my mother buys them for him, because she’s tired of seeing him in the same five outfits every week. She’s been trying to convince him to redecorate his office for the past ten years and he’s fought her on it. I think it might be the only argument against her that he’s ever won. “Simon’s very … fiscally responsible with his money.” Much like Jonah, I’m beginning to see.
“So how does he deal with Susan, then?”
“They agreed on a monthly budget for her ‘frivolous spending.’” I let go of Jonah long enough to air quote that word. “She stays within her budget, and he’s not allowed to so much as blink at her purchases, no matter what. Not a word.”
Jonah bites his bottom lip, hesitating. “Is that
something we should maybe consider doing here? Or at least talk about purchases over a certain amount before they’re made, to make sure we’re both thinking clearly?”
I shoot him a flat look. “By both, you mean me, though.”
Jonah’s lips curl into a small, playful smile.
Muriel’s advice—though unwanted—loiters in my mind. “I’d be willing to discuss anything over a thousand.”
“Five hundred,” he counters.
“So, two thousand?”
His brow furrows.
“I’m trapped in a log cabin in the woods, with a goat and a raccoon and no driver’s license. A crazy woman with a gun just told me I’m making strawberry jam and growing cabbage this year. Frivolous spending is all the joy I have!”
His burst of laughter carries through the stillness. “Fine. A thousand, but only if you plant brussels sprouts back there.”
“Ew. Really?” I grimace. “Fine. And you can’t argue with me just because it’s not important to you.”
He glares at me. “A five-thousand-dollar dining room table is fucking ridiculous, Calla. We’d use it once a year, if that!”
“Fine,” I agree begrudgingly.
He pulls me in tight. “We’re gonna have to come to a more reasonable common ground eventually, though.”
“Eventually,” I agree with mock innocence, smoothing my fingertips over his coarse beard. It’s finally back to the length it was when I left Alaska the first time.
“I hate fighting with you.” He leans in to capture my lips with his.
“Stop being insufferable, then.” I trace the seam of his mouth with my tongue.
“You want insufferable?” The wicked grin that flashes across his face sets my pulse pounding. With a swift tug, he yanks my pajama pants down, letting them fall to my ankles. My panties follow in a split second, and before I can balk, he has a grip of the backs of my thighs and he’s hoisting me onto the kitchen counter.
