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Bexley
I moved around the expansive kitchen with careful steps. It was hard enough to slip out of bed without disturbing him. He was covering the majority of my body and had a firm grip around me. I cleaned the mess on the counter, assembled the tray of breakfast, and carried it up the stairs.
I peeked into the room, and his large frame was curled in the covers. Tiptoeing across the room, I placed the tray on his nightstand and grabbed the paper party horn. I crawled in the bed and bent down, just by his ear.
“Baby,” I cooed, giving him a quick kiss. “Baby, wake up.”
“Mm, no,” he grunted heavily with sleep and a hangover.I figured you’d say that.
I leaned back and drew in a large breath. I put my mouth over the plastic piece and blew as hard as I could. The loudest and most obnoxious sound filled the silent space, and he bolted up out of the bed. He settled on his knees and looked around the room. The covers fell by his waist, and his startled face turned predatory when he looked at me and the offending object in my hand.
“Ha, happy birthday?” I laughed, pointing to the tray of his favorites.
“No, baby,” he said as he straightened. His muscles flexed, and I was delightfully in trouble. “Breakfast isn’t making up for that headache.”
Catch me.
I turned and tried to jump off the bed, but his arm wrapped around my waist before I could get over the side. He pulled me against his chest and nuzzled into my neck.
“I might be sleepy, but you’re still slow and clumsy.”
“Jaiden,” I warned. “We have to leave soon; we can’t do this and breakfast.”
“Fuck the breakfast, all I need is you.” His hand circled my throat, and he nipped my shoulder. “It’s my birthday, which means I get to make the decisions.”
“That would be a good argument,” I said, slipping my fingers between his gentle hold and my neck, “but I don’t want to miss our flight.” I slid off the bed and turned to him.
“You’re the only person I know that would book a flight so early.”
“It’s not even a morning flight!” I countered. “Regardless, eat and get ready. We’re meeting Mari and Kel at the airport around nine.”
“Cruel wife,” he groaned and dramatically fell back to the bed. Laughing, I picked up the pillow and smacked him with it.
“You’re such a baby. Who whines about a trip to Italy?”
“Oh, I’m not whining about Italy, my love. I’m whining because my wife doesn’t want me to love her.” He draped his arm over his face and dramatically sighed. “She just doesn’t want this beast—” He grunted when I brought the pillow down hard over his chest again, cutting him off.
“Are you done being a drama queen?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning like a fox as he peeked at me.
“Then eat and get ready.”
“I love you.” He was staring at me the same way he’d done so for the last five years. As if he couldn’t believe I was real.
“You always have, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Everything had fallen into place. I was taking on a permanent consultation position, and he adopted the business manager aspect of my freelancing. We worked from home together, traveled the world together, and took on everything life offeredtogether. We could handle anything at this point; no hardship would compare to that semester of college. In many ways, that month was hell, but it also brought me the greatest happiness. I didn’t fret the what-ifs.
There were better things to imagine for our future.
