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“Mmhmm...” She’s distracted by the built-in coffee system.
I stack the five boxes to carry them into her new space. Her bed has been fitted with all new luxury bedding, and I had the front desk bring fresh flowers for the nightstand before I left. The soft aroma of calla lilies hits me as I turn into her bedroom. Unfortunately, the wider box in the middle of the stack catches the doorframe, and the top three boxes tumble onto the floor.Damn it.
I survey the mess. The box labeledTOOLStook the brunt of the fall, laying on its side, the contents spilling out. I kneel to clean up the mess.
Hold up.
“Oh, Little Bird.”
There are at least five vibrators and a few pieces of lingerie scattered about that I pray to never unsee. I quickly gather the items and shove them back into the cardboard box. This is going to be fun. I bring in the rest of her suitcases, join her in the kitchen, and lean my hip against the counter, enjoying the view of her bent over to look into one of the lower base cabinets.
She slides a stack of mixing bowls aside I didn’t even realize were in there.
“I don’t see a juicer anywhere, so we’ll probably need to pick one up.” She’s taking inventory. “And how do you only have one fry pan? It barely even looks used. Please tell me you utilize this gorgeous kitchen.”
“I utilize this gorgeous kitchen,” I parrot, obviously lying.
“You’re breaking my heart right now,” she whines. She stands up straight. “I need to go grocery shopping because you have zero food in the fridge. Also, I’m going to need a few more tools in this kitchen if I’m going to meal prep.”
It’s too easy.
“Huh. Maybe we should check your box back there labeled ‘tools’?” I motion my thumb behind me and cock my head to the side.
She freezes and slowly turns around. “Don’t open that box.”
We stare at each other in silence before her eyes get big.
“Oh my God.” Her face pales.
“The box fell over. I put everything back.”
“You touched my sex toys!?” she screeches.
I furrow my eyebrows and play dumb. “Toys? I thought you said they weretools?”
Slack-jawed, she faces the windows with a palm across her forehead and mutters, “This isn’t happening right now.”
I take three strides, stand in front of her, and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Everybody masturbates, Princess. I did this morning. But don’t worry, I’ll keep your little secret just for me.” I give her a wink. Her nervousness is so refreshing. I follow the blush down her neck to her open neckline.
“I’m begging you to ignore everything you saw.”
I scoff. “Absolutely not. Come on, let’s go buy some pots.”
“Pans,” she corrects.
“And that big juicer you want so bad.”
“You have to stop.” She laughs.
Good, she’s starting to relax.
“Get your purse. You’re driving.”
As much as I love seeing her flustered, I don’t want her wrapped up in her brain overthinking our arrangement. Driving forces her to focus on something else and gives her a little practice in the Land Rover. She needs to get acclimated to driving something bigger than she’s used to—that’s a fine double entendre.
Pulling into the Williams-Sonoma, she has her list in hand. Such an organized little thing. We get to the cookware section, and I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s unapologetically giddy. It intrigues me when she reaches for some of the less expensive brands, and I suggest we upgrade. Without looking at me, her inspection of the pans continues, “No, you’re just paying for the label. These are actually better.”
