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“I brought you and Daniel breakfast.” She tries to peer past me toward the hallway, but even in bare feet, I tower over her by a few inches. “Where is my boy?”
My heart swells at the endearment.
Daniel has always been a part of my family, but that feels different now. At least, to me, it does.
“He’s in the shower, I think,” I say, knowing he is.
I woke before him, showered, and dressed for the day. When I heard the knock at the door, signaling my grandma’s unexpected arrival, I rushed back into our bedroom, poked my husband in the shoulder, and told him to race to the guest bathroom.
He was out of bed and on his way in record time, gifting me with a clear view of his bare ass as he sprinted across the hall before he shut the door behind him. That didn’t happen until he blew me a kiss.
“You think?” She pushes past me. “Do you two not talk? Who doesn’t say good morning to their house guest?”
“Are there chocolate donuts in here?” I peer into one of the paper bags, hopeful that my favorite treat awaits me, but also confident that I’ve created enough of a diversion that she’ll stop talking about what Daniel and I do every morning.
Sex is the answer to that question.
Today, we skipped that because we fucked until after two a.m., and even though I felt boneless, I offered to get up then to help him clean the kitchen. He insisted I stay in bed as he set off to handle it himself.
Marti raises her chin. “It’s lemony fresh in here. Do you pay someone to clean for you?”
If I admit I do, my grandma will order me to call them and cancel their services. I learned that lesson two years ago when she dropped by unexpectedly to find two shirtless men cleaning my apartment.
One was in the middle of vacuuming the floors. The other was busy living up to the company’s promise of streak-free window cleaning. They were both a gift from Bella for my birthday that year.
She paid for a three-month subscription to their service. They only showed up once because Marti told them to leave, insisting she’d clean for me for free once a week.
Since she had more than enough on her plate already, I told her I would handle it, and I have.
“Daniel cleaned up last night,” I answer honestly.
Her eyes light up. “Really? That’s nice of him.”
“It is.” I nod. “Should I put these bags in the kitchen, Grandma?”
She glances around. “He does a good job.”
My gaze follows the same path as hers. I have to admit that she’s right. Daniel must have taken some time to tidy up after he cleaned the kitchen. There’s not a speck of dust in sight, not even on any of the picture frames on the windowsill.
I stare at them, instantly realizing there’s an extra one.
Holding the two bags Marti brought, I step toward the window but stop as soon as I can make out the photograph in the vintage silver frame.
It’s new to me. I’ve never seen it before.
The last person who lived with me was Marti. That was when her apartment flooded, and her new home wasn’t ready yet. Before that, Bella occupied the extra bedroom.
This frame doesn’t belong to either of them. I know it’s meant for me because the photograph within it speaks only to my heart.
“I did bring donuts,” Marti says from behind me. “I made that egg dish you love and there’s a tray of manicotti. You can have that for dinner tonight. Or lunch. Your choice, my girl, but there’s enough for two, so you can share…”
Her words fade into the background, drowned out by each beat of my thundering heart as I study the picture of Long Island Sound and the blue sky that looks like it stretches on forever. In the top right hand corner of the photograph is a visible slice of the sail from the boat where I shared my first kiss with my husband.
“The kitchen is this way.” Marti laughs.
I turn to follow her, but she’s approaching me instead. “I’ll take this and get it all plated for us. Should I make a plate for Daniel, too?”
I nod. “I think he’d like that.”
