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We brought enough groceries to get us through a couple days, and last night, after we came down from our high and cleaned up, we got ourselves together long enough to unload the car and bring everything in. Barrett helped me unpack the clothes into the closet and dresser, put away the few groceries we brought in coolers and bags, and made a quick and easy dinner of tacos.
I watch the bulge and contract of his back muscles as he prepares the eggs wearing only his low-slung, navy-blue-striped pajama pants — sans boxers. I know this not only because I saw him slide them on but also because I can see his incredible butt cheeks through the thin fabric. I can also see that the jerk just flexed said butt cheeks, clearly knowing that I’m staring at one of my favorite parts of him.
He has bacon baking and sizzling in the oven and is sautéing onions, peppers, and mushrooms for the omelets. Men cooking is sexy as hell. Men cooking shirtless is even sexier. I can clearly see the tricep tattoo on his right arm from here. The tree he had the kids’ names engrained into makes me smile and happy every time I see it. He has a few other tattoos, too: an eagle with the Bible verse Isaiah 40:31 stretching across his left bicep, a cross on his chest, on his left wrist the date in which our unborn baby was due to be born, and on his left shoulder, a compass with my name over top of theN. They all mean something special to him. He doesn’t want to be covered in tattoos, but when he feels led to add more, he does.
He turns around and smirks in my direction. The oven timer beeps, and he whips back around and removes the bacon from the oven. He puts the meat on a plate lined with a paper towel, and then pours the eggs into two small skillets to start cooking. He rotates back around and leans his body against the counter, bracing himself with his hips and hands resting against the countertop. Looking over his shoulder, he raises his eyebrows in my direction, and I return the expression. We stare silently at each other for a few moments before he turns his head back once again and silently finishes cooking the omelets, adding in the vegetables and cheese. Once he’s got them ready, he plates up our breakfast.
Normally our mornings are filled with chaos, even on non-school days. Before we left, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to relax and enjoy the quiet, or that I would miss the chaos, but I was so wrong. The quiet is amazing, and the lack of chaos just adds to the tranquility of our getaway.
He slides a plate in front of me and places another one beside it. He walks around the island and takes a seat next to me. We eat in silence, glancing at each other every few seconds. He widens his stance on his seat so his thigh is touching mine.
“Good eggs,” I tell him.
“Thanks,” he replies, still with his damn smirk. He knows his chest and shoulders being bare are too much for me to handle.
“I love the vegetables sautéed first,” my stupid mouth says.
“Yup,” he says as he takes a drink of orange juice. The muscles in his throat contract as he swallows. Cocky bugger.
I decide to play his game. I have a grey sweater cardigan on over my light blue camisole which I slide off and drop to the floor next to me. I stretch my arms high above my head. He glances over at me and looks down, no doubt noticing my body’s reaction from the cooler temperature — or maybe from the eye candy he’s presenting me with. I won’t admit to that, though. He takes a deep breath in through his nose before putting another bite of eggs into his mouth, sliding the fork out slowly, drawing my attention to his mouth.
I pick up a piece of bacon off the plate and take a bite, taking my finger into my mouth and slowly sucking the bits of bacon from it; he watches the movement. The ridiculousness of what we’re doing almost makes me giggle. We’re eating bacon and eggs and acting as if we’re doing some sort of burlesque show. He reaches for a piece of toast, brushing his arm against my chest, muscles flexing on contact. We continue our song and dance of trying to out-seduce each other for several moments before he’s apparently had enough. The food long forgotten, he picks me up under my knees and places my arm around his neck as he pulls me onto his lap. His tongue immediately begs for entry into my mouth, and when he pulls back away from a knee-weakening kiss, he says with a smile, “You taste like bacon.”
I smile widely. I love seeing him happy and smiling. I love seeing his playful behavior.
* * *
Part of the agreement to us getting away was that we would remember how to relax. It’s nearing dusk, and he and I have been lazy all day long, always touching each other in some way, never far apart. Except for right now. He got up off the couch about ten minutes ago, kissed me on the forehead and left the room. I was so engrossed into the book on my Kindle that I didn’t ask what he was up to.
But now I feel a little cheated at not having him close anymore. I close the flowery cover on my Kindle case and set it on the couch beside me. I sit up and look around the room and find it’s as empty as I expected it to be.
“Barrett?” I call out but receive no response. I stand up and bend over, stretching my fingers to my toes, and call for him once again, but still nothing. I start to walk down the hall to the bedroom just as the sliding door that leads to the back yard opens up.
Barrett strides in with a Cheshire smile on his face. “C’mere,” he says simply.
I move toward him and notice that he has my jacket in his hand. He helps me into it and looks down at my slipper-covered feet and says, “That’ll do.”
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion and have no idea what that means, but I trust him completely. I take hold of his hand once I get my jacket on, smile at him, and walk outside into the dusky evening sky.
I stop abruptly when I notice that he has a couple of outdoor heaters running and his phone set up with a portable speaker. He presses a button on his phone, and the sounds of Florida Georgia Line singingH.O.L.Y.starts streaming through the quiet, peaceful night. He holds his hand out to me, and I move quickly to his side, not second guessing a single moment.
Barrett pulls me tightly into his arms, and his large chest crushes to mine. His right hand holds one of mine tightly against his heart; his left wraps around my waist. His face buries in my hair, and my head rests close to his shoulder. We sway slowly together. One song fading into the next. Whispering words to each other of the fond memories we have of our past, promises of the future, and how much we love one another.
I take a moment to look around and see he has Mason jars with white candles placed inside them lit all over the patio. I have no idea how he got them all here without me seeing. I look back up at Barrett and notice he’s staring down at me, his eyes looking back and forth between each of mine, an intense look on his face that makes my breath catch and lips part.
“Tess, I’m not going to promise you the moon and the stars, but I am going to promise you that I won’t forget to dance with you under them anymore. I won’t forget to grab a blanket, put it in the back of my pickup, and lay out underneath the night sky and watch the stars light it up. I won’t promise you wishes, but I do promise that I’ll wish upon every falling star with you.”
And that was all I needed to hear. I don’t need empty promises. I don’t need him to tell me he’ll make all my wildest dreams happen, because it’s just not possible. What I need to hear is that he’ll be by my side, walking with me through our crazy life, remembering that we are in this together.
I stop swaying long enough just to roll up on my toes and kiss him on his jaw, then move my lips to his mouth. I take his face in my hands and look into his eyes and tell him what I know he needs to hear, what I need to say. “I love you more than all my wishes. You’re the only wish I will ever need.”
Chapter Eighteen
Barrett
Iwill never forget the first day I saw Tess differently. It was homecoming Friday in 1990, and the entire school was in the gym, waiting for our coach to come give us a pep talk. I sat in the stands with the rest of the varsity Bobcats football team. We wore our game day jerseys and gave each other hell for no other reason than the fact than that was what teenage boys did. My favorite ball cap sat low on my forehead, the curve done just perfect. I enjoyed the bending of the rules that allowed us more freedom to wear hats during school because of homecoming.
I’m sitting next to Josh, my best friend for as long as I can remember, laughing at something he just said, when I see Tess walk through the gym doors. She has a streak of bright red in her blonde curly hair, the same color red that is on my jersey, and a red ribbon-thing that is tied in a bow on top of her head. She’s dressed pretty low-key with tight, light-washed jeans, which I could tell fit like they were made for her, a pair of white Converse All Stars, and a blue-and-white-striped tee. I can see a tiny sliver of her stomach peeking out from under her shirt. It’s just tight enough to show me that she definitely isn’t the young girl she once was. Even though she’s dressed casually, she somehow makes it work. She looks like the All-American-Girl-Next-Door who, surprisingly enough, is basically the girl next door. She grew up three blocks away from me. I’ve known her my entire life but yet today, I see her in a whole new light. When the hell did Tess become that?
