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“You tired?”
“Not exactly.”
“I take you back to bed wearing this little short set and you’re not tired—you ready for that?”
“I mean, how hard is it? We walk up the stairs and lie in bed?” she replies with a catch in her voice.
“We go back to that bed and you’ll know exactly how hard it is.”
Her eyes drop to my waist, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips. “I’m thinking you’re a tease, Ford Whitman.”
“Fuck me,” I groan, walking toward the stairs, and hoping my willpower can hold out.
11
ROWAN
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Mom sounds relieved at my news.
“Really? You don’t think it’s a rash decision?”
“Not at all.”
My shoulders slump in relief. I didn’t know how she’d react. I’m not even sure I know how to feel.
Earlier today, during my therapy session, it hit me out of nowhere.
I’m selling my house.
My fully renovated, adorably awesome bungalow. A place I bought on my own and put my touch in every space. The same place that filled me with pride every time I walked through the door.
Now it’s filled with sour memories that can’t be erased.
“You think Daddy will be upset? We all put a lot of time and sweat into the place.”
“Honey, your dad and I loved that place because it was all you. We were so excited about that step in your life. Now it’s time to move along.”
“We’ll make my next place all me.”
“No doubt we will, but I have a request for the next place. Can you get enough rooms to actually put a lab and workstation in the home? You working all hours of the night and driving home always had us worried.”
My eyes dart around the area that has been my secondary work environment for years. During my time with Craig, I stepped back from my research, thinking eventually I’d get back to it as our relationship progressed. Soon enough, he showed his true opinion about my profession, closing the door on my progress.
His success in finance always trumped my career as a cosmetologist. His arrogance grew to the point I didn’t feel comfortable sharing this part of my life. I abandoned it for way too long.
Such a fool!
“Uh-oh, I know this silence. You’re lamenting over past decisions.”
“Lamenting and regretting.”
“What have I told you about regret?”
“That it will give me wrinkles?”
She laughs softly. “That and it is a roadblock. And you are moving forward, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, “I am.”
