Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I was thinking a lot about if I never really went back there, never slept in my old bed and made coffee in my old kitchen. If my life was in Navesink Bank, was there some way that I could convince Chip to move, so I could still keep an eye on him? I worried about him all alone with no one to look after him.
Was I getting a little ahead of myself?
Sure.
But I couldn’t help it.
I never felt anything like it before. The bone-deep certainty. The feeling of home I found inside another person.
And it wasn’t just all the feel-good sex hormones. Because I’d tried to convince myself of that for days, conveniently forgetting that the sensation had been growing since well before we finally did the deed.
It was just… right.
We were right.
So of course I was thinking of a time in the future where we were moving beyond the bedroom at the clubhouse. Suddenly, I was imagining a four-bedroom house—one for us, two for kids, and a guest for when my sister came back to visit—a yard, a season pass to the beach, an expanded business that brought home more than enough money that I could simply run it from home instead of busting my ass doing the work.
There would be trips to the playgrounds, dinners at Rune’s parents’ house, big, crazy, loud club barbecues, hectic Christmases—the kind of large, close, supportive family I would have loved and would adore giving to my own kids. Ones I hoped would come out with dimples like their father and grandfather.
“What are you smiling about?” Rune asked, turning on his pillow to look at me.
I couldn’t exactly tell him the details, but I agreed to always give him the truth.
“Just thinking about the future.”
“Am I in it?” he asked, that dancing look in his eyes.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“How do you feel about a buttery yellow ‘90s kitchen?”
“Sounds homey.”
“I guess you can live there too then.”
“And do the baseboard cleanings?”
“Well, you do have the special tool for such things.”
“That feels fair. I also get trash duty.”
“Obviously.”
“And anything that has to do with a pressure washer.”
“Why do you get all the fun?”
“The most satisfying kind of cleaning.”
“I use it on rugs. Way better than carpet cleaners.”
“Ever use it on an outdoor rug? Satisfying as fuck.”
“God, we’re such weirdos,” I said, leaning my head against his shoulder.
“Hey, at least we won’t be fighting over chores. Though I do hate one of them.”
“Which one?”
“Dusting.”
“I love dusting.”
“We’re meant to be,” he said, tone light. But, God, those words felt truer than they should.
Not ready to say the words, my fingers laced between his and curled.
“I like that you’ve got that soft look when you’re thinking of our future.”
Our.
“What do you think about when you think of it?”
“Maybe getting a place a little closer to the beach.”
“But we need a yard still.”
“Where would the dogs and kids play if we didn’t?”
My cheeks hurt from smiling.
“And I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how you decorate Christmas trees. Colored lights are pretty non-negotiable for me.”
“Luckily for you, I put up at least three trees. A colorful, gaudy one full of mismatched ornaments with sentimental value, a ‘fancy’ one, and one that I do a different theme with each year.”
“So, I’m hearing I got nothing to worry about then.”
“How do you feel about a pool?”
“Don’t love the maintenance. Then again, the only one I’ve had to clean is this one. And I doubt we’d be dipping for raspberries and blackberries in our personal pool.”
“Oh, God. Those stain.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I know they’re nuts, but I really love your club brothers.”
True, we spent most of our time alone. But I’d been trying to remember to venture out for meals so we didn’t seem antisocial. Plus, I felt bad for Croft and Vas being stuck in the clubhouse because of my cousin. And that none of the guys could have their usual parties. I felt like I owed it to them to play pool and poker and watch their gory movies.
Though, one particularly fun night involved one of the club brothers I hadn’t met before—Sully—walking in with a vagina-flower-printed Hawaiian shirt and a big suitcase. The shirt? A gift from a club old lady. The suitcase? A craft kit compiled by his wife.
Then I sat around a folding table with a bunch of arms-dealing bikers… painting ceramic vases.
“Who are you giving yours to?” Rune asked once everyone else said they were giving theirs to their moms, aunts, or friends.
“I thought it might make a nice housewarming gift for my sister,” I said. “I mean, if we can get it fired and shipped in the near future.”
“Already rented kiln time,” Sully declared as he painted his with dogs.
“She’s gonna love that. It suits her,” Rune said as he looked at all the bright colors.