They were just sweet, knowing he had it to give to his girls.
And I made it so he could.
His arms around me convulsed and then stayed tight.
But I had a feeling he misunderstood the emotion behind my words when he asked, “You okay?”
I snuggled into him. “Yeah. Actually, I think I’m more okay than I’ve been for a long time.”
“How’s that?”
“I have you back,” I told him. “And you have the babies you have to give what you have to give. It wasn’t ours to have. It was yours. And now, not only do you have it, I have you. So it sucked how we got here. But I’m beginning to understand it was worth it.”
A scratchy rumble rolled up his throat right before he bent his head and took my mouth.
We made out and there was a lot of feeling to that too.
None of it bittersweet.
All of it just sweet.
He lifted his head and said softly, “Give you this weekend. Friday dinner. Saturday time with you. Sunday time with you. We’ll go sleep at the RV. But next time I got ’em, all that time’s with you.”
I could make that compromise, so I nodded.
“Today, gonna sit down with Deb and explain that.”
Oh man.
“Got nothin’ to worry about,” he assured. “Already told her I was with someone and that someone is important. She doesn’t care. Just want her to know how I’m movin’ it along with the girls. She won’t care about that either. She trusts me to do right by the girls and she isn’t wrong in that trust.”
That made me feel better, so I nodded again.
“As for me, I’m moving in.”
My lips parted.
“I know we’re just back but I don’t give a fuck. I’m not takin’ that slow. Lost too much. Not gonna dick around gettin’ it all back. Leave the RV at Boz’s until I can get that garage out back torn down. Once that’s out, there’ll be room to store the RV here and do it not fuckin’ up the look of your courtyard.”
Before I could say a word, he finished.
“And you can have your alarm clock until Justine gets her teeth into shit and you can sort it so you don’t need one.”
“You’re moving in?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“You’re tearing down my garage?”
“You use it?”
“No.”
“Then yeah.”
“You... uh... Low, my house is girlie,” I pointed out.
“Furniture’s comfortable. Place is tight. Looks nice. Great kitchen. It works,” he stated.
“But it’s girlie,” I repeated.
“What do I care as long as the furniture’s comfortable and your ass sleeps beside mine?”
That was very sweet.
But it wasn’t the relief I expected it to be.
“I... um... this is a big decision,” I noted.
“Not anymore since it’s made.”
He hadn’t been a steamroller before when making decisions.
Then again, he had me then; he never thought he’d lose me, so he didn’t need to steamroll anything.
Cautiously, I shared, “We should get to know each other again, Low.”
“Came to you yesterday pissed as all shit. I know ’cause I saw you lose it, freaked at how pissed I was. But you lost that and got in my face. Told you all there was to know about the bad of the last twenty years with the Club. You took it in, let me fuck you on your couch and, when I got you to bed, you were out in five seconds tellin’ me none of that shit was fuckin’ with your brain. Millie, you’re an old lady. Doesn’t matter what you wear or where you live; it’s just in you. That shit happens when you fall for a biker and you got what it takes. You fell for a biker and never dug yourself out to find somethin’ else. There’s nothin’ more I need to know.”
“You seem to have an answer for everything,” I remarked, and his lips twitched.
“That’s ’cause I have an answer for everything.”
I frowned and replied, “You’re also egotistical.”
He started chuckling but asked through it, “Babe, you wanna sleep alone?”
I absolutely did not.
I decided not to answer.
He knew my answer.
“Right,” he stated. Then, “You work. I got my thing I do. We eat together. We fuck. We go to bed together. We get up. We fuck. You do your thing. I do mine. And repeat. Why would we do any of that without my clothes in your closet?”
I looked to his throat, muttering, “Apparently he does have an answer for everything.”
At that, he didn’t speak.
He just laughed.
I found that annoying but only annoying in the way any man who actually had a rational answer for everything would be annoying to a woman.
So I did not laugh.
I asked, “Are we done? Because I have the plans for a sweet-sixteen party to go over and that’s not gonna happen in this kitchen.”
He was still smiling when he replied, “We’re done.
I rolled up on my toes, touched my mouth to his, rolled back, and broke from his arms to move to my coffee mug.
I retrieved it and walked to the back door, murmuring, “Have a good day, Snooks.”
“Back at ya,” he replied when I had my hand to the handle.
I looked to him.
Very faded jeans. The blue Henley.
He’d retrieved his coffee as well.
He looked comfortable in my kitchen. Not like he belonged, say, should someone need a model to use to take a photo in order to advertise my fabulous marble countertops.