2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series)

by Heather Muzik

  “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

  “It’s not a secret,” Catherine admitted. It was just that she kept her feelings and memories of Josey close to the vest. She trusted Georgia with them, even Tara now, but she wanted to choose who or how to open up.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I just—it feels like I’m being replaced… as a friend… as a daughter. She’s weaseling her way into everything.”

  “It’s not like she’s shaking me down for information when we get together. You’re just a big part of both of our lives, and we like to share stuff about our lives.”

  “I have nothing to do with her life,” Catherine retorted.

  “She’s your sister-in-law. Like it or not, she’s in your life—your family—for good.”

  “They might get divorced someday.”

  “Catherine Marie,” Georgia admonished, sounding just like her mother.

  “It’s possible. And just because she’s family doesn’t mean I have to like her.”

  “Well, just because you don’t like her doesn’t mean I can’t like her,” Georgia pointed out. “We have a lot in common and—”

  “So you wouldn’t break up with her for me?”

  “My best friend wouldn’t ask me to do something like that.”

  “This isn’t Lacey asking. This is me asking,” Catherine jabbed.

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought so,” Catherine agreed, relieved to feel the tension dissipating between them.

  “So where’s my invitation?” Georgia prodded.

  “In the mail.” Thankfully her mother had left a message earlier telling her as much.

  Wednesday, January 26th

  -35-

  “I thought you were going to be grounded a lot longer than this.”

  “Three weeks isn’t long enough for you?” Her breath was hot in his ear.

  “Oh, it’s plenty long enough. Way too long,” he said lowly, an effort to contain himself.

  “That’s why I shanked the warden and escaped.”

  “Did you now?” he asked, kissing and breathing and making a general distraction of himself that was focused on that hollow place on the side of her neck.

  Actually, Warden Georgia had agreed to push off the dress shopping they were supposed to do this coming weekend, probably hoping Catherine would get laid and come back a nicer person after all the snippiness between them.

  Fynn’s tongue touched her collarbone, dissolving any and all angst that had overwhelmed her the past few weeks and making her eyes roll back in her head so she could better thank the Lord for her lot in life.

  Regular phone calls had hardly sufficed to replace actual physical contact, especially considering those conversations seemed to veer into strained and tense territory more and more often these days as she continued to be overcome with wedding preparations while he was footloose and fancy-free on his end—not a care in the world. He even phoned in his tux order rather than driving to Minneapolis for it, meanwhile she was driving all over kingdom come to get their wedding ducks in a row. But she was here now and that was what counted. And he smelled grrrreat, to quote Tony the Tiger. In fact, now she couldn’t even remember what their last fight had been about (okay, so that was a lie). Actually, she remembered very well that it was about the gift registry that they still needed to sign up for even as the invitations were jetting toward their guests at this very minute, directing them to Pottery Barn and Macy’s and Kohl’s, all places where their name wasn’t even on file yet. But that snit was days ago—two whole days that felt like ages, which was less than the amount of time since they’d last had sex. Who gave a crap about a registry? I know I don’t.

  “You realize that there’s no turning back now,” she said breathlessly.

  “I know.” His voice was muffled by her skin, his hands wandering dangerously from the small of her back.

  “I mean the invitations are in the mail,” she said more clearly, trying to convey the full weight of the situation. In classic Elizabeth-Hemmings-style efficiency, her mother had had them picked up and addressed and stamped and mailed in one day’s time. “There’s nothing we can do but get married now.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Fynn hummed against her neck, making her feel the vibration in her nether regions like a tuning fork.

  She knew he wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, but her resolve to care was lost to his mouth, just like her resolve to make it back to his house was quickly weakening to the next ten feet. Before Fynn she’d gone weeks, months, even a year or more without sex and without much trouble. But now three weeks was enough to make sex right here in the parking deck of the airport seem like a suitable prospect.

  “Are you trying to get me a ticket for indecency?” she asked, her breath ragged with need, wanting him to rip her jacket and then her blouse open and have his way with her.

  “I can make it worth your while,” Fynn whispered into that hollowed spot, following it up with the kind of kisses that melt ice… steel… inhibitions….

  “I don’t think I can even make it to the truck,” she said thickly.

  Suddenly alert, he said, “About the truck, actually—”

  But she covered his mouth, filling it with her own, swallowing his tongue and the words in one explosive move, pushing him up against a car that protested with a shrieking alarm that broke them apart, ripping her out of her haze of desire with a jolt of fear.

  They looked at each other, both of them breathing like they’d just been running for their lives. “Saved by the most annoying sound ever created?” he asked.

  “Not so much saved,” Catherine countered, a pout on her lips. She hadn’t wanted to stop. A part of her could still imagine doing it up against a concrete support that was only a few short feet away from them. But the alarm was just so friggin’ loud; a thousand jackhammers would have been more welcome. “Let’s just go back to your place,” she hollered.

  “You mean our place,” he yelled back, the statement huge in the sudden quiet as the alarm between them cut off unexpectedly.

  It was just so weird to hear that. Of course living in his place made all the sense in the world—the only sense really—but it still bothered her that he just assumed everything would be as he had built it. Her joining his world; not them creating their world. But her discomfort dissolved quickly as he kissed her so brilliantly that for a moment she forgot where she was; it could have been anywhere as long as she was with him.

  When he pulled away she was dazed and disoriented. “That will have to do for now,” he said, looking proud of his accomplishment—turning her to goo.

  “We can pull over on the way and do it like a couple of high school kids at lovers’ lane,” she offered.

  “Actually, I tried to warn you back at baggage claim when you leapt into my arms and sucked my face off. And again at the exit when you were grinding up against me. And again just now before you—”

  “Just what were you trying to tell me?” she cut in.

  “I didn’t come alone.”

  “Is Magnus in the truck? You think he wouldn’t approve of us doing it there?” she chuckled.

  “No. Not Magnus. Everyone is in the car… Drew’s minivan.”

  “Everyone?” she asked blankly.

  “Drew, the boys, Klein… Cara.”

  “But you never—”

  “You called from the plane. I didn’t even know you were coming, and you didn’t give me a chance to get a word in edgewise.”

  “But—” She really had nothing to say. She had to stop dropping in on people. It had become a nasty habit in her life.

  “Renée asked me to keep Cara through the week. She’s having some particularly intense treatments….” He watched her face for signs of what she was thinking. “It gives us all a chance to spend some more time together.”

  “It’s not that,” Catherine choked out, trying to hide her selfish frustration of wanting a Fynn-ful, clothing-optional, long weekend.

&n
bsp; “I know. I want to have you on the kitchen table and living room floor and on the stairs and in the hallway and right the hell here up against that concrete pillar, too.” That final one ricocheted off of all the hard surfaces around them.

  She felt the cockles of her heart warming considerably as Fynn mentioned exactly four of the eight places she was thinking of having him. But this was reality. Cara was indeed reality. And she hadn’t even seen her since before the engagement. Before Christmas for that matter. It couldn’t hurt to get a little family-of-three test-drive in before they actually got married.

  “They want to take us out to a nice dinner.” He pulled her close and looked down into her eyes. “For some reason they really like you.”

  “Just so long as you keep your hands off me for the duration.”

  “Through the weekend? You do know it’s only Wednesday, right?”

  “I mean for the evening. I can’t take your hands right now. I might do something untoward.”

  “Hmmm, untoward?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

  “When we heard the alarm we figured it must be you guys,” Klein chuckled, sticking his head out the minivan’s window as it came to a stop just a few feet from them. “So, you done stealing that car?”

  *****

  “Drew, I was wondering how you feel about being a bridesmaid,” Catherine fished, pushing the broccoli around on her plate, wishing it was the french fries she’d decided not to order for the good of the wedding.

  “I absolutely dread it with every ounce of my being,” she said plainly. “The dress and the showers and all that shrieking girl stuff—not my scene. Why? Are you asking?”

  “Kind of….” Catherine said carefully.

  “I’d love to!” Drew exclaimed.

  “But you—”

  “I hate the scene, but I love you, Cat. You’re my friend. My family. Of course I’ll be a bridesmaid for you. Although I’m glad it’s going to be soon before I get—”

  But Catherine suddenly squealed unbecomingly as Fynn’s hand reached into her lap unfairly. Very unfairly.

  “Glad you’re that excited,” Drew said, caught off-guard.

  “I just want my closest friends with me up there in front of God and everybody.” She squirmed in her seat with the effort of fighting Fynn’s covert advances, bending back his fingers just enough to warn—

  “Cat?” Cara tugged on her sleeve. She’d insisted on sitting next to her at the dinner table and wanted Garrett on her other side. At ten, Garrett was her hero and she clung to his every word. She didn’t get on quite as well with Lyle, who had never been an older anything to anyone so he hadn’t had any practice and tended to pick on her.

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “Can you cut up my chicken for me?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Catherine grabbed her fork and knife and went to work. “You know, my mom used to cut my chicken up for me when I was your age.”

  “My mommy does it at home when she can. She told me that you’re good at cutting too.”

  “She did?”

  “Uh-huh. I guess all mommies are good at cutting. It’s just something mommies are born with.”

  Catherine felt a lump in her throat, remembering when she was about Cara’s age and she made a Mother’s Day card for her aunt, and her mom had to explain that not all grown-up women are mommies. She looked around the table to see if anyone else was privy to the awkward conversation at hand, but Fynn was chatting with the waiter, the boys were drawing tic-tac-toe games on the back of paper placemats, and Drew and Klein were staring deep into each other’s eyes like the answers were all right there inside.

  “Klein and I have something we want to say,” Drew announced suddenly, turning to the table. She had tears welled up in her eyes. “We’re having a baby.”

  -36-

  “Can I just say I told you so now before I explode?” Catherine said triumphantly, as soon as they stepped inside the house. She’d held her tongue as long as possible. “Did I not tell you three weeks ago?”

  “I guess you mentioned something,” Fynn said blandly, putting the doggie bag of leftovers into the fridge.

  “Do I have to go to bed right away?” Cara asked.

  Catherine snuck a look at the clock and realized that it wasn’t even eight yet. “No, sweetie, you can watch a little TV.” When Cara traipsed off into the family room, she set her sights back on Fynn. “I totally called it. I just want that to go on the record.”

  He smiled at her from across the kitchen, a self-satisfied smile.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I just like to see you like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Effortlessly swapping between kindly caregiver and gloating gloater-pants.”

  “Gloater-pants?” Catherine smirked.

  “I think it fits.”

  She waved him off, preoccupied with more important issues like her forty-something sister-in-law-to-be’s egg situation. “So, do you know if they’ve been trying long?”

  “Who’ve been trying what?”

  “Your sister and Klein. Have they been trying to have another baby? Or was this a happy accident?”

  He shrugged.

  “She’s your sister, how could you not know?”

  “We don’t talk about stuff like that.”

  “Like family?”

  He stared back at her blankly.

  “For a guy who is so free to give of himself sexually, you really don’t like to talk about sex,” she noted.

  “I can talk about sex. I just don’t like to discuss that stuff with my sister.”

  “Do you want to have kids?”

  She watched him carefully, looking for a reaction, wondering how this could possibly be the first time she’d ever brought it up. They hadn’t discussed kids other than Cara, and even there she feared they’d fallen woefully short.

  “In theory, yes… I guess,” Fynn said.

  “What exactly does that—”

  “Can I have a drink?” Cara asked, coming back into the kitchen and stopping the conversation in its tracks.

  Catherine saw the look on Fynn’s face—relief? But this was their future! They had to discuss it sometime. She wanted numbers, time frames—the important stuff. Was he going to turn around after their vows and demand they throw out the birth control, or would she be begging to talk about kids when she was on the doorstep of forty? Where were they headed and how fast would they be getting there? Drew’s news brought it all home to her. Even though she didn’t know if she was ready to have kids, she felt like everybody was whipping past her at a hundred miles an hour and she hated being left behind.

  “So what are we going to do tomorrow?” Cara asked as Catherine poured her some juice.

  “I was thinking we could all go to the mall and pick out wedding gifts!” she announced, springing her wicked, evil plan on Fynn. The registry did need to be done and Cara did need to be entertained—two birds….

  “The Mall of America?” Cara asked, eyes wide with amazement.

  “The one and only.”

  “Mommy says it is huge! She said I’d get to go there one day. Can we really go tomorrow, Fynn?” Cara asked, looking up at him hopefully.

  He shot Catherine a touché glance before answering. “If that’s what my girls want to do, then I guess that’s what we’ll do.”

  *****

  They made love in silence under the cover of darkness, unlike their usual throw-caution-to-the-wind-with-the-lights-on-and-doors-wide-open abandon when it was just the two of them alone. There was something intensely intimate and powerful without sound and sight, a heightened sense of touch that overwhelmed her. It was sexy as hell.

  Afterward, Fynn spooned around her. “Finally.” He breathed the word into her hair, completely spent.

  “Is this all you want me for?” she whispered.

  “Just to love me,” he said sleepily.

  “With my insides?” she giggled, snuggling deeper in
to his embrace.

  “That part is a bonus. I just want you right here with me every night.”

  “Sweet, but that’s the sex talking.” She slipped from his grasp.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to pee. Ouch!” she whisper-growled, stubbing her toe on the footboard and hobbling across the floor to the bathroom—she wasn’t used to traversing his place in the dark. She could make herself a sandwich in her apartment in the middle of a blackout, but here, going to the bathroom was an obstacle course. This would take getting used to.

  When she got back in bed, he snatched her close to him again.

  “You got dressed,” he said lazily.

  “Cara’s down the hall. What if she needs something in the middle of the night?”

  “Throw on a robe.”

  “I will not sleep naked with her in the house,” she snapped. “And you shouldn’t either, by the way. Even more so.”

  She heard him groan as he slipped out of bed and rooted around for his underwear before slipping back in again. “This is as far as I go,” he countered.

  “Better.”

  “Now can we go to sleep?”

  She snuggled back against him in answer, feeling his heartbeat against her, the soothing thump of her forever right there.

  Thursday, January 27th

  -37-

  “Stomp off the snow, sweetie. Like this,” she said, stomping her feet on the porch mat, an armful of firewood in her grasp. Cara stood beside her, stomping her feet too, one piece of firewood cradled in her arms helpfully.

  As Catherine opened the front door, Magnus shot past them inside.

  “Magnus!” Cara reprimanded. “You didn’t stomp the snow off your paws!”

  “We need to teach him better than that, don’t we?” Catherine agreed, shutting the winter out behind them and walking over to the hearth to set the wood on the metal hoop that held dwindling fuel for the fire.