by DM Davis
Fifteen minutes on the nose later, I step out of the bathroom in search of Lauren. I find her in the guest room on the phone, looking beautiful as usual. She smiles when she spots me, and I’m relieved to see no sign of her previously teary state.
“I have to go. We’re meeting Mom for lunch, but I’ll talk to him and let you know.” She pauses, listening to the person on the other line.
“Sounds good. Love you too.”
Insecurity stirs. Who’s she giving her love to?
“Hey.” She stands, hanging up the phone, and steps into my arms.
I hug her back, despite my irritation. “Who was that?”
“My brother Bobby.” She pulls back, worry in her eyes. “You sound upset, jealous even.” Disbelief is written all over her face, oblivious to how desirable she is.
“I was, until you told me it was your brother.” You’re not the only one with insecurities.
She cocks a brow, momentarily studying me before pushing on. “We should go.” She steps around me.
I follow, the imprint of jealousy still marring my psyche.
She powers off the music and collects her purse, the food for her mom, and her coat. Then she turns, catching my frown, and dumps it all on the counter. “I love you, you know.”
“I know.” I link my hands behind her back, relishing the feel of her body pressed against mine. If only we had thirty minutes to spare—and if we weren’t meeting her mother.
“You have no reason to be jealous—over me, especially.”
Now I’m angry. Forget jealous. “Don’t. Don’t knock yourself down to make me feel better.”
She sighs and pushes off my chest, forcing me to release my hold on her. “Let’s not do this. It was a misunderstanding. There’s no reason for you to feel threatened. So please, don’t turn this into a make Lauren feel good about herself moment.”
The bite of her response takes me back. A beat or two pass as I compose my thoughts and reel in my distaste for her self-deprecation. “Alright.”
I pick up her coat before she does and hold it out for to slip on. She turns, and I pull it on over her shoulders. She leans back, and I kiss her neck, lingering, making peace. “I love you,” I gruffly whisper.
“I know.”
Does she, really? I don’t think she can fathom the depth of my love for her. Not yet.
I pull my coat on, grab the food for her mom, and see her out the door.
I’ll have to work on that.
My thoughts linger on my reaction. I’ve never been the jealous type, but I suppose I’ve never felt quite like this. My ex would be disappointed to know she wasn’t the love of my life as I had led her to believe.
Who knew?
I surely didn’t, or I never would have proposed to her in the first place.
Apparently, she did, or I simply wasn’t the love of her life.
Tomato tomahto. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’ve lost enough time—self-respect—over my ex and her choices making me second guess my every move. I thought I was in love, but her cheating right under my nose was a swift kick to my ego. I haven’t let another woman close enough to care about fidelity or to even doubt her word. Lauren is a gamechanger. Apparently, my old wounds are not as healed as I thought.
Lauren has shown me that every misstep brought me closer to finding her. And I no longer regret any of those faulty steps. Except, perhaps, the four years it took me to finally run into my vision that morning, months ago, where I was merely seeking caffeine and found my destiny instead.
THEO DOESN’T LIVE FAR FROM ME, surprisingly close, actually. He pulls into the driveway with plenty of time to spare before we have to meet my mom. Opening my car door and taking my hand, he leads me to the front of the house. It’s a small Tudor-style home, fitting for him, and makes me smile.
“What?” He watches me closely.
“The style…it’s so you.”
He chuckles. “Yes, I guess it is. A piece of home, I suppose.”
“It’s a beauty.”
“Don’t make hasty judgments. You haven’t seen the inside yet. It needs a lot of work.” He kisses my cheek. “And a woman’s touch.”
My heart pitter patters at the thought of making his home mine. Hopefully, he means me and not just any woman.
He unlocks the front door and holds it open. “After you, Ms. Frasier.”
“Why thank you, Professor Wade.” I step inside, boldly grazing my hand across his maleness, thinking of this morning. But as soon as I pass the threshold, I stop. “Theo…it’s beautiful…truly.” I’m in awe.
“Thank you.” He urges me forward so he can close the door behind us.
It’s like a cottage but larger than I anticipated. We’re in his living room with a stone fireplace with a white wood mantle on one wall, flanked by white bookshelves. In front of the fireplace are two wingback chairs on either side, with an area rug and side tables. Quite cozy.
The other half of the room holds two long, brown leather couches in an L shape, and a large flat screen TV on the wall, and a square coffee table and matching end tables. Beyond this room, the dining room is on the left and on the right, a formal living room, or what looks to be his study, with a rolling chair and a large mahogany desk looking rather lived in. It makes me smile, thinking of him sitting there, grading papers, coming up with lesson plans and lectures.
On the far wall, past the dining/study room is a wide arched doorway that leads to the kitchen. Dark hardwood floors run throughout, joining one room to the next in an open floor plan with expansive beams overhead, giving the house structure but character as well.
“I’m in love.” I turn, surprised to see his eyes already on me.
He intertwines his fingers with mine. “I should have brought you here sooner.”
I wondered what his home looked like. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. It wasn’t intentional.” His eyes flit across my face as his fingers skim my hair. “I think subconsciously, I believed you’d feel…safer in your surroundings.”
Safer? I suppose he’s right. I’m a creature of habit. My home. My stuff. My locks. My alarm system. But… ”I feel safe with you.”
His smile brightens up the room. “I’m glad to hear it.” He motions to the kitchen. “Let me show you the rest.”
He leads me to the large eat-in kitchen that spans the width of this part of the house. To my immediate right is a table large enough to seat six. The oven and cooktop are to the right next to the refrigerator, framed with white cabinets. The back wall holds the farmhouse sink, dishwasher, cabinets, a marble counter top, and a large window overlooking the backyard. The left corner has a back door, and the left wall is a mass of upper and lower cabinets and more counter space. The cabinets may have been refinished, but the appliances are definitely new stainless steel.
“It’s a dream kitchen.”
His eyes sparkle as they catch mine. “Come on.”
He leads me back though the living area to a hallway. Turning left, there’s a nice-size bedroom with a queen bed, night stand, a chair and two dressers, starkly decorated. The bathroom, right off the hall, is a typical three piece: bathtub-shower combination, a sink, and a toilet. Small and efficient.
Returning down the hall the other way, is the laundry room that leads to the garage, a linen closet, and then at the end is the master bedroom. His room.
It’s big, larger than the other bedroom, with a king-size bed, two nightstands, another wingback chair, a tall dresser, a long dresser with a flat-screen TV mounted above it directly across from the bed, and two more built-in bookshelves flanking the bed.
There are two other doors on the same wall as the bedroom door. Theo steps into the middle door, flicking on a light.
I move closer to watch him collect clothes to wear from the long walk-in closet. He smiles when he catches me.
Shyly, I step back, my heart fluttering, feeling at odds being here in his place, in his bedroom. It’s overwhelmingly intimate.
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He motions to the third door. “That’s the bathroom if you want to look.”
His bathroom is double the length of his closet. On the right is a long counter with two sinks and a mirror running the length of the counter. On the left is a door with a toilet, and there’s a large glassed-in shower, large enough for two with a bench seat.
I blush at the thought.
At the end, on the far wall, is an oversized tub. I move closer and see it’s twice the size of my tub, more than large enough for two. It’s Theo-sized for sure. My mind jumps to the baths we’ve taken at my place and how much easier it would be to fit in his tub. My nipples harden, and I squeeze my legs together.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
I jump and scream, turning around and swatting at him. “Theo!”
He’s all smiles and laughter. He’s changed into a deep blue button-down shirt, dark jeans, brown belt and shoes.
“How can I be mad when you look so handsome?”
He tugs me closer. “You can’t.” His brow rises suggestively. “What were you thinking so intently about that I could sneak up on you?”
“Us in here. Together.”
His satisfied smile widens. “It’s hot, right? Welcome to my world. When I’m at your place, among your things, the places where you sleep, shower, bathe, where you are naked, it’s intimate,” he presses his forehead against mine, “…and arousing.”
Gah, this man reads me too well.
His kisses my forehead. “Come on, we’ll be late if we linger much longer.” He takes my hand and leads me back to the front door.
Before he can open it, I stop, pulling free. He turns, questioning.
“Can we come back here?” I’m tentative, afraid he’ll say no.
He closes the gap between us, his lips crashing over mine as his arms crush me to him. He kisses those tentative thoughts away. “Yes, bloody hell, yes.”
She’s been antsy the entire ride here. Fidgeting. Distracted. I park at the steakhouse—her mom’s favourite place—but instead of going in, I take Lauren’s hand, study it for a minute. It’s small and delicate compared to mine, but by no means weak. Her nails are natural and grow millimetres past the tips of her fingers, the whites nearly glowing from the sun gleaming through the windows. I massage her hand in both of mine, turning it over, pressing along her flat palm, over her fingers and down, linking my hand with hers. It fits perfectly in mine—her yin to my yang.
I press our joined hands to my lips, my eyes on her as I kiss her delicate, fair skin. She takes a cleansing breath as if my touch was all she needed to calm her nerves.
“Are you nervous about me meeting your mum?” I switch hands to caress her cheek as she contemplates her response. Thoughtful, as always.
“Not in the way you’re thinking. She’ll love you, I’ve no doubt. I just…” Releasing her seatbelt, she turns to face me. “I don’t do this.” She points to me. “Bring guys to meet my mom.”
Extremely happy to hear that, I don’t even try to hide the smile that breaks free.
“What?” She swats at me, overly fond of that defensive move, but I catch her hand and kiss it again.
“I’m honoured.” I lean over the console, pulling her to me, hovering over her pouty lips before pressing forward.
She stutters a breath and then sighs, “Can we go home now?”
Home? Hers or mine? I chuckle, eating up the affect I have on her. “No, Dove. Meet mum first, then home—my home.” Soon to be your home.
“You’ll be the first to meet my family.” That’s the admission that’s making her so nervous.
“You’ve never brought home a boyfriend?”
She shakes her head.
My cock hardens. Maybe we could go home. Reschedule.
“Come on, let’s get this over with.” She slips out of my hold and out the door before I can redirect my thoughts.
Bloody hell.
“The sooner we get in there, the sooner we’ll get home.” She shuts the car door.
I like her calling my place home—or anyplace we’re going together as home—not her home or my home. Just home.
Adjusting my jeans, I meet her at the front of the car, clasping hands. “You should have let me open your door.”
Her bright eyes meet mine. She smiles and shakes her head on a shrug. “Sorry.”
She’s not in the least. But she didn’t argue about me wanting to open her door for her—I consider that progress.
“Let’s go meet the woman who raised an amazing daughter like you.”
As we approach the entrance, a woman’s voice rings out, “Lauren!”
We stop and turn.
“Hi, Mom.” Lauren squeezes my hand and glances my direction before releasing me to hug her mum.
She’s a tall, slender woman with a warm smile. Pretty, but they look nothing alike. She has black hair, olive skin, and small hazel eyes. I was not prepared for that. And it dawns on me that Lauren doesn’t have a single family picture in her home. Her walls are decorated with artwork. She has knickknacks strewn about, but no personal photos. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s something of significance.
Releasing her daughter, she turns to me and sticks out her hand. “Hi, Theo, I’m Carolyn Frasier Murray, Lauren’s mom, but I guess you figured that out.” She laughs, a laugh completely unlike her daughter’s.
I take her proffered hand and kiss her cheek. “It’s an honour to meet you, Mrs. Murray. I’m Theodore Thomas Kellen Wade, but please call me Theo.”
“Call me Carol.” She gives me a knowing smile.
Pointing to the front door, I place my hand on the small of Lauren’s back. “Shall we?”
We’re seated by the hostess at a cozy booth on the outskirts of the restaurant, followed by our waiter, who takes our drink orders. It’s immediately apparent he’s enamoured with Lauren. He hardly takes his eyes off her. Carol and I get brief glances as we order our drinks. Lauren doesn’t seem to notice.
Sitting across from Carol, I settle my left hand on Lauren’s thigh, claiming her. Even though he can’t see it, I feel better for the contact. Her lips quirk, and she places her hand over mine. Oblivious to our connection, the waiter scurries away to fill our drink order. I hope he’ll be a while; otherwise, this could be a long lunch, or possibly rather short if I have to stake my claim more aggressively.
It’s now or never. “Lauren, I have a confession to make.”
Her eyes widen, looking at me and then her mom, obviously wondering why I would choose to make a confession right here, right now. “O…okay,” she stammers.
I squeeze her leg and take a fortifying breath. “Today’s not really the first time I’ve met your mother.”
“What—”
“It’s the first time in person, but we actually met on Thursday when I called her. I was anxious to break the ice and state my intentions. I thought it might make today less stressful.” I pause, waiting for Lauren’s reaction.
She blinks, darting her gaze between Carol and me. “Wow.” She frowns. “Neither of you thought to tell me? Ease my nerves?”
God, she’s right. I should have told her. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about you being nervous, only that I was. I wanted to make today more comfortable and not put your mum on the spot.” Though, I suppose I did put her on the spot when I called. Still, over the phone seems kinder than expecting a congenial response in person.
Carol smiles as if she can read my mind. “I was glad he called me. It did make getting to today less stressful—for me, too.”
Lauren nods, contemplating.
The waiter returns with our drinks. We’re silent as he sets them on the table, ensuring Lauren’s makes it in front of her, but Carol’s and mine are switched. As he stares at Lauren, he doesn’t even notice when Carol and I swap glasses.
I arch a brow at Carol, silently asking if she sees what I see. She glances at the waiter before winking at me, and then gets his attention by asking for lemons—
the lemons he forgot to bring for the iced tea.
As he walks away, her warm smile hits me, and I’m struck, for the first time, by the resemblance between mother and daughter. They have the same smile that lights up their eyes and transforms their face into something warm and inviting.
“Are there any details you both care to share, or any outcome of the discussion I can be privy to?” She’s not angry, but maybe a tad miffed.
Carol pours sweetener into her tea as she speaks, “I was impressed that Theo called at all. I don’t know too many men who would do that nowadays. It’s endearing.” A smile tugs at her lips as her eyes sweep from me and land on Lauren. “He was really quite complimentary toward you. He wanted me to know he not only cares for you but respects you, and he intends to marry you.”
My heart hammers in my chest hearing her mum repeat my words, and my smile slides to Lauren.
“Wow,” Lauren whispers on a blush, her teary eyes meeting mine.
I pull her into my side, kissing the top of her head. “It’s true. All of it.”
Carol continues, her eyes darting between the two of us. “It made me proud. You’ve always been an old soul.” She points to Lauren’s head. “You were born with the grey streak to prove you’ve got wisdom in your bones. You’re an old-fashioned romantic. It’s fitting, really.”
“Grey streak?” I nudge Lauren, curled up to my side. “Where?”
Her smile is sheepish when she pulls away, pointing at the left side of her head, which is facing away from me. “I’ll show you later. It’s hard to see with my hair down. It’s underneath, an inch or so behind my left ear.”
“Plus, it’s harder to see now with your hair lighter,” Carol offers.
“Lighter?” Is blonde not her natural colour? And how did I not see a grey streak? It’s an unusual feature for someone so young. I should have noticed. Perhaps I’m not as attentive as I pride myself in being.
“She was born with black hair, tons of it, sticking out every which way and a grey streak in the back like a skunk,” Carol answers before Lauren can.