“It’s seven a.m.”
“I’ll repeat, it’s still night.”
He started chuckling.
Then he committed the cardinal sin of leaning in and attempting to kiss me before I’d brushed my teeth.
I turned my head away.
“Baby,” he murmured.
“It’s morning.”
“There is no time I’m not down with kissing you.”
I kept my chin in my neck, my head as far away from him as possible as I looked back at him. “That’s very sweet. It also isn’t going to happen until I brush my teeth.”
“I gotta go and I want a goodbye kiss.”
“It isn’t goodbye. It’s ‘you have to get to work.’”
“Right, yeah, forgot.” He was back to murmuring, but now it was filled with amusement.
“Wait until I brush my teeth. Then we can kiss, and I can convince you to go to work late.”
“I’m never late.”
I had no doubt he wasn’t.
I tipped my head in challenge.
“You’d be worth being late,” he allowed. “Absolutely. And I don’t think Duncan would give a fuck, especially not today. But Chloe, I kiss you, really kiss you, in my bed, neither of us is going to work today.”
This explained why he didn’t give me but a peck last night after we’d settled in.
I clicked my teeth, vexed because he was right.
Not to mention, uncertain why that was a bad thing.
“Quick kiss,” he said, and before I knew what he was about, he’d pressed his lips hard to mine.
I could allow that, closed mouthed, which was as far as he went.
He pulled away, whispered, “Text me when you leave. And text me when you make it home.”
“Fine,” I huffed.
“You’re a pathological cuddler,” he announced, apropos of nothing.
I stared.
Then I asked, “Sorry?”
“You chased me around the bed all night.”
“I did not,” I stated coldly.
I mean, hardly.
“You so did. I woke up once because we were both almost falling out.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“It did.”
“It did not.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, stole another quick kiss, then got off the bed and walked to the door.
Yes, the light was coming from the hall.
Plugged your phone in to charge, you forgot to do that last night.
This man, this sweet, thoughtful, handsome, caring man was falling in love with me.
“Judge,” I called before he arrived at it.
He turned.
“Do you like wisteria?” I asked.
“What?”
“Wisteria, the flowering vine.”
“Is this code for something?”
“No.”
“Is it crucial you have this information before I go to work?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m a little scared to say I don’t know what it is.”
“I’ll text you photos.”
I heard his soft chuckle before he said, “Look forward to that.”
He turned again.
“Judge,” I called.
He turned back.
“Thank you…for last night.”
His expression lost its humor and became so beautiful to behold, I nearly had to look away.
Obviously, I did not.
“Just glad it happened when I was close,” he replied.
I was too.
“Sleep, have breakfast, and be careful going down the mountain,” he bid.
I nodded.
“Talk to you later, baby.”
“Yes,” I replied.
He gave me a sweet smile and turned away again.
“Judge,” I called.
He turned back and lifted his brows.
He wasn’t amused, impatient, or edging toward irritable.
He was attentive and waiting for me to say what I had to say.
This wasn’t a test.
I just didn’t want him to go.
But if it had been a test, he would have done what he’d always done.
Passed with perfect scores and extra credit.
“Can’t wait for Wednesday,” I whispered.
He stood there a second, two, three.
Then he was across the room, and I was up from the bed, in his arms, and he was kissing my morning-breath mouth.
Not closed.
I forgot I had morning breath and kissed him back.
When he was done, he murmured, “I can’t either.”
He then gently laid me back in his bed, slid away the hair that had fallen in one of my eyes, pulled the covers over me, and, after giving me the most beautiful smile in history, he walked out of the room.
* * *
It’s pretty.
This was Judge’s text response to my sending him three pictures of white wisteria, one of purple, one of pink.
We would be doing white, of course, but one must explore other options just to be certain one’s vision was as superlative as one thought.
Just pretty? I replied.
The muted noise that sounded when someone opened the door to Velvet beeped, and I looked up from where I stood at the checkout desk to see Mi-Young heading my way.
“What are you doing here?” I asked my friend a very good question, since it was her day off.
“Have you lost your mind?” she asked back.
My phone binged.
I looked down.
It’s VERY pretty.
Ugh.
Men.
Mi rapped the checkout desk with her knuckles to get my attention, something I gave her.
“Are you texting him?” she demanded.
“Yes,” I told her.
“Happily? Flirtatious? Not finding inane reasons to push him away anymore?”
I gave her a Death Stare.
It dissipated upon impact.
This was because Mi had a Death Stare vaporizer. I would never admit it, but this was probably one of the reasons she became my best friend.
She took no shit, not even from me.