“I’d love some. Thank you.”
I made his coffee just the way he liked it and brought it into his office. He was reading something with a blue back that I’d signed for an hour ago.
“Thanks,” he said without looking up.
“You seem to be thanking me a lot today.”
“Just wait until you see what I have up my sleeve for tonight,” he replied.
I knew he was busy, so I didn’t want to take up too much of his time screwing around. He stopped me as I got to the door.
“My place tonight? You can sleep in while I get an early start tomorrow, or take a bath if you want. My new slave-driver of a secretary has me booked starting at seven a.m.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t get a better night’s sleep if I stayed home? You need your rest with all the traveling and stress you have going on.”
Drew let the packet of papers he was reading from drop to the desk. “Come here.”
I walked back to stand in front of his desk.
“Closer.”
When I stepped around to where he sat, he surprised me by yanking me down onto his lap. “Four hours of sleep next to you is better than eight in an empty bed.”
“You better watch it, Jagger. You’re losing your sour and turning sweet on me.”
“I’ve been sweet on you since the first night you attempted to kick my ass. Now go. Go get your stuff. You don’t need to stick around here if you’re done, and we’re supposed to get snow later tonight.”
I left to do as Drew had instructed—pack an overnight bag and head back.
The entire trip to my place, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Drew was the kind of man who didn’t make it easy to get past his exterior, but when you did, it was worth the fight he’d put up to keep you out. Over the last week, it felt like our relationship had really turned a corner.
I even called my parents while I was packing my bag and decided to tell them about the new man in my life—something I rarely did. Of late—say, I don’t know, the last three years—it had been because there was no new man, but I also knew my mother would worry about me. She’d worry I was going to get hurt, or worry I’d unknowingly picked a serial killer to date—because, of course, everyone who lived in a big city had the potential to be a closet serial killer. So I was careful how much I divulged.
“That’s wonderful, honey. How did you meet?”
Uh…he broke into my office and then bailed me out of jail the next day. Best first date ever.
“He’s actually the landlord for my new office.”
“And he’s a nice young man?”
We didn’t fight…today.
“Yes, Mom. He’s very nice.”
“What does he do for a living?”
Well, he thrives on misogynistic tendencies he developed because of his lying, cheating ex-wife, and attempts to extricate men from their failed marriages by leaving women penniless.
“He’s an attorney. Family law.”
“An attorney. Very nice. And family law. That’s a noble profession. When do we get to meet this fellow?”
“I’m not sure, Mom. He’s so busy with work right now.”
And fighting for custody of his son…who isn’t technically his son because his bitch of an ex-wife saw him as her meal ticket when she got pregnant with another man’s baby.
She sighed. “Well, just make sure he has the right values. Money and a handsome face often cause temporary blindness.”
“Yes, Mom.”
We talked a little while longer and then, I have no idea where it came from, but I asked her a question that fell out of my mouth.
“How did you know Dad was the right one for you?”
“I stopped using the word I when I looked into the future.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before I met your father, all of my plans were just that—my plans. But after I met him, even after only a few weeks, I stopped seeing the future as mine and started seeing it as ours. I didn’t even notice it for a while, but when I talked about things that were coming up—Saturday nights, holidays, whatever—I eventually realized I’d started saying we, not I.”
***
I stopped at the grocery store on the way back to the office and picked up some things to make dinner. Drew was going to be living in a hotel in Atlanta and working long hours when he was here, so I figured he’d appreciate a home-cooked meal. He came in as I was taking the lasagna out of the oven.
“Smells good in here.”
“Hope you like lasagna.”
“It’s my second-favorite meal.”
“What’s your first?”
He came up behind me, brushed my hair to one side, and kissed my neck. His word vibrated against my skin. “You.”
“Control yourself. You need to enjoy a homemade meal when you can. Your next few weeks are going to be busy.”