Nine
Saint
I damn near swallow my tongue when Emerson opens the door, hair falling down in waves, legs being shown off in one of those dresses that’ll flow up in the event of a slight breeze blowing.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I finally get out.
“Saint,” she replies, voice sweet as honey.
“You ready?” I ask. If I get my mouth on those damn lips of hers, we won’t leave, not until her clothes and mine are on the floor.
“Of course.” I watch as she grabs her purse and keys. The little community where her duplex is located is cute, on the older side but still well maintained. Nice, manicured yards, neighbors who sit out on their front porch and waving hello even though you’re a stranger.
“Only reason we’re leaving right away is, the second you give me those lips of yours, we won’t leave at all, and something tells me you need me to go slow,” I lay the cards on the table.
“Oh, well, yes. You’re probably right. I seem to forget my own name when that happens.” I watch as she locks her door, turns back around, and almost loses her footing. Fuck, my girl needs to be wrapped in a damn bubble.
“You don’t see me complaining.” My hand moves to her lower back. She slides in closer to me, not even realizing what she’s doing.
“So, I was thinking we’d go to a few furniture places tonight. I’d like to get an idea about what you like. Maybe this time, I’ll keep my big mouth shut, and you can actually voice your opinion.” At this point, the two of us are settled in the truck.
“Tell me where to go first. We’ll do one store tonight before we grab some dinner, and then we’ll go back to the house. The sellers gave me the keys early since we’re just waiting on the actual closing date, but the funding is all done.”
“Okay, head north on US-1. We’re going to the downtown New Smyrna area. I know it’s a bit of a hike, but it’ll be worth it once you see the furniture, all built in house or custom, whichever you prefer.” I look over at her. Her smile is shining brightly, and I don’t care if I had to drive eight hours, if she asked for us to go, we’d go. And who is she kidding? I know she won’t be able to help herself with her need of voicing her opinion on furniture and how to decorate it. In fact, I want it. Fuck, I’d move her in with me, no questions asked, and I’ve only kissed her once. That’s how much she has come to mean to me in such a short amount of time.
“You know, I saw your real name in the papers. Why don’t you go by that?” she asks.
“Eh, my mom named me after her grandad. Christopher, or Chris, is an alright name, but once I was a medic in the military, Saint just stuck after one of the guys called me Saint Christopher. I wasn’t fond of it, but when your guys give you a nickname, it usually sticks. Lucky for me, they shortened it to Saint.” My hand is on the center console, eyes on the road instead of where they want to be—on Emerson.
“Well, that’s actually kind of sweet, if you think about it.” Her fingers loosely hold mine. I take the opportunity to tangle them together further, loving that she took this first step. She may not need slow after all.
“Just did my job, sweetheart. Not sure if that’s sweet or not. A lot of bad stuff happens that the media doesn’t show. Kids getting blown apart, fellow men dying, towns in shambles. It’s not easy over there. Came home five years ago, didn’t want to be so helpless when sometimes supplies were limited.” Emerson squeezes my hand in what I’m assuming is for reassurance.
“Wow, well, I guess that kind of explains things,” she mumbles quietly.
“It’s all good.” I ignore the fact that she’s probably talking about how she seems to always fall or stumble. The drive to the furniture place is an easy ride and helps to give us more time to talk. Not that we haven’t been doing that when we’re not around each other. I’ve texted her a few times. She’ll do the same, or like last night, we chatted on the phone until it was well past midnight and Emerson was yawning. Only then did we hang up. It really sucked that I was close to an hour away from her, but this morning, I got up early with one thing on my mind. And it definitely involves Emerson.
Ten
Emerson
We’re looking at furniture, particularly a bedroom suite. So far, I’ve been able to keep my mouth shut on opinions and what I’d like. Though, that’s been so damn hard when he asks what I think of a dark mahogany wood set. It isn’t my cup of tea, but I zip my lips, and when he laughs at the way I’m holding in what I think, Saint literally busts a gut laughing. “That look says it all. Come on, tell me what you’d like.”