I don’t know what this means. I’m afraid to consider it too much. Living for the day is working for now, and until he’s ready to talk about more, I’m good with this.
I’m better with him.
He groans and rolls over onto his back. I watch the beauty of his body unfold as he stretches.
“You make me feel like a piece of meat,” he jokes.
“How many men in their mid-thirties would complain about that?”
“Excellent point.”
He curls up on his side and looks at me. “So, the house.”
“The house.”
Conceptually, I’m more at peace with the idea of building a home than I used to be. I can’t live in my mother’s house forever. I know that. It’s probably not even healthy at some level. But I’m no more certain about my grandfather’s role in the whole thing than I ever have been.
“My grandfather still hasn’t called.”
I cringe but try to keep Wade from seeing it. It’s humiliating to tell a man who’s so family-oriented that my own flesh and blood has seemingly forgotten about me.
And his promise about building me a house.
“I just wish he’d admit it if he’s changed his mind,” I tell him. “I’ve lived this long without him. I don’t need him now.”
Wade strokes my arm. “You don’t need anyone.”
“I know.”
My feelings swell up inside me, and I try to hide that from Wade, too.
I know I don’t need anyone. I can make it on my own. I can live my life and be a success by all of society’s measurements for such a subjective thing. And I largely have my mom to thank for that assurance, that self-confidence.
She was a single mom. A stern disciplinarian. Gracious. She ensured I was independent and capable.
I miss her so much.
But as much as I thrive living alone and not have to people every day, I don’t want to live like that forever.
I don’t want to always have to have a stiff upper lip. I want to be able to protect myself and watch my back. Where is the fun in finding all of these successes in life and not having anyone to tell? To share in it? To experience it with?
I’ve thought about it even more than usual lately.
Maybe I’m just a baby.
“Stay with me today.”
Wade’s request catches me off guard.
“What?” I ask.
“Stay with me. Stay here. Let’s do something.”
I snuggle down in the blankets and face him. A bubble of happiness erupts in my belly.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yes. I do. I have a shit ton of it, and I’ll have to answer to Oliver on Monday as to why I don’t have the revisions done on part of the Greyshell project.”
I slow blink. “So, do it. We can hang out later.”
“But I want to hang out today.”
I narrow my eyes and search his, trying to figure him out. But the longer I watch him, the more confused I become.
The shield that I generally see over his eyes when anything remotely serious comes up between us isn’t really there. Wow. His shoulders are relaxed. A small smile graces his lips.
“Did you just say hang out?” I tease.
“Isn’t that what the cool kids are saying?”
“So you’re trying to be a cool kid now? Interesting. I think you’re going to have to put your cardigans up.”
He feigns offense.
“They’re super sexy when you wear them,” I say, lifting his chin with my knuckle. “But they’re probably not considered cool.”
“I’m bringing cardigans back.”
He rolls over and hops out of bed. There’s entirely too much energy in that movement for me this early.
“Let’s get breakfast,” he says. “Let’s order it in. And then we can watch a movie.”
I struggle to sit up. Watch a movie?
“Okay.” I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. “A movie it is.”
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. He picks it up.
“It’s Oliver,” he says. “Will you run down to my office and get my glasses? I’m going to see what he wants, and then we can DoorDash something. Good?”
“Great.”
I climb not so gracefully out of bed.
“Hey, Ollie,” he says. He stops me as I walk by and presses a kiss to my lips. “Tomorrow? Yeah. I think that’s fine. I’ll check.”
I pad into the hallway and down the steps. The calm vibe of the house sinks into my soul. I don’t know if it’s because it’s Wade’s space or the way he decorated or simply because my life stressors aren’t present here, but I’m relaxed here more than anywhere.
I make my way down the hallway and into Wade’s office. His glasses are on his desk right next to his keyboard. I walk around to grab them but stop.
“What the hell?”
In a frame, tucked just to the side of his desktop computer—visible only if you’re sitting at his desk—is a picture of me.
My breath catches in my throat. I reach for the gold frame but stop before I touch it. There’s something precious about knowing that Wade took the picture from the folder that I left here, framed it, and placed it here where only he could see it.