Page 78 of Welker

“You smell so good, though,” he rasped. Welker gave a long-suffering sigh and let her hair swing back into place. “But you’re right. I have to be good and look ahead. It’s only three more weeks before we can have sex again.”

He groaned. “Only.”

Yeah, it sucked. Moira was beyond frustrated, too. Waking up next to Welker every day. Watching him dress. Smelling his pheromones all over the place; even when he was at work his manliness clung to the bed, the couch…everything. It was killing her.

She speculated. “We could just?—”

“No.” Welker shut her down with a wag of his finger. “No strenuous exercises, and nothing that will have you breathing hard,” he reminded her needlessly. “But I can gently hug you.”

He wrapped his arms around her from the rear and carefully squeezed while she turned the bacon and chuckled. “Umm, if you want waffles, you’re going to have to let me go. The iron and batter are on the counter behind us. But as a consolation, the coffee is ready over by the fridge.”

Welker stepped back and raised both arms in the air in a gesture of defeat. “Fine. You had me at waffles.” He strode toward the hot, black brew. “And coffee, of course.” He poured the black liquid into a large mug that Moira had already taken out of the cupboard for him.

“You know you’re spoiling me,” he chastised, tongue-in-cheek.

Moira snorted. “Don’t get used to it. Three more weeks and I’m back to work.”

Now Welker scowled. “We don’t know that. We still haven’t nailed down the MC threat and found out who the brains are behind the operation.”

Moira spooned batter into the iron and turned to lean her backside against the counter. “As we’ve all endlessly discussed, our money is on Gladstone, and I’m feeling optimistic that Tex is going to break things wide open any day.”

“But if he doesn’t…?” Welker trailed off to blow on his coffee.

“If he doesn’t, then I’ll go back to work and draw out the bad guys myself.” Yeah. She was tired of letting assholes dictate her every move.

When Welker would have argued, Moira stepped forward and dropped a quick kiss on his lips. “No argument. Hayden will be there to have my back, and I can’t stay cooped up here, forever.”

Welker pouted, but he understood. They’d also had that discussion before. When all was said and done, Welk had admitted that he’d be out of his mind, too, having to remain static for so long.

Moira slid her arms around his waist and pressed her head against his bare chest, comforted by the steady thump-thump of his heart. “You know I won’t take any chances, Welk. This is all so good, here with you, that I can’t get myself killed now. I’d hate to miss out on what comes next.”

Welker backed up and looked solemnly into her eyes. “About that. It’s something we haven’t exactly discussed, but for me, what comes next is you agreeing to become my wife.”

Moira gaped, but he kept going.

“Then we get ourselves a non-farting dog, a cat who’ll rule the roost but won’t eat the birds, then eventually we’ll add a few kids to the mix.”

Moira sob/laughed, feeling tears threaten, but she turned her weepy-joy into a snort. “You’ve got it all figured out, huh?” she postured.

“I do,” he responded smugly.

“Well,” she couldn’t help but tease him, “I have news for you. That—what you just did—doesn’t count as a proposal. You have to do the whole flowers, ring, and down-on-one-knee thing if you expect me to say yes.”

Welker smiled, put his coffee down, and came forward again to kiss her gently on the lips. “I can do that.”

The kiss grew deeper until?—

Moira flew back.

“Shit!”

Something was burning. She turned to see smoke coming from the waffle iron.

Deftly, she flipped the lid open, forked out the burning waffle, and threw it in the sink.

Welker was already busy opening windows to let the acrid air out. Once the kitchen was clear, they turned to look at each other and broke out laughing.

“New rule,” Moira managed, once she calmed down. “No nookie in the kitchen while things are cooking.”

---