Page 77 of It's Holy Matrimony, Baby

SIX WEEKS LATER...

I’m sitting under the tree beside where Hollander was buried. The ground is still warm, but the hills surrounding the valley and our cabin are shaded in reds and yellows and oranges. What’s left of the orange grove after Nox and his brothers cleared the damage are still vivid green.

My laptop on my lap, I close my eyes and I can almost pretend that Hollander’s resting his head on my knee. Never imagined I would get so attached to a cat. Or a man for that matter. But I wouldn’t change the events of the last four months. Except for Hollander. And even that I’m coming to terms with thanks to ongoing therapy sessions. Nox and I tried a session with Finn and decided that family and therapy shouldn’t mix, so I stuck with Doctor Ross via Skype. And occasionally Nox joins in too.

Nox puts down his tools and walks across the slab where he’s been busy putting up the frame for the new studio. He didn’t give up on Casey Records when he sold the old building to the developers. It wasn’t the end of the world for him. He just adjusted his plans. Chose a new path.

My mouth waters as he steps off the concrete and walks toward me. Shirtless, shiny with sweat, his hands roughed up from the framing. My panties have been damp all afternoon.

“What are you working on?” he asks as his shadow blocks out the sharpness of the sun.

“A book.” I close my laptop.

“About Sophie?” he asks, sitting down beside me. He takes my hand and runs his thumb along the wedding band on my finger as a smile plays on his mouth.

It’s become a habit, and it makes my heart flutter. I love the way he draws my attention to the fact that I’m his. Not just his woman, but his wife. I love that it means so much to him. “No, about love. I’ve been thinking about those articles I used to write and how wrong I was. So I’m writing what I know about love and romance and marriage instead of what I know about statistics.”

“I always liked the first post you wrote as Anti-Cupid,” he says.

“It was about you,” I tell him. “Well, you were on my mind at the time.”

“Is that so?” He grins as though he’s known all along. “So tell me, now that you know me better, do I talk in my sleep?”

“Uh-huh.” I put my laptop on the ground and straddle his lap. “You do.”

“And what do I say? Has it gotten old yet?” He grasps my hips while he rests his back against the tree. His rough fingers scrape against my skin and make me want more.

“You tell me you love me.” I brush my lips against his mouth. “And it never gets old.”

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