Page 211 of Waiting Game

Her head bumps my chin as she tucks it there while I hold her. “You remembered,” she says on a sigh.

That her dad used to dance with her mom around the kitchen every night?

Yes, I did.

Her sigh is happy.

This song is…not.

“Aren’t there happy songs?”

“Sure. But I like the sad ones and you can’t say anything. Taylor Swift is the queen of break-up songs.”

I pshaw but don’t argue, just hold her.

It feels too fucking good to even think about letting her go.

When the song comes to an end, I murmur, “Want to start a new tradition?”

Her smile is soft and warm and filled with tenderness when she looks at me. “Nah. That was their tradition.” She runs her knuckles along my jaw. “We need to make our own. Want a beer?”

“You read my mind.” Perching on a stool and refusing to admit that it feels good to get off my feet, I take a look around. “You’ve done a lot more than I expected.”

“Jarvis and Beanpole came over earlier to help.”

“Trust you to want to paint on the day I’m out of state,” I grumble. “I’m good at painting too.”

“You can always help tomorrow.”

“Damn straight.”

It’s not the first time I’ve been in Chuck’s, but I can tell that a lick of paint was exactly what was needed. It’s still a dive, but it’s more respectable than the pit it was.

“I saw that video hit nine hundred thousand views. Way to go, baby.”

She beams at me. “Another one started to take off too.”

“The baseball one?”

“Yeah. Jarvis made that. Which is funny seeing as he hates baseball. We get this place looking nice, maybe there’ll be an uptick of clients. I’m thinking it’ll be done tomorrow. We just need to clean the memorabilia as best we can.”

I hear the pop and hiss of a bottle being opened and take a deep sip once she passes it to me.

Sliding into my pocket, I find a twenty. “Keep the change.”

“You’re cute,” she drawls, and I side-eye her when she nuzzles her nose against mine and tucks the twenty into my belt.

“It’s tough being me.”

“Love the jacket, by the way.”

I smile at her. “It’s neat, huh?”

She pecks my cheek. “Yup. You look like a sexy zebra.”

“Gagné said I was making Bret Hart feel bad about his wardrobe choices.” My lips form a pout.

“Who’s he?”

---