Page 259 of Waiting Game

“If I could get away with it, I wouldn’t let you wear anything else.”

She rolls her eyes but the sparkle in them makes the love I feel for her settle in my very soul.

We met when that sparkle had been extinguished by life, so I consider it my duty to make sure it’s there.

Every day.

For eternity.

When she rests her arms around my waist and nuzzles her face into my throat, I ask, “You okay, baby?”

Her sigh is… happy. “I’m glad we came.”

“I figured Mum would make us a shepherd’s pie and would serve Deep N’ Delicious cake and it’d be your new favorite birthday meal. No balloons but?—”

She nudges me. “We make our own traditions, remember?”

My mouth quirks at the edges. “Sure do.”

“Waking up with you at my side on my birthday feltgood.”

“You’re not alone anymore.” I hold her tighter, needing her to know she’ll never have to feel that way again.

“No. But, I don’t mean that. I miss them, don’t get me wrong. My heart just felt… I got it. Why Dad wouldn’t want to be without Mom and, for the first time, I?—”

“You’re glad they’re together even if you wish they were able to celebrate with us,” I slot in.

“Yeah.”

I kiss her cheek, taking note of her breathing—she’s not panicking. This conversation hasn’t triggered an episode. This is a wound that’ll never heal but if we can make it scab over, I’ll be happy. “Theyarehere with us, baby. We have to believe that.”

She clears her throat and her tone chirps up as she declares, “That Deep N’ Delicious cake for breakfast while hanging out with your mom sounds like a great new tradition to me.

“I didn’t expect to meet her so I’m glad that I did. Why does that cake taste like she made it from scratch?”

“McCain calls it a recipe, but I call it magic crack. Gotta admit, though, I didn’t expect you to fall in love with my hometown from h?—”

“Don’t say it!” she warns. “Pigeon Creek is not hell.”

Her defense of this place makes something weird happen inside my chest. It’s kinda squelchy. A bit gross. But ultimately, good.

They never mention shit like this in the romance books.

It’s all orgasms and smiles and happily ever afters—those fucking genius authors never talk about squelchy organs and a strange urge to sing at inopportune moments because you can’t contain your joy.

I should probably sue.

“I thought she’d hate me.”

“Who?”

“Aren’t you paying attention? Your mother!”

“Oh.”

I’d looped her in on the convo I’d had with Mum about her this summer.

To be fair, I’d kind of expected Mum to give her shit too, but she didn’t. After I shared what really went down, she’s given Miathe benefit of the doubt and they appear to get along well with one another.

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