Page 78 of Impending Consent

"We want it to feel like it's always been part of the house," Eliana explained as we stood in what would become their library. "Nothing too modern or trendy but also not antiquated."

"I understand completely.” I was already sketching ideas in my mind. “You want pieces that complement the history of the home but still fit your needs."

"Exactly. That's why we chose you. Your portfolio shows you really get that balance," her husband added.

“I get it and I will make it work. If that’s all…”

He looked at his wife and I grinned. She was the one in charge. I respected that. She smiled widely. “Yes, that’s all.”

“Let me walk you out.” Morris motioned to the door and we moved through his home discussing a few other details. I noticedtheir children playing in one of the rooms and my mind went to Sailor. I wanted this, all of this, and I fucking prayed she did too, because I wanted it with her.

I walked to my truck, mentally working through what I needed for their job. The consultation had gone better than I expected and they’d loved my initial concepts, which meant approving a budget that would allow me to use the quality materials the project deserved. This was the kind of job that reminded me why I loved this so much.

As soon as I was in the driver’s seat, my phone vibrated with a text from Sailor.

Sailor: Meeting running late. Don't wait on me for dinner.

I frowned, feeling annoyed. This was our first day back to normal life after a weekend in our bubble. I was looking forward to reconnecting tonight, hearing about her day and telling her about mine.

Me: No problem. I'll save you some.

Sailor: Don't bother. I'll grab something on the way.

I could feel the distance in her messages and that annoyed me even more. She was returning the barriers she’d lowered over the weekend. I had expected this but still didn’t fucking like it.

Me: Okay. See you when you get home.

I dropped my phone in the passenger seat and pulled away from the curb. The drive home gave me time to think about Sailor and how best to navigate this new phase.

This time, sex was about more than just physical release. We had a connection, an emotional connection, but I was learning Sailor well enough to recognize her patterns of advancing and retreating. The closer we got, the more she would pull back, testing whether I would still be there when she decided to move forward again.

My wife was guarded and stubborn as shit. She needed space to come to terms with her own feelings and reconcile the woman she was used to being with the woman she was transitioning into.

When I made it home, I was surprised to see her car parked. I walked in expecting to find her holed up in her room or working at the kitchen table. I smiled big as shit when I found her in the kitchen.

"Thought you had a late meeting."

"It ended early."

I nodded and went with it instead of calling her on the lie. She looked guilty as fuck and kept fidgeting. "What are you making?"

"Dinner. Well, sort of. PB&J and chips. It's about the extent of my culinary skills."

I moved closer, checking out her work. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut diagonally, chips in a bowl, and two bottles of beer. It was so fucking basic but meant more than if she had ordered from the most expensive restaurant in the city.

"My wife is deadly in the courtroom and the kitchen. I’m a lucky man.”

She rolled her eyes. "Cute. I tried; don’t give me shit."

"I’m not giving you shit, Sail. I fuck with it. This is very domestic."

"That sounds terrible and definitely not sexy."

I walked up on her and dropped my chin. She lifted her head. “Sexy? Is that what you were going for?”

“I was trying to be a good wife, but again, this is terrible.”

I chuckled and leaned down enough to kiss her. "It’s not terrible. I appreciate you thinking of me.”

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