Page 41 of Impending Consent

"To what you want," she countered.

"To what my wifeneeds." I let that sink in. "Hungry?"

She nodded and watched me over the rim of her mug as I moved around the kitchen, pulling out eggs, cheese, and vegetables for omelets. "Coffee and you cook?"

"I'm a grown ass man who lives alone. Hell yeah I cook."

"Lived," she corrected.

I paused, looking up. "What?"

"Youlivedalone. Past tense." She shrugged as if that wasn’t a big thing. "Now you're stuck with me."

Always masking her feelings with fucking sarcasm but something in her tone alluded to acceptance of our situation. I didn't want to read too much into it, but it felt like progress.

"I’m not stuck, Sail. Being married to you is a choice."

While I worked on breakfast, Sailor wandered around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers, familiarizing herself with the space. My space. It was domestic as hell, considering the person, and I liked watching her explore what was now her home too, regardless of how we got here.

"What's on your agenda today?" I asked, sliding an omelet onto a plate.

"I need to review some files for a case. I’m here but I can't completely abandon my client."

"Work-life balance at its finest."

"Says the man who stayed up all night to finish a project."

"I have a wife to support." I joined her at the table. "Speaking of, after breakfast, I need to do some work in the shop. You're welcome to join me."

"Why would I want to do that?"

I smirked and let my eyes move over her body.

"I happen to personally know you like watching my talented hands work?"

She rolled her eyes, but that cute ass smile surfaced. "I've seen your talent. My apartment, remember?"

She conveniently re-directed.

"That was just installation. The real work happens in my shop."

"Hmm, sounds incredibly boring, like watching paint dry.”

I chuckled and let that slide.

After breakfast, Sailor disappeared upstairs to shower and check emails while I cleaned up. By the time she reappeared, I was already heading toward the back door that led to my workshop.

“Change your mind?”

I heard her sigh before she followed me. "I have nothing better to do."

My workspace was a converted shed I'd expanded over the years. When I pushed the heavy wooden door open, the familiar scents of sawdust and stain gut punched me. This was my sanctuary, the place where I felt at peace and settled.

Sailor walked in behind me and took in the space. I followed her line of sight around the room. Workbenches lined the walls, dedicated to different stages of the process. Tools were scattered everywhere, several projects left in various stages of completion. Near the back was my focus for today, a half-finished dining table stood.

"This is not what I expected." She ran her fingers along a plank of walnut wood.

"What did you expect?"

---