Page 117 of Words We Didn't Say

“Eden didn’t want to raise kids in my apartment.” Or any apartment, for that matter. “She had her heart set on a house.”

A big house. The perfect house. And she’d driven everyone—including herself—absolutely bonkers finding it. After eight months of searching and attending open homes, we’d gotten a tip-off about a house coming on the market in South Coogee—of all bloody places. Eden had fallen head over heels the second we’d pulled up out front. The white weatherboard overlooking the coast was everything she’d dreamed about. The commuteuptown in rush hour was awful, but she’d never complained. Not once. She loved that house.

“I could help more during the week,” Mum said. “Now Josie’s older, she could stay for more sleepovers. And two littlies are basically the same as one, really.”

“We’d love more kids, Ma. It’s just not the right time. I’m about to take on some new lawyers—”

“About time.” She spritzed me a little with her hose. “Less days in the office means more time for babies.”

I rolled my eyes. I only worked three days a week. I was hardly chained to my desk. I’d been sceptical when Eden had first encouraged me to start my own firm, but every afternoon when I pulled into the driveway, I was grateful she’d supported me to take the leap. I chose how many clients I took on. How many hours I worked. More time for family.

“I’m only running a small firm, Ma. All my staff only work part-time—even Sue. I need to step up for a few months and settle everyone in, but once they’re happy, I’ll talk to Eden about more babies.”

Mum stuck her nose in the air and returned to watering her herbs. “Some son you are,” she grumbled.

I bent down and pecked a kiss on the top of her head even though she huffed at me. “Eden said she wants three,” I whispered.

Mum grinned, misty-eyed, and shooed me into the house. The screen door snapped closed. I peeked out. She wandered around the deck, humming as she watered her plants. Another tick off the agenda. No need for a minivan—yet.

I walked through the house, down the hallway, to the guest room, and leant my shoulder against the doorframe.

Eden sat primly on a stool in her silk robe. Her designer dress—rented, of course—was hidden in a garment bag on the bed. She wanted her outfit to be a surprise. Her makeup was done,but Yvette still fussed behind her, rolling a fat hairbrush and blitzing the hairdryer on Eden’s dark hair so it hung in long, glossy waves over her shoulders.

I sighed. Eden was beautiful. Crazy beautiful.

Yvette’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “We’re not quite done,” she said over the whirr of the hairdryer. “Is my woman still outside building that”—she waved the brush about—“contraption?”

Eden hummed her disapproval through pursed lips.

“They’re packing up,” I said.

“She won’t have enough time,” Eden snipped.

“It takes Andie literally two seconds to get ready,” I reassured her.

Yvette nodded. “Shower, clothes, gel, out the door to grab the coffees. I see it every morning.” She stepped back and started to wind up the cord for the hairdryer.

I ducked in the gap. My arms hugged around Eden’s middle. I smacked a kiss in the crook of her neck, and she squealed, swatting at my thigh. With a quick spin of the stool, practiced in a hundred situations just like this, she faced me so I could finally kiss her properly—deep and long until she was breathless.

“Missed you,” I said.

“Love you,” she whispered back.

“This is all very touching, darling lovebirds,” Yvette said, “but this updo won’t get done if you hog our future award winner.” She flapped a handful of bobby pins at me. “Outta the way, Mr. Lawyer Man!”

Eden grabbed my hand and kissed it. A faint lipstick imprint was left behind. “Go put on your tuxedo. You can help zip me up”—she wiggled her eyebrows—“once I’m ready to put on my dress.”

“Mmm.” I captured her lips in a lingering kiss. “Deal.”

Eden spun around to face the mirror. “Vettie,” she said, lifting her chin, looking every bit a queen. “I need my pep talk.”

“Let’s do this.” Yvette started to pin Eden’s hair. “Whose night is it tonight?”

“Mine.”

“Who’s the best damn colourist in the business?”

“I am.”

---