Page 75 of Forgotten Dreams

“Damn right, I do.” I smile at her. “I love everything about you, and even if I didn’t love you, I knew you were amazing before I fell in love with you. I knew you were hot.” I hold up a finger. “I knew you had a wicked sense of humor.” I add another finger. “I knew you were a pain in the ass with all that attitude you had.” I shake my hand at her with three fingers held up. “I also knew you are the type of woman who takes all things thrown at her and gets back up.”

“I am that person,” she states proudly. “It’s her loss,” she finally says. “I’m fucking amazing.” I try not to laugh. “And I’m kind, and I’m loyal.”

“You are all fucking that,” I agree proudly, “and you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” She nods. “Now I’m going to go upstairs and get into a bath, and my man is going to pour me a glass of wine and make me my favorite meal.”

“Um,” I say, “yeah, I am. I just need you to tell me what your favorite meal is, and I’ll make it.”

“Shrimp scampi.” She tells me something that I would have never guessed, not in a million years. “I took out the shrimp this morning.”

“Then I’m going to get on my phone and find a recipe and make my woman her favorite meal”—I kiss her—“after I deliver a glass of wine to her as she takes a bath.”

“You’re very, very smooth.” She winks at me as she starts to walk away.

“I’m the only one with romance in this relationship.” She stops walking and looks over her shoulder at me. “I’m still waiting for you to romance me.”

“I was going to romance you”—she turns on her foot—“and you went and stormed out of the house, so you lost it. Then I took you to the bar, and instead of me romancing you, you mentioned your face in the middle of my thighs and it was all too much to fight.”

“That was two weeks ago”—I smirk—“and you haven’t tried since.”

“Um, Saturday night”—she taps her foot—“did I not romance you?”

“You were semi-drunk from the bar, and telling me ‘I’m going to suck your dick so hard when we get home’ isn’t considered romance.” I hold up my hand. “Even if you did it when you got home. Something I think you would have done anyway.”

She gasps. “But I did.” She shrugs. “Now I’m walking away from this conversation before we start fighting and then have to have make-up sex on my desk—” She stops. “Again.”

I look down at my feet, trying not to laugh at her as she goes. Going straight to the fridge and pouring her a glass of wine, I take it to her upstairs. I find her in the tub as the water is filling it up. She looks over at me as she leans back. “Today sucked,” she declares as I hand her the glass of wine, “and you only brought me one glass and not the bottle.” She shakes her head. “Rookie mistake.”

“I realized my mistake the minute you said today sucked.” I kiss her lips. “I shall get you the whole bottle.”

“And then don’t forget to tell me I’m pretty.”

“You aren’t pretty, though,” I call over my shoulder. “You’re gorgeous, and anyone who doesn’t see it needs to have their eyes checked.”

“Smooth.” She takes a sip of the wine. “Very fucking smooth.”

“Also I’ll break anyone’s face who looks at you. So.” I wink at her as I jog back down to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and bringing it back to her, before pulling up a recipe. She comes down just as I put the pasta in the water.

She sits on the stool with half of the bottle of wine gone. When we slide into bed, she snuggles into me and falls asleep.

When I get up the following morning, I slide out of bed, trying not to wake her before going down to start the coffee. I’m in the middle of making her a bagel when she comes down the steps. “Morning.” She comes over and wraps her arms around my waist. “You snuck out like a bandit.”

I kiss the top of her head. “It’s like a thief in the night.”

“Either or,” she grumbles before moving away from me and making her own coffee.

“Are you taking today off?” I ask as she prepares her coffee and then takes a bite of the bagel I just finished buttering.

“Yes.” She nods. “I’m going to go down to the local high school.”

“For what?” I ask as she takes a sip of her coffee.

“I’m going to go check out some yearbooks and see if maybe she was from around here. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess she was pregnant when she was sixteen or seventeen, maybe just turned eighteen.”

I shake my head furiously before she finishes, knowing exactly where she is going with this. “Baby.”

“I know her name now,” she says softly. “I want to put a face to the name. It’s like this unfinished puzzle piece.”

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