Page 165 of Wherever You Are
Willow grabs her half-eaten cheesy slice. “You’re calling Connor?”
“Uh,no. He’s still the tall one.” We both laugh, and I wash my hands in the sink, then rummage in the game box near the TV.
There it is.
I shake a Magic 8-Ball to Willow. “You ask the question.”
She rises to her feet, biting into crust. “Will we be a fly on the wall to all the madness?”
I shake the ball and then steady it, the triangle floating up in the dark-blue dye. I read, “You may rely on it.”
Willow is closer, only a foot away from me, and my eyes roam her soft features and the curve of her waist, affection and desire heating my blood. Her eyes travel just as yearningly along the ridges of my abs and the ink along my tanned skin.
I near my wife and she walks backwards to the kitchen, a bashful smile playing at her lips.
I shake the ball as we move. “Will we have a boy, eventually?” I’d rather raise a girl, but I’ll be happy no matter what gender.
Her back meets the island counter. “What does it say?”
I press my muscular body up against her soft frame. Her breath shallows, and I whisper, “Outlook good.”
Willow holds onto the counter behind her, breastbone rising and falling. “I’m going to ask it something.”
“Okay.” I run my free hand up her pajama top. Fingertips brushing the flesh along her hips, her ribs.
Love and want flood her brown eyes. “Will Garrison Abbey kiss me?”
I smile and rattle the 8-Ball. “Reply hazy, try again.”
She wets her lips, smiling an overwhelmed smile. “Will Garrison kiss me?”
Shaking the ball, I dip my head closer to Willow, our eyes diving deep before I shift them to the results. “Concentrate and ask again.”
We laugh.
“Concentrate,” I coach.
“Okay, hold on.” She shuts her eyes, and in the heady beat, I just look at my girl and our home—and my bright smile conjures tears.
Happiness, it never felt in reach.
But I woke up today, and I love who I am. And I’m forever in love with the girl who fell asleep next to me.
Very softly, eyes still closed, Willow whispers, “Will my husband kiss me?”
I gently cup her cheek and bring my lips to hers. Our tender affection alive and quiet, like a firefly in the summer night.
41PRESENT DAY – June
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WILLOW ABBEY
Age 24
My lips sting beneath his, lit a billion ways, and I want more, so much so. But… “I need to wash my hands,” I whisper after I pull back.
He already wiped off the pizza grease, but I haven’t.
