Page 60 of My Wife
Not that I want him to be.
Do I?
My thoughts trip over the moment in the hallway after his game. We were so close I could smell his masculine, soapy scent. His blue-gray eyes were dark like the sky just after the sunset.
I remind myself that I’m more of a sunrise kind of gal, always looking toward the promise of tomorrow.
When my boss doesn’t despise me.
17
JESS
I tellGrandma Dolly the good news about her being able to meet with KJ. She loves kids and always wishes she had some of her own, hence my adoption. She’d fostered for years and we celebrated my “Gotcha Day” party a month before my eighteenth birthday. Technically, she’s my adoptive mother, but everyone always called her Grandma Dolly … and she likes spoiling me as only a grandmother can, so there’s that.
I sign that I’m going to the grocery store if she wants me to pick up anything.
She signs back, “#MrDarcysAbs.”
I tell her that I’m still working on the player autographs and that one is a bit of a heavy lift.
Grandma Dolly replies, “He’s the one doing the heavy lifting, doing all those abdominal workouts. I bet leg day, glute day, and arm day are pretty good viewing too.”
After the conversation last night with Cara and Pierre, I can’t keep the smile off my face.
She asks me what I’m picking up and I tell her that Liam requested I make a Bundt.
My grandmother’s eyebrows bounce and she winks at me as I walk out the door.
After a long day filled with errands, including scoping out various childcare centers, meetings with several pediatricians, and picking up Bundt cake materials—it’s doubtful Liam owns a tin—I get to the Old Mill building just before dinner time.
KJ hugs my legs and doesn’t let go as I lug in the shopping bags. I sign that he helps me unload, telling him the words for each item. When we’re done, I boost him onto the counter.
He tells me about Elizabeth, Mrs. Kirby’s dog, and how much he loves puppies.
I relay to him that he’s going to meet Grandma Dolly soon and that she always has cookies.
Liam appears, sporting my favorite amount of facial hair and gives me a curt nod. His phone beeps, but he ignores it.
So much for the cake. He’s not getting any treats. Just fish and fennel for a boring dinner.
KJ climbs on the chair and helps me wash potatoes and set the table.
I use the air fryer for most of the meal and soon call, “Dinner is ready.”
Even though this wasn’t on today’s list of tasks, Liam doesn’t seem to question it. He digs right in. KJ stares at his plate as if wondering where the cookies are hiding.
I patiently wait for Liam to come up for air in … three, two, one.
He asks, “Did you put black licorice in this?”
“No, it’s fennel and it’s good for you.”
“Tastes like licorice.”
“Serves you right. You didn’t even say a word of thanks.”
“I didn’t ask you to cook dinner. I thought you brought this from the meal service that Nat, the nutritionist, signed me up for.”
