Page 10 of His Little Pumpkin
“Here.” I shift all our shopping bags to my left hand and thumb my debit card out of my wallet. “Use the checking account. The code is the last four digits of my phone number.”
Laura stares up at me in disbelief. “Buy whatever girly things you need,” I add. “Actually…no. Buy double what you need. Triple.” I lift my eyebrow rakishly. “That would make meveryhappy.”
She takes my card, then her hand flutters up near her throat. “I can’t believe you trust me with this.”
Smiling, I lean down to kiss her forehead. “I wouldn’t have let you into my home if I didn’t trust you, pumpkin.” My free hand skims around her hip, then up to tickle her ribs for a split second.
Her beautiful eyes glow. “Thank you,” she whispers, then disappears into the store.
I haul the first round of shopping back to the truck, dropping the bags in the back seat. Then I spot the office supply store just a block away.
Five minutes later, I text Laura.
For work-related things, do you prefer black, charcoal, navy blue, or dark forest green?
Laura: Any shade of green. Why?
No reason. Meet you at the truck in a bit.
Twenty-five minutes later, I help Laura stash her bags in the back before giving her a sizzling hot kiss. It’s far too intense to be appropriate for a public street, but it takes me a full minute to drag myself away.
As we step apart, she looks over my shoulder, then hers.
“If you think I’m going to be shy about kissing you, you’re very, very wrong,” I murmur, skimming my lips over her hair. “I want everyone in town to know how much I want you.” I return her grin, then take her hand to help her into the truck.
Once we’re driving, she asks, “So…green? What’s up with that?”
“You’ll see.”
Her bottom lip sticks out, then she giggles. “Fine. If it’s something interesting, Imightlet you see the red panties I just bought.”
“Woman, you can’t say things like that. I’m liable to hit the gas so I can get us home in ten seconds. You don’t want whiplash, do you?”
Her laugh is sweet and airy. Delicate, like everything else about her. There’s a grace about her every movement. Honestly, she’s the dream girl I’ve always hoped for.
Buying her all that clothing, especially the warm winter coat, sent a deep wave of satisfaction surging through my soul. I’ve never thought of myself as a provider before, but I guess with the right person I am…and wow, do I like it.
Back at the house, I unload the bags, setting her clothing in the bedroom and the office supplies bag on the dining room table. “If we only eat at this end,” I say, “the other end can be your designated work zone. Does that work?”
I pull out a thick leather desk mat, some pens in various shades of green ink, a cup to put them in, and some floral sticky notes.
Laura’s hand is fluttering over her mouth. “Oh! Thank you. The mat’s a good idea. It’ll protect the wood?—”
I try to stop my frown before it sets in. “That’s not the point. Laptops slip around on wood. It’s harder to work. Plus, I want you to have your own space here, and?—”
The air goes out of me in a whoosh as Laura tackles me in a bear hug, squeezing me tight. From the way her shoulders are shaking, then suddenly stop, I feel like she’s trying not to cry.
Holding her snugly against me, I just rub her back gently, waiting. If she wants to show me her tears, that’s fine. If she wants to keep them to herself for now, that’s fine too.
There are definitely going to be some growing pains as she settles in here, especially given the strange circumstances. All I can do is try to be patient, listen to her, and let her know in every way I can that I truly want her.
8
LAURA
Since it’s Eldon’s half day off, we make dinner together in his well-stocked kitchen at home. Even though I can tell he’s been a bit of a grump by nature and circumstance, we laugh together all the time while we’re cooking, and truly listen to each other over our long, detailed conversation later as we eat. I feel like I’ve known him way longer than less than a week, that’s for sure.
I still can’t believe that he insisted on buying me all that clothing, plus created my own workspace at his dining room table. It feels important - like he’s telling me without words that he wants me to stick around.
