Page 107 of Mangled Memory
“Hello?”
“Hey, Princess. How was your day?”
“Quiet but productive. I saw Joanie for a session. I think we’re making real progress. And I got some edits done on the images from the last couple of weeks. So, it’s been good. You?”
“My day got away from me. I’m heading home now. Did Corinne cook?”
She pauses. “She did, but I ate. I waited. And then I couldn’t wait anymore. I made you a plate, though.”
“Okay, baby. See you in a few.” I click off and scroll the document on my computer one last time. It’s Ren’s HR file. There’s nothing there of any consequence other than his birthday. He just turned thirty one. Five and half years apart.
What the hell do I do with that?
Ayla
“Hey, Halley. I don’t want to cut you off, but Christian just got home. I can hear the garage door.”
“Just like old times.”
Wait. “What?”
“This was you your first year of marriage. Not like we talk about anything he doesn’t know or you wouldn’t be okay with him overhearing, but you always wanted to be available when he walked in the door.”
Oh. “Well, that’s news to me, but yay for old times.”
“Talk soon!”
“You know it!” I hang up and hit a button on the microwave to heat up Christian’s dinner. The thing beeps just as he shucks his coat onto a hook in the mudroom.
I set his plate on the island and can’t stop the smile on my face when he enters the kitchen. “Red or white? It’s chicken and rice in a mushroom gravy plus green beans and shaved sprouts salad.”
Christian’s head rocks back, but he replies, “Red. I’ll get it. Want anything?” He kisses my lips as he passes me for the butler’s pantry.
“Nah, I’m good. I’m sticking with water for now.”
He returns with an unopened bottle and the wine opener before pouring a half the bottle into an aerator.
“That kind of day, huh?”
“Let’s just say it was downhill from the moment I left our bed.” He sits at the bar stool next to me and digs into his dinner.
“Well, it was an above average morning.”
“Above average?” He turns to look at me, amusement painted on his face, before looking to the ceiling and murmuring, “Above average, she says.”
“Would you prefer ‘below average’? I could always say ‘needs improvement,’ but considering this morning’s”—I clear my throat—“activities… That would be dishonest.”
The smirk that plays on his lips is worth it. “So, no improvement needed. Got it.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t practice, you know, to hone your skills, but…”
“Well, wife, if you insist on practice, I’ll oblige. I’d hate to become average in bed.”
“As if you could ever be average.” It slips out before I can stop it. I stand to round the island, but he grabs my wrist and tugs me back to him, kissing me deeply.
“You’re the best part of my day,” he murmurs against my lips when he pulls back.
“Yeah?”
