Page 5 of A Me and You Thing
“Oh yeah. Are you kidding? It’s the only thing that will get me through two weeks ofNo Quinn Time.”
“And the Grandma Gang will love it.”
“They will.” He runs his hands down the sides of my body, over the swell of my hips.
I’m madly in love with Sawyer, and I adore my identical twin girls. My life is full, and I’m happy. How many people can say that at thirty years old? Far too few, I think. I’m so content, it scares me. There’s a part of me, though, that feels I should contribute to the world outside of my perfect little home life.
“Earth to Quinn,” Sawyer says with a smile.
I glide my fingers through his hair. “Sorry.”
“Hey, if you’ve changed your mind about going, that’s fine. I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but if you want to go, then I support you one-hundred percent.”
I swear, I married the perfect man. I mean, he leaves his dirty socks on the floor all the time. He never cleans up his shavings on the bathroom sink, and he thinks he’s the king of the remote. He leaves crumbs in the bed when he eats cookies while reading at bedtime and he never, ever caps his toothpaste or puts down the darn toilet seat.
We have our differences and occasional spats, but our love for each other overcomes the minutiae of life. He loves me, he loves our family, and he works hard to support us. He treats me with respect, with kindness. I couldn’t ask for a better husband.
Besides, I notice the way women stare at my man. They become all giggly and breathless around him. (They don’t know about his cookie habit or the crumbs in our bed.) He’s tall and trim, muscular in all the right places. His blond hair and ocean-blue eyes bestow him with the California beach bum stereotype. Yet, he’s an educated scientist, one of the things that made me fall in love with him. Plus, he’s as faithful as they come. He’s never once given me a reason to be jealous or suspicious. He doesn’t flirt, and he doesn’t even seem to notice other women.
And he’s all mine. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. At least, that’s how Sawyer makes me feel. Just yesterday he made my Sunday morning amazing by getting up early and making his famous pancakes. Then he brought them to me while I was still in bed, sayingWakie, wakiein a dorky voice.
It’s the little things that make my life so perfect.
Feeling better, I wrap my arms around his neck. “You know, I’m not sure how Josie and Jordyn will fare after two weeks with the Grandma Gang. Monsters might be created.”
“No kidding. We’ll never be able to unspoil them.”
We laugh together, then Sawyer kisses me again while we sink into each other.
“Okay now?” he whispers. “All done with the guilt trip world tour?”
“Yeah, it’s still going to be hard to leave, but you’re right, it’ll be good for me.”
“You’re my fave,” he says, as he always does. It’s his endearment for me, and I adore it even more than hisI love yous.
“Are things about to get interesting?”
“Define interesting,” he mumbles, his lips just above mine.
“Anything that has to do with you.”
“Then, yes.”
There’s no more talking after that. Just love, pure and unadulterated. Sweet and tender. Passionate and fiery. Sizzling and blazing.
Precious and priceless.
Me and Sawyer. I love him, really love him. With all of my being, with every part of me. Sometimes I ache inside, a pain in my chest that surges and flows through the rest of my body. Love is painful when it’s strong. In the best kind of way—in a heart swelling, can’t-stand-to-be-without-you, constant yearning kind of way. I wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world. He’s my best friend, my confidant, my biggest supporter, my rock, and the love of my life.
Sawyer.He’smyfavorite.
Chapter Two
Quinn
SAWYER WALKS INTO the kitchen wearing jeans, a button-down shirt, and a tweed suit jacket. He looks dressy and sporty all at the same time. He just got out of the shower after his morning run and a whiff of aftershave hangs in the air.
Josie and Jordyn are sitting in their high chairs, munching onFroot Loopsand bananas. Sawyer gives them each a cautious forehead kiss, careful of their flailing food-encrusted hands. “Morning, girls.”
