Page 49 of Dear Future Husband: You're My End Game

Trey’s face split into a wide smile.

“Of course.” He said, stepping away to give her room to hop out of the Jeep but he stopped suddenly when he caught a glimpse of her feet.

His focus shot back to Maybelle who watched him curiously, “Where are your shoes?” He asked, putting his hands on her knees.

Maybelle shrugged, “You hurried me out the door, I didn’t think to grab any.”

Trey chuffed as he turned around putting his back to her.

He held his arms out, “Hop on, sweetheart.”

Maybelle’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

20 Gulps and MILFs

The drive back from the Mason home was quiet.

The setting sun was now only a soft orange glow in the West making way for the stars and moon to barely be seen over the city lights. Maybelle held tightly with one arm to a small backpack Trey had found and stuffed full of random items she didn’t yet see.

While Trey had gone into the small home down a hallway where Maybelle lost sight of him, she remained in the front room where a couch and an armchair near a window stood.

Atop the cushion of the armchair was a dust ridden self-help book, the same copy she remembered seeing Chelsea read before dinner some nights.

Inside the home had been dark, and it had a lovely citrus and cinnamon aroma about it, like someone had recently been burning a candle or doused the walls and cushions in perfume.

The home wasn’t cluttered or messy by any means just from the looks of the first room she stayed in, but it was mucky. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and small tables and chairs were coated in a thin layer of dust. Despite the lack of cleaning the house was definitely at some point a home, a safe place for a family of three.

Maybelle thought she would be overwhelmed by emotion upon entering the house, but she was indifferent, unfamiliar to her surroundings.

She didn’t really care for it which was honestly a relief.

She had held onto her conversation she had with Chelsea the other day which helped her enter the home without panic. The knowledge even if this place could never feel like home for her, she did in fact belong somewhere, she had a home, she had her people.

So, she was not wracked with guilt or burdened by the curiosity to investigate the bones of her forgotten past, she only waited patiently for Trey to gather the things he wanted and then carry her back out to the car when he was done.

The whole ride back home Trey held Maybelle’s other hand, his thumb swiping back and forth peacefully across her knuckles. They didn’t talk, only sat in tranquil silence until they were home standing in front of Maybelle’s bedroom door.

She made to hand the backpack to Trey, but he gently pushed it back toward her, “I got that for you. You don’t have to go through it yet, but I think you’ll appreciate the few items inside.”

His features upturned softly.

Maybelle pulled the pack against her chest, “Thank you, for tonight, Trey.”

Good gloryhe was pretty in the moonlight.

They were in the hallway, but her bedroom door was open to the window on the far wall that helped cast a pale glow across him.

He showed off a slanted grin before his hand was up, his fingers brushing a couple curls out of her face. Maybelle ducked her head to hide her girly smile, and the obvious butterflies fluttering in her gut. But she remembered herself and stood straight, she’s the lasagna, this man is obsessed with her, she has the power here—

That is until Trey’s hand moved from her hair to cup her cheek, who was she kidding, she had no power here. She watched him quietly, her stomach aching with anticipation as she studied his every move.

His focus was latched to her lips.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

“I guess we should tell Chelsea we are home. I bet she’s wondering where we are.” The statement had leapt from Maybelle’s mouth unbidden, her nerves were exploding with the need to ramble, to distract.

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