Page 113 of Until Then

“I missed you, too.”

“Should I put some popcorn in the microwave? We could watch a few episodes ofGilmore Girls.”

I take a sip of my slushie, brightening. “And put on face masks?”

He sighs like it’s a hardship, but he does a terrible job at hiding the way his lips turn up on one side. “I guess so.”

“All right, get that going, and I’ll wash my face and grab the mask.”

After I come back down, my face already slathered up, Derrick places the bowl on the table and sits on the couch so I can apply the mask.

“It’s cold.” He flinches away.

“No, it’s not. You’re such a baby.”

He harrumphs. “I promise you, it’s cold.”

I hold my hand an inch from his face, the green mask thick on my fingers. “I just put it on my face. I can promise you it wasn’t cold. Even if it was, it’s worth it. You can’t tell me your pores don’t look better.”

The sigh he gives is nothing less than dramatic, but he lowers his shoulders and doesn’t complain again as I finish applying the mask.

I wash my hands in the kitchen sink, and when I return, he’s got the show cued up. We’re on season five since we’ve worked to slow the rate we’ve been burning through episodes. Though I’ve been through the entire series several times, I still want to make it last. He doesn’t know it, but we’re watchingNew Girlnext.

Derrick settles back on the couch, puts the popcorn bowl in his lap, and holds an arm out, motioning for me to join him.

I curl myself into his side and soak up the heat radiating from his bare torso.

Wonton, not one to be left out, and a voracious lover of popcorn, is quick to jump up and circle several times before plopping down behind my bent knees.

Unable to resist his cuteness, I hold a piece of popcorn out for him. His little pink tongue shoots out and takes it, making me giggle.

Chuckling, Derrick squeezes me against his side. “You spoil him.”

I roll my eyes. “And you don’t? I’ve seen you sneaking him cheese, so don’t try to play innocent.”

“Look at that face.” He nods at Wonton, who sits with his tongue hanging out, eager for another piece. “How can I say no?”

“But I’m supposed to?”

“I see your point.” He grabs a piece and holds it out to him. Then he points the remote at the TV and starts the show.

By the time the episode ends, I’m fighting sleep.

Derrick presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I’m fine. Let’s watch one more episode.” There was a chance I could convince him up until a yawn escaped me along with the last word.

With a shake of his head, he turns the TV off. “No, bedtime.”

Groaning, I climb off the couch, then head for the kitchen, with Wonton hot on my heels, eager to be let out the back door.

Derrick dumps the remnants of the popcorn in the trash, then gives it a quick wash and sets it on the drying pad beside the sink.

“Hurry, Wonton,” I call out when he spends a little too much time sniffing one particular spot.

He turns to look at me, his expression disgruntled, as if he’s sayingI’ll go when I’m good and ready.

Once he finds a spot that he deems worthy, he does his business and runs back into the house.

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