Page 96 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“But you—” she tried to protest.

“I want to drive. Period. What can I bring?” I asked.

“You don’t have to bring anything but yourself.”

“Pen. I’m here. I’ve got one good arm. So maybe I can’t make a four-course meal, but I can throw something together.”

“Fine. Your hummus. I miss your hummus. How an Irish-Polish woman from the greater Detroit area makes such an authentic-tasting dip is beyond me. But there we are.”

“Okay… I’ll bring the hummus.”

Now I had to head to the store—wait, now I practice driving with only one arm.Then, I’d head to the store.

Finally, something to do.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ididn’t get married to have to sleep alone. I mean, American-married. I didn’t getAmerican-marriedto have to sleep alone. The man who wore my gold band currently circled the airspace over Detroit Metro. He’d shown after Chicago. But then had to fly out to London, denying my request to come with because of my healing collarbone, and all the meetings. For the entire duration of the trip. I mean, other than sleeping. We decided it’d be better if I skipped it this time.

But my mom and Carl were getting married this weekend. And just like he promised, he hopped on a plane to be my date the first moment he could.

The arrival board announced his Delta flight from London: On Time. And oh, man, I wanted a hug. My husband gave great hugs. Icravedhis hugs. And kisses. And smiles and jokes. The election couldn’t get here soon enough. Plus, with all his traveling there hadn’t been time to deep dive into who actually set me up. Wehadto get on that to get our life back.

Why did landing a plane take so long? I sat. Then I stood and paced. Then I sat again, sighing heavily at the ceiling—but the ceiling knew I aimed that sigh at the sky. I held no animosity toward the ceiling. It kept us solidly under its protection fromthe weather and the loud jet engines. I liked the ceiling. Now, the sky, or more aptly, the pilot circling that planeinthe sky—grrr. Honestly,grrr… To me, that said everything.

Give me my damn husband!

Ten more minutes passed, ten minutes or fifty years, I wasn’t sure any longer. But then the first passengers began trickling off the ramp. I craned my neck to try to see if I could see Blake, but the only ones in view were an elderly couple, a buff dude-bruh, and an exasperated woman carrying a screaming toddler in one arm while rolling a bag behind her. A man approached them and her eyes went huge even as they teared up. The man wore army fatigues and he picked both of them up in a giant bear hug, swinging them both around.

She audibly cried and I heard her say, “You’re home,” making me think he’d surprised the hell out of her. He set them down to take the toddler from her arms. The little guy settled some, especially when the man shushed him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Then, holding the little one, he wrapped the other arm tighter around the woman and kissed her like a hero in anerotic romancenovel. My heart swelled, happy for them.

“Glory!”

I twisted my body around to seemydream man speed-walking down the ramp toward me, very much a reality in his sexy business suit, as if he’d left his last meeting to hop on a plane home to me. I started walking, then going faster, and faster until I broke out into a run and we collided, or collided as much as he’d let us, given my broken collarbone. “Glory,” he repeated in a whisper right before giving me another novel moment. Our lips pressed together. Our bodies pressed together. He dragged his fingers through my hair, then ran the hand down my back to rest on my butt. I smiled against his mouth.

“Husband,” I said. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too, sweetheart.”

“Let’s go home. You are way overdressed, my love.” And I winked at him.

“Caught a taxi to the airport after my last meeting. I had a wife to get home to and didn’t want to waste time changing.”

“I have dinner waiting for us,” I replied. “Croc-Pot chili and cornbread.”

“Dear Lord.” He kissed me again. “If you weren’t already my wife, I’d marry you.”

“And just so you know, as long as we’re careful, we’re getting naked.”

“Sweetheart, the chili and your company are enough,” he said, pressing a third kiss, this time to the side of my head.

“Not for me.”

Blake released his arm from around my waist to grip my hand, dragging me behind him toward baggage claim. “Gloria Parker, I’m not risking your health or comfort.”

“No sexishurting my comfort,” I argued.

“You went for years before we met.”

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