Page 10 of Free to Rejoice
* * *
“I think that was a roaring success,”Phil declares as he struggles with the six-foot-high metal parrot that doubles as an umbrella stand.
I look at him doubtfully. I didn’t find anything worse than my matte brown glass poo sculpture, so I went with my gut instinct. “How the hell are you planning on wrapping it?” I ask dubiously.
Baby blue eyes look at me through a fringe of lashes imploringly.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Wasn’t it bad enough I had to sit with the damn bird’s head nestled next to my balls because you didn’t want to lower the top?” I roar.
“Someone could have seen him on the way in.” Phil’s voice has taken on a slightly whiny note. I just know I’m going to end up wrapping the damn bird. Suddenly, an idea takes root.
“You want me to wrap up this piece of shit for you?”
“Yes. I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” I repeat. Damnit, now I sound like the damn sculpture.
“Yes, Jace. What do you want?” He trails his fingers up my chest, toying with the buttons on my sweater.
“Genoa. I really want a freaking sandwich from Genoa.” I am serious as shit.
“Genoa.” Phil’s voice goes from seductive to flat in about point two seconds. “I’m offering you anything, and you want…”
“A Cafone. Yes.” Sliding my hands around his waist, I nip his ear. “Depending on the kind of mood I’m in after I eat, I might take you up on that other offer.”
“If it’s still available,” he snaps. Stalking away from me, Phil goes through our drop zone and throws his leather coat and gloves back on. Turning back, he gives me a glare. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, one more thing.” Stalking toward him, I grab his head with both hands and pull hard. His lips crash onto mine. Moments pass before I release his face and then his lips. “I love you. Drive safely.”
Anger dissipating from his eyes, Phil reaches out and gently touches my cheek. “I will. I promise. I’ll be back soon.”
After he leaves, I cheerfully walk into the garage and grab two paper leaf bags. This bird is going to be wrapped by the time Phil hits the farm gates.
Perfect.
* * *
Phil’s reactionwhen he gets back with our food is even better than I anticipated.
“You…bags…people will think that shit is from me! I can’t have them think I wrapped that piece of shit like that!” he screeches.
I shrug. My idea of using the paper contractor bags was pretty ingenious. This way, we can use bows, ribbons, and scrap wrapping paper to make it festive. “Be realistic, babe. It doesn’t have a box, and anything else I attempted to wrap it with, the damned metal feathers would slice the hell out of.”
“Shit.” The defeated tone in Phil’s voice tells me he didn’t think that part through. “Why do I have this feeling we’re going to end up with a parrot because no one will pick it?”
“You think?” I say sarcastically. “And better yet, a parrot who’s already tried to suck down my balls.”
Phil begins to laugh. “Maybe we should keep him then. Frisky little bugger.”
“Let’s not and say we did.”
Tossing an arm over my shoulder, my husband guides me to the island separating our kitchen from where I’ve been wrapping gifts. “Just think, babe. I guess that makes you more of an ornithologist than me.”
“That’s the study of birds, Phil. Not when the birds study you.”
“Hmm, true. Maybe a Poe-ologist then?”
“Falling into madness over love? That sounds about right.” We both grin even as we sit down to have lunch.
