Page 97 of Saving Ren
Shopping online, I used my business credentials to purchase a makeup station andHollywood-style mirror, some photo frames, and a cool lava lamp from a company that is usually supplied to trade only.
Now we just have to wait for the furniture to be delivered next week, and the room will be finished. Gabe has encouraged me to record the makeover and has spent a couple of nights this week helping me make the final updates to my website, including adding my new number, which I’d totally forgotten to do.
It’s now Saturday. Gabe was up and out for a surf early this morning, something I would absolutely love to see him do if only he didn’t do it at the arse crack of dawn when normal people are still sleeping. He’s back home now; after hearing the shower running in the downstairs bathroom, I can hear him moving about in the kitchen. I debate with myself on whether I should get up but decide to wait and see if he brings me coffee instead. As I lie here, my thoughts turn to the path my life has taken the last few weeks.
I think Gabe and I are now an ‘official couple’ but I’m not entirely sure. My kids know about us, we’ve been seen in public together, and tonight is the night of our first official date. I’ve no idea where he’s taking me, I’m just glad I have the contents of most of my old wardrobe here and won’t have to go out wearing a hoodie, leggings, and UGGs for it.
It’s been a good week. I’ve mostly kept a lid on my emotional meltdowns. I’m not over the end of my marriage, having never experienced something like that, I’m not sure if it’s something you ever do. It’s hard to explain, especially with the speed it all ended, although, if I look at it realistically, it ended the first time my husband put his hands on me.
That was when what we’d once had, came to an end. I didn’t stay on after that because I had to, Jay was never the controlling type. I worked, had my own money, own car, he never dictated what I wore or told me who I could hang out with. He just decided one day that it was okay to grab hold of my wrist and things escalated from there.
I could’ve left sooner, should’ve left sooner, but I chose to stay because I was one hundred percent convinced things would eventually get better.
My biggest mistake was not leaving after he dragged me out of the spa. I think I spent most of that week in shock and was trying to formulate a plan. I put too much emphasis on getting my documents and cash out of the safe, and here we are, over a month later and I’ve not needed either for anything so far.
There’s been a few times, late at night when I can’t sleep, or during the day when I get lost inside my own head when I wonder if I deliberately dragged things out. Hung about for as long as possible, hoping that we could still turn things around. And even now, after everything, I can’t give an honest answer to that because I don’t know.
It's nowsix weeks later and I have a new life, with a new man. Despite my emotional meltdowns, insecurities, and general whininess, Gabe wants me around, and I want to be here. It’s not just that the physical side of things works so well, but because of the way we’ve been thrown together, the amount of time we spend in each other’s company, talking, laughing, sharing stories and finding out about each other, it feels like we’ve been together longer than the time we have. There are moments where I forget I had another life before him, that I was living in a different house, with a different man, and when it hits, it just all feels so surreal.
I both love and hate it.
Mostly I’m terrified.
Whenever Gabe talks about us,he talks like thisis it, now I’m moved in, I won’t ever be moving out, not without him, but he’s not actually said it. Neither of us have said the words that would best describe the status of our relationship.
Right now, I have no doubts that he’s into me, but I worry about the future. How will he feel when I turn fifty and he’s only forty? Will my age be a problem for him then? What about when my kids start having kids, making me a Grandma?
I hold on to that thought as the bedroom door opens and Gabe walks in, bare-chested, trackie pants low on his hips, a tray loaded with coffee and toast in his hands.
I lick my lips, smile, and sit up.
“You like?” he asks with a wiggle of his brows and a smirk on his face.
I adjust my pillows and lean back against the headboard as Gabe flips out the legs on the tray and sets it down in the middle of the bed.
“Hell yeah, who doesn't like coffee and toast brought to them in bed?” I respond to his question, knowing that’s probably not what he meant when he asked.
Climbing carefully into bed beside me, he passes me my coffee and a plate with two slices of buttery toast on it.
“Babe, I meant all this,” he rubs his fingers over the bumps and ridges of his abs while giving me a nod and a cocky smirk.
Folding one slice of toast in half, I put the plate back down on the tray and dunk the toast into my coffee.
“That’s truly disgusting,” he states.
“Oh, I don't know, disgusting’s a bit harsh, I think you scrub up pretty decent.”
He shakes his head, then nods slowly.
“I’m talking about your dunking habit, not me. I’m as fit as fuck, and you know it.”
“Dude, you have a seriously high opinion of yourself this morning.”
“Dude? Dude? Lauren, Dude is not the term you use when talking to, or referring to your man.”
“I wasn’t, I was talking to you.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, eyes on me over the top of his mug.
