Page 110 of Nemesis
He stalked over to the pantry, grabbed the honey and butter and put a small amount into a bowl before placing it in the microwave to heat up.
He then made his way to the counter. His forearms flexed as he flattened and spread the dough, preparing more squared pieces.
“You look good in the kitchen, husband.” I never got over being able to call him that.
His gaze drifted up as he folded a piece. “And you look better bent over that counter,wife.”
His eyes darkened and memories of when I’d come home last night after a day at the teaching center flooded my mind. I’d barely made it inside the kitchen where he’d been cooking dinner, when he stopped what he was doing to bend me over, making me come more times that I could remember.
I chuckled nervously, blushing at his words. Even after three years together, he still had the same effect on me.
I spun the chair I was sitting on around, facing away from him, looking around the space.Ourspace.
While I’d been in protective custody with him, he’d always encouraged me to think about my future and what I’d want from it, where I’d want to be.
One day, we’d spent the entire night just talking and I’d absent-mindedly described my perfect home.
Only to discover years later that he’d built it for me, something I’d only noticed the day I’d moved in.
We parkedin front of a two-story house, with a Mediterranean exterior. He got out of the car while I admired the place, waiting for him to open the door before getting out myself.
He didn’t like when I opened my own doors, so I obliged whenever we were together.
“Why are you being so quiet?” I asked as he reached for my hand, the car door clicking shut behind me. I’d been here briefly the last time, but I’d been too preoccupied with watching him to take in his house.
“Tell me what you see,” he said, gesturing toward the house.
I studied the house more closely. Large windows, cream stucco walls, a red clay tile roof, the wooden door, the blue-grayish accents.
I described the house for him and looked up at him, confused. “I don’t understand.”
He came closer behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and I rested my head on his chest.
He cleared his throat. “Look closer.”
It finally dawned on me when he spoke again. “It was going to be ours. Well, it can still be if you agree to move in with me.”
The soundof the microwave dinging jolted me out of my thoughts. My gaze drifted back to Theo as he took the bowl with the melted ingredients out and opened one of the drawers. He grabbed a spoon to stir and combined them together.
“I love you, you know?”
“I know,mi alma.” He glanced up at me, giving me a smile that only I was privy to.
The genuine openness and joy in Theo’s expression still tugged at this part of me that I didn’t know existed before I met him. After losing my parents, I never thought I’d have the opportunity to love again. To be happy again.
My happiness intensified when I remembered the gift I’d hidden in our closet that I would give to him later.
As I looked at him at work in the kitchen, I hoped he didn’t mind the last secret I was currently keeping.
“I love you too,” he said as he rounded the kitchen island, a plate filled with the flatbreads drowning with honey and butter, exactly how I liked them. He placed the plate on the counter and stepped between my legs, towering over me.
His hands skimmed up my thighs until they rested against my hips. He pulled me closer and tilted my chin with his forefinger, placing a gentle kiss to my lips.
“Happy anniversary, Mrs. Alvarez.”
“Happy anniversary, Mr. Alvarez.”
He took the seat next to me, our legs intertwined as we ate and talked about his new case. This normalcy with him felt beyond perfect.
