Page 45 of Honeymoon Phase
Off the kitchen and living area is a short hallway with two bedrooms directly across from each other and a bathroom at the end of the hall. Luckily, Luke’s room has its own attached bath, so the hallway will be all mine. I know we’re friends andeverything and apparently now husband and wife, but sharing a bathroom with Luke Fletcher was certainly not on my bingo card this year. I’m not ready to see his mustache whiskers in the sink or worry about him walking in after I’ve pooped.
Come to think of it, I’m going to start pooping at the lumberyard. I can hold it until then and it will be best for our friendship to keep that side of me a mystery. There’s really only so much those toilet sprays can disguise.
I glance around my bedroom, which is starting to look semidecent now. The queen bed already had bedding, but I threw one of my fuzzy blankets on top, then stuffed the closet to within an inch of its life and filled the small dresser in here with my unmentionables. Luke’s brothers helped haul all my stuff inside, but they put the boxes marked bedroom into Luke’s room so we had to move them across the hall after they left.
Acting like Luke’s real wife for the next year is going to be a serious challenge. I’m starting to see how this will benefit Luke though, which, as his best friend, I’m totally on board for. Who knows how they’ll react in twelve months once we’re done. Perhaps he’ll play the broken heart card, and they’ll leave him be for a while after.
At least we’re both clear on our opposition to marriage.
Marriage... a real marriage... is just never something I want in life. I’ve been this way since I was a teenager. I like control too much. I like to make my own decisions. I don’t want to factor another person into my day, which is why this whole marriage clause in the family trust is so damn ironic.
Not to mention my parents’ marriage was never one to admire, so if there’s even a remote chance I could turn out like them... hard pass.
But acting like Luke’s wife won’t be that hard. Really a wife is just a friend, and Luke and I do the friendship thing prettywell, so it’ll be fine. As long as I don’t have to kiss him in front of everyone, we’ll manage.
I lick my lips as that kiss from the clerk’s office rushes to the forefront of my mind. The way his hands squeezed at my waist, I swear to God I can still feel him pressed—
“How’s it going in here?” Luke asks, yanking me out of my traitorous thoughts as he stands in my doorway, looking around the bedroom.
His hand is hanging from the top of the frame and the casual lean of his body is making those dirty thoughts I was just having feel really hard to push away. “Um... I’m good. I think I’m pretty much done in here and ready to move into the kitchen.”
“Perfect. Trista just dropped off some food for us if you’re hungry.”
“She did?” I ask, my stomach instantly rumbling at that mention.
“Yeah, come on.” He taps my doorframe and continues down the hall toward the kitchen.
I blow out a long breath, calming myself before I emerge, pausing in front of his bedroom door and taking in his large king bed. It’s covered in a soft gray comforter and perfectly made. I wonder if Luke made that because I was coming over or if he’s a wake-up-and-make-your-bed kind of guy. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. And he’ll find out I’m a never-make-my-bed kind of girl.
I make my way out into the kitchen just as Luke dishes up something that looks like a pasta dish into a couple of bowls. I sit down at the kitchen island beside him and salivate when I smell pesto.
“God, I’m starving.”
“Me too and I haven’t been working nearly as hard as you have.”
We both go to town on some yummy bow tie noodles andwhile we eat, my eyes wander around his kitchen with envy for the tenth time since I got here today. I’ve been in Luke’s house before but this is the first time I’ve been in it and looked at it as mine... for the next year at least.
He has a full chef’s-style kitchen with black cabinets, white marble countertops and light wood accents throughout. We’re seated at the island that holds three brown leather barstools, but my eyes zero in on the most important part... a double oven.
Let me say that one more time...
A double oven.
I am officially aroused.
“Where should I put my KitchenAid mixer?” I ask, scooping another bite into my mouth.
“Oh, actually... I think I have a cupboard for that.” Luke stands and moves around the island to the lower unit cupboard by the sink and my eyes go wide when he opens it.
“Does that thing pop up?”
“Yep. I think it’s literally meant for one of those things. There’s an outlet inside too.”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim excitedly. “Why did you install one of those if you don’t even bake?”
“The cabinets in here were yanked out of a remodel we did ages ago,” he says, turning to lean on the counter as he splays his hands out wide looking positively indecent with that mustache, backward hat, and bare feet. “The marble countertops are recycled too. I designed the kitchen around the castoffs from that house because they were still in pretty good shape and I was on a limited budget.”
“Holy shit, this whole kitchen is recycled?” I gape at the appliances that still look nice. “Who on earth would gut my dream kitchen?”
