Page 17 of Husband of the Year
“Well, it shouldn’t be confined to parentheses. It deserves to stand on its own.”
Olan’s lips capture mine, the background vocals and strings creating a wall of sound as his hands land on my hips and we gently sway to the music. Gonzo takes this as his cue to leap from my arms and bolt upstairs.
“Who’s the nerd now?” Olan asks.
“My friend, nobody out-nerds you.” My hands travel behind him, grabbing his firm ass through his fleece joggers.
Olan’s company, GreenSpace, allows him to work from home three days a week, and Mondays are typically an at home day. Some weeks, he goes in more, some less, depending on his schedule, but I’m constantly envious. Why can’t teachers have the option to work from home?
“I missed you.” His fingers brush my bottom lip. “And these.”
We’ve only been apart for ten hours, but coming back from vacation, even a short one, and all the… hotel activities. Yeah, I’d rather be back on the beach lying on his chest before riding his dick.
“Me too,” I say. “Missed you, I mean. And this.” I squeeze his butt, a flash of heat surging up to my core until we’re interrupted by Illona’s voice.
“Child entering. Hands where I can see them,” she says, marching down the stairs, cradling Gonzo.
“Princess, how was your day?” Olan resumes stirring the pot, which I’ve surmised is beef stew—his favorite. This morning, he informed me that returning from a tropical paradise to the deep freeze of Maine required soup—or at least stew. Another perk of Olan’s work-from-home days—he cooks.
“Good. I wrote another chapter in my story.”
“For school or for pleasure?” I ask. Illona loves writing so much she’s started her own stories at home in addition to the themed writing required at school.
“Both. Well, almost finished the opinion piece at school. I finished the fiction chapter in my free time.”
“Nice.” Olan leans down. Illona carefully puts Gonzo down, wraps her arms around his neck, and they exchange kisses. “What’s the opinion piece about?”
“Why three parents are better than two.”
“That’s my girl,” Olan says.
“How long until dinner?” she asks.
Olan stirs and then tastes his stew as Gonzo resumes rubbing on my shin. “I’d say about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be in my room writing.” She heads back upstairs and stops halfway at the landing. “Behave.”
“Yeah, behave,” I say, kissing the back of Olan’s neck as he covers the stew.
“Oh, I have a present for you,” he says.
“For me?” I grab Gonzo and sling him over my shoulder, kissing his belly as he settles. “But you were home all day working? When did you buy me a present? In Mexico? Did you forget to give it to me?”
“No, silly. I took a walk at lunch and…” Olan opens the fridge and pulls out a small bundle of tissue paper inside clear plastic wrap.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I peel back the plastic and paper, and the crinkling sends Gonzo running upstairs. My heart pauses when I see it. The most precious, tiny white rose.
“Olan. It’s beautiful.”
“I was at Hannigan’s picking up items for the stew and saw it in the floral section.”
Hannigan’s Island Market has become where we do the bulk of our shopping. Since my car stays on the island, we use it for bigger trips, but typically, Olan straps on his backpack and picks up a few items dailywhen he takes his lunchtime walks. Their floral department isn’t much more than a few flowers in buckets, but in a pinch, there are blooms to be had.
“And since blue roses don’t exist in nature,” Olan continues, “I figured this was the next best thing.”
