Page 15 of My Husband Problem

I shouldn’t ask my next question. I don’t want to know how people would describe me. Or, rather, I already know.

“You’re the hot, broody grump,” Astrid tells me without my asking. “Actually, some people think that you might be a cinnamon roll, but they don’t know you well enough to know for sure.”

I get hung up on the ‘hot’ part for a second and want to know if she added that adjective or if that’s just ‘what she heard’. But I have to ask, “What the hell is a cinnamon roll?”

“Crispy on the outside.” She looks up at me with a little smirk. “Warm and gooey on the inside.”

I can’t help my snort. That’s funny.

She looks startled.

I realize we definitely haven’t spent time laughing together.

“He gets to be a lovable dog type, and I’m a food item?”

“A really delicious food type,” she says. Then her cheeks get pink, and she ducks her head. “At least some people think so.”

“Doyoulike cinnamon rolls?” I think I am flirting with my wife.

If I’m not, I realize that I should be.

She clears her throat before answering. “If they have caramel icing, not cream cheese. And no nuts.”

I laugh. Out loud. I haven’t done that in a long time. I don’t spend time with funny people. Iris, my assistant-slash-bodyguard-slash-probably-only-friend, makes me laugh on occasion, but she’s got a very dry, sarcastic sense of humor and I’ve spent more time rolling my eyes than laughing out loud.

I like laughing with Astrid.

And I like how she looks at me when I laugh.

“I think it’s safe to say, I’m not really nutty,” I tell her, smiling.

She studies me for a moment, and I have to reach out and suddenly grab her elbow as I see a divot in the grass that she’s about to step into.

She gasps softly as I pull her closer to me, steadying her.

“You need to watch where you’re walking,” I tell her. Though I really like her eyes on me.

She simply nods.

“Maybe you’re a German Shepherd,” she says. “If you want to be a dog.”

“How so?”

“Protective. But kind of growly. And a little scary looking.”

I am all of those things. I’ve practiced looking scary. It saves me time not putting up with people’s shit, especially around conference tables in boardrooms.

“But really intelligent and loyal,” she adds softly.

I like all of those adjectives, especially that she is assigning them to me. “I think even German Shepherds can be playful sometimes, though,” I say. Without thinking.

But the way her pupils dilate slightly, I find myself not regretting it at all.

Her tongue comes out and wets her bottom lip. “I’ve never been around a German Shepherd, so I wouldn’t know.”

I want to show you.

I’m startled by the thought.