Page 88 of My Husband Problem

“The best ones are come-as-you-are, with people who know how to stop by and not overstay their welcome,” Wilson says.

“And with people who appreciate a cold glass of tea and a great story and the fact that no one has to vacuum before or wash a bunch of dishes after,” Patty adds.

“Very right,” Wilson agrees. “They’re casual and friendly and all about sharing time, not being fancy or putting on a show.”

Putting on a show.That’s what I do. I’ve always been entertaining people. As a gymnast, now with the hockey team. Even with my speaking, inspirational writing, and live-streaming, I focus on what I can give to my audience, not so much what I get back. And it’s very much about it being big and fancy and flashy.

But when Wilson and Patty come over, it’s just as they are, sometimes dirty from their garden, or with their hair in curlers, or on their way to somewhere else. They bring me things. They help me.

It’s not fancy, it’s not full of expectations of any kind.

And if I had a porch where we could sit and chat, I could give them iced tea and cookies…or something…in return.

But no, it wouldn’t be a show.

That sounds really nice.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, my throat a little tight.

“Sounds good.” Wilson starts across the grass between our houses just like that. Simple. Not realizing he just rocked my world a little bit.

Patty turns to head back across the street to her house, but she calls back, “Remember, the porch is the size it is because it’s not for everybody. You get to pick who gets onto your porch, honey. Don’t get overwhelmed. And don’t think you have to bring everyone over all the time.”

I watch her all the way back toherporch. She pauses at her door and waves to us before going inside.

“She’s…something,” I finally say.

“I really like them both,” Declan agrees.

“Me too.”

“They see you.”

I look up at him. His voice sounds a little gruff.

“They understand that you’ve been performing and putting on the sparkle.”

“You don’t think I'm sparkly?” I know what he means. I think. But I want to hear this from him.

He smiles and strokes my throat again. “I think you're more of an avocado green and dark orange girl.”

I smile. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

He just studies me for a long moment. “So…I desperately need a shower,” he finally says.

I swallow hard. Then do the only thing I can—I head up my new front steps and across my new front porch, and through my new front door, with my husband.

CHAPTER 17

DECLAN

I’m notsomeone who likes surprises. I like to be in control, and it’s a rare occurrence when I can’t make that happen.

Astrid Olsen is one of those rare occurrences.

It’s no exaggeration to say that nearly everything about my time in Rebel so far has been a surprise, and I haven’t felt in control of much since landing in Louisiana.

Still, I’m feeling very accomplished as I come downstairs with new windows and doors installed, having gotten to know many players on my wife’s hockey team better, and having distributed a number of Team Declan shirts to people in town. I’m also stupidly pleased by the fact that my wife has a bottle of my favorite body wash in the shower for me. Confused, but pleased.