Page 97 of My Husband Problem

I take a deep breath and let it out. The dilators I’m using now, without pain, are bigger than his fingers. The plastic wand with the curved handle and a ball at the end for working on specific tight spots is slimmer, but I can definitely tolerate more pressure from the knob at the end than I could before.

There’s no reason to think that I couldn’t handle and maybe even enjoy Declan’s fingers.

The idea of Declan touching me there actually sends a shiver of heat and excitement through me.

That’s good, I realize.

There’s no tensing or muscle contraction at the thought of him touching me there.

In fact, it feels like my body is heating and relaxing to allow that.

Okay, then. I sit up a little straighter and take a deep breath. Maybe this could work.

Of course, he’ll have to go slow and be gentle. Together, we will have to see if there are sore spots and, if so, work on them…

I’ll have to trust Declan O’Grady with this very intimate secret. And more, with access to my body that very few people have had, especially since my injury and surgeries.

But my mind flickers with images.

Him scooping me up when I was coughing and choking in the diner. Him lifting me up away from the otters that he thought were a threat. The way he poured money, time, and labor into fixing my porch and securing my windows and doors.

He’s already given away a bunch of money. He’s agreed to play bonkers hockey andsing. He’s already won over the portion of the town that threw an impromptu party on my front lawn this morning.

He’s not what I expected.

He’s more patient than I thought.

And he’s definitely protective of me.

Yeah, this could definitely work?—

My phone starts buzzing with a call, and I take a breath and pull it from my purse.

It’s surely Declan. He’s probably wondering what the hell happened and where I am.

I’m not sure what I’m going to say to him, but I owe him some kind of explanation.

But it’s not Declan. It’s Miles.

“Hi,” I answer.

“Where are you right now?” he asks without even a greeting.

“What do you mean?” I don’t want to tell Miles that I’m back in therapy.

The next person I want to talk to about all of this is…my husband.

Amusingly, Miles is Team Declan. He’s been trying to get me to talk to Declan about everything for months.

“Declan just called Iris freaking out, Astrid,” Miles says. “What is going on?”

My heart flips over. “What?”

“Something happened between the two of you, right? He didn’t say what, but he said you ran out of the house and he’s not sure where you are. He’s convinced he did something terribly wrong, and he has no idea what to do about it. Please tell me you’re not hiding from him to torture him. Come on.”

I slide off the table and grab my underwear. I put the phone on speaker so I can talk and get dressed at the same time.

“I’m not hiding from him!” Okay, I was kind of. In the beginning. But then this visit to Thea turned into an important therapy session. I take a deep breath. “We…made out.” I grimace. That’s such a dumb way to describe what we did.