Page 42 of The Spinster & the Sock

“Someone decided to sleep in,” I tease, releasing her hand as she moves to sit up.

“You could have woken me,” she says with a yawn.

“I could have.” I follow her out of bed and over to our tiny kitchenette, grabbing the tea tin down from the cupboard for her when her reach proves too short.

“Hells, we’re out.” Jo pouts—like, actually pouts—arms crossed, bottom lip stuck out and everything. So. Fucking. Cute.

“What if you get dressed, and I escort you over to the teahouse? We can sit for a cup and then buy more leaves?”

Her demeanor changes immediately, eyes twinkling as she quickly pecks me on the cheek then races across the room to her armoire. I wish I could take her to the little coffee chain back home—knowing how much she loves sitting at the tea shop, but also knowing how much she hates the catty drama that comes with it. She would never want to leave The Glass Half Full.

Jo gets ready in record time, and I put in the effort to look societally presentable for her. The chilly weather makes it easier to tolerate the standard layers, and my darling wife—ever the genius—found a way to polish my work boots to a dashing shine. Now I can wear them with my fancy pants, and no one is any wiser. Albion takes great pleasure in mocking my shiny shoes, but I can live with that.

Cold November air rushes us down the lane and into the tea shop at a brisk jog, though I’m pretty sure that’s not socially acceptable, so we’re calling it an ‘expeditious walk’.

“What I wouldn’t give for my Carhartt coat and overalls right now,” I whine as we snag a seat near the front. “I’m gonna freeze my bells and whistle off.”

“I should think your wife probably needs to acquire woolen underthings for you then,” Jo teases. “Speaking of your bells, I had the most riveting conversation with Grandmother yesterday.”

“Josephine. Why, on God’s green earth, would mentioning my bells make you think of Gerty?” I side-eye her, not going to lie—I’m afraid of what she’s going to say next.

“Because, dear husband, the conversation we had was regarding…restricting them.” Her grimace looks like a poorly disguised smirk. She-devil.

“Ah, so you went to ol’ Gerty about our little—no, massive and thick—prevention question? I have to admit, when I said I was clueless about 19th-century condoms, I didn’t think you would chat with her about it.” I drop my voice as a trio of ladies stride past, chittering like a bunch of birds.

“I hardly knew where else to go—that is until she instructed me. I have something for us to test out, later on perhaps?” She looks up at me through her lashes. Fuck, I can’t pitch a tent right now. Imagine asking, “Can I have one of those lemon tarts, a blueberry scone, and that muffin. Oh, which muffin? That one there,” while pointing to said muffin with my third leg.

“What else aren’t you telling me? Are you up to no good, wife?” I slip two fingers lewdly into the ceramic handle of my teacup, ensuring Jo sees when I do. “Will you be needing a…reprimand?”

Her cheeks are a delicious shade of red, focus locked on my hand. I hum to myself; looks like my sweet little wife has some kinks for me to sort out.

“As soon as we make it home, I’ll be delighted to show you what your bells have to do with it.” She tries to hide her smile with her cup, but I know better. I was sipping on my oolong, but her words have me feeling like a kid waiting for Santa. I slam the remainder of my drink in one gulp and stand.

“Mrs. Hollows, I’m afraid I see no reason to be anywhere other than our humble abode at present.” I bow with an unnecessary flourish, reaching out for her hand.

Always the lucky one. As soon as we step out of the tea shop, Gus is there—hugging Jo and sending a volley of fake punches my way.

“Hey, you little shit, what are you doing here?” I chuckle, holding the boy back with my palm against his forehead.

“I was lookin’ for you! Alby sent me to tell ya that we’re headed to The Raven’s Veil, cuz it’s my birthday! Ms. Jeanie promised me a cake—you will come, won’t ya?” Gus asks in one breath.

Ah, shit and piss.

“Of course we’ll be there, Augustus,” Jo answers for us, sending a sheepish shrug my way. I just had to marry the biggest heart in all of London.

“Well, we’d better get home—so we can freshen up or something beforehand. What time are you heading over?” I ask, hoping for at least an hour to probe my wife, lest I perish from ‘blue bells’.

“No! We’re going now, you must come now!” Gus wails, grabbing Jo’s hand and dragging her in the opposite direction.

“Come now, husband,” Jo giggles as she follows the boy.

“That’s exactly what I was hoping to do, wife,” I say with a pout. Regardless of my thwarted plans, I wouldn’t miss the kid’s birthday party. He’s really grown on me lately, and he seems so excited to have people around who genuinely care for him.

“I’ve been here five whole months and aside from the, uh, gentlemen’s club the Dastardly Dashwoods Duo took me to before our wedding, I haven’t been to a single tavern. Married life has tamed me,” I muse as we approach the solid door of a lively establishment.

“Well, I’ve been here a whole twenty-six years and haven’t been to a single tavern. Tonight shall be a first for us both, then.” Jo pats my arm, letting her hand linger and drift until our fingers are intertwined.

“As much as I want to be shocked by that, I think I’m finally starting to learn better.” Jo laughs and I smile. “I wish we had been able to go home first. I’m going to spend the entire night picturing your sweet lips every time I press my mouth to a pint and wishing it were the latter.”