Page 87 of Wayward

It was a surprise when he stepped back.

“What’re you— I thought––”

“Chinese food, right? Ada’s expecting us?” He was heaving for breath, his chest rising and falling, his hands fisted at his sides.

I chuckled. “She is. Yes.”

“I kinda hate you right now.”

“I have no doubt.”

“It’s not funny.”

I sighed deeply, loving the frustration on him and seeing how much he wanted me. “Okay, so yeah, I wanna be in this with you.”

“In what with me?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

He nodded. “Come here.”

I couldn’t stop smiling as I stepped close and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I missed you so much.”

He grabbed me tight, crushing me against him. “I missed you too.”

Sometimes a hug was even better than passion.

I was on the couch with Misha, glancing around at Gale’s living room and marveling at the interior, same as I’d done the first time I was there, after he left for training. Funny that I hadn’t been in his place before that, but there had never been a time to just pop over and check it out. I was busy, he was busy, and the timing had never been right. Plus, his home seemed more serious. Like if we were there, we had to put a name to us. Sleeping together at my house, with Ada at the other end, but still there, was like being there with a parent. We had to behave ourselves. But he’d given me the key before he left and asked me to air out the rooms and water his plants.

I’d been surprised because the outside of his home with the manicured lawn, limelight hydrangeas, pink peonies, and Victor Hugo roses was beautiful, but really, inside, his sweet little Craftsman was simply stunning.

There were open ceilings with exposed beams, the floors were reclaimed barnwood, so they had a beautiful variety of color, and the kitchen was all stainless-steel appliances with a deep farmhouse sink, pot filler over the stove, and a refrigerator with glass doors so everything was visible inside. The counters were white-veined granite, he had open shelves, and the backsplash was subway tile.

The living room was done in shades of blue, the coffee table stained a beautiful shade of navy, and even being a cool color, it was warm and inviting, much like the man himself. The fireplace looked like it belonged on Christmas cards, all heavy stone, and from the area rug to the pillows and throws, it was pristine. I had been worried at first because Misha had gone straight for the couch and rolled on the pillows.

“You know,” I commented when he walked back into the room, “I really don’t see me and Misha spending a lot of time over here.”

“What? Why?”

I gestured all around me. “If Misha has an accident or shreds a pillow, which he might do… I mean, anything could happen.”

Gale walked to his coffee table and lifted the lid. “You’ll learn this about me, but so you know, I’m a planner, Maks. I’ve got that covered.”

Inside were stuffed toys and balls, some hard rubber ones, and a lot of other things I had no idea existed, like a licking mat. Reaching in, he pulled out what I suspected was supposed to be a monkey, but the eyes were red and it had creepy eyebrows.

“What is that, a demon monkey?”

“Yes. A demon monkey,” he said, cackling, and threw it over in front of the fireplace for Misha, who jumped off the couch and pounced on it. He started growling, and it was having its face chewed on seconds later.

“That was nice of you.”

“He might still chew up the legs of my coffee table, or the stairs, even. I had a roommate in college, and his puppy ate all our shoes, the chair legs, table legs, stairs, molding, the pantry door—I mean, not the whole door, just a hole through so he could reach his food, and for whatever reason, my other roommate’s bras. He was also very fond of pizza boxes.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“Yes. And he was a St. Bernard, not a Morkie, so I suspect Misha just doesn’t have that same level of destruction in him.”

“I would think not.”