I was pretty pleased with the results of my seven month search for the perfect living room furniture. The couch and armchairs were wide-seated, comfy and inviting and nearly brand-spanking new but not in a way where you didn’t feel like you could eat spaghetti or drink Kool-Aid on them. The new tables were rustic and sturdy so you didn’t hesitate putting your drink on them (though I bought coasters and nagged my boys to use them, something I had to do often considering they were clearly deaf to my explanations of the importance of coasters). The new carpet was thick pile, wool and cost a mint but looked freaking fabulous. The newly-painted walls were studded with pictures – not paintings or prints – family and friends. Some small frames, some large, some multi. There were photos of us on the beach in St. Thomas last Spring Break. There were photos of our trip to Indiana last summer. There were photos of the New Year’s party Krys threw at Bubba’s because Jim-Billy was out of the hospital and getting around; photos of barbeques at our house, Pop’s house, Wood’s house; photos of us horsing around in Ned and Betty’s pool; photos inside Bubba’s of the staff and the regulars, some of them just our friends, some of them me or Tate or both of us with our friends.
The biggest was the photo of Tate, Jonas and me and it hung on the wall over the TV. In it, Tate wearing his dark suit; Jonas wearing his dark suit; me wearing a form-fitting, cream silk, boat necked dress, the hem hitting above my knee, sexy, pink strappy sandals on my feet and a massive bouquet of delicate, pale pink peonies and roses in my hand. Tate had his arm around my shoulders, my front was to his side, my arm was around his waist, my other arm, hand holding my bouquet, around Jonas’s chest. You couldn’t see it for the flowers but Tate’s fingers were curled around Jonas’s shoulder. Jonas was standing in front of us, his back pressed tight to our bodies. Jonas and me were smiling straight into the camera but Tate’s head was tipped slightly back and to the side because he’d just burst out laughing.
Our wedding day.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and Tate’s eyes came to me as I pulled out the stool to the island and sat at it. I smiled at him and I knew it was a soft smile, barely there. I felt my eyes get soft too, just from seeing my old man lounging on our new couch.
Then I looked down at my phone and went to my contacts, found who I was looking for, hit the button to call and I put my phone to my ear.
“Hey, honey,” I heard in my ear.
“Hi, Matt,” I said back.
It was my birthday.
“How you doin’?” Matt asked.
“Peachy. You?” I asked back.
“Good. This is early, something up?”
“Got big plans for the day,” I told him.
“Yeah? What’re you doin’?”
I told him and we talked and laughed and about fifteen minutes in I saw Tate move. He got up off the couch and I heard him say, “Bub, shower, we gotta go soon.”
Then he came to me, pulled my wet hair off my shoulder, bent and kissed my neck then his hand came out to mine lying on the island. When it did, his thumb tweaked the two rings there, my engagement diamond and a very wide, gold wedding band.
Then he pulled away and turned to the living room to see Jonas hadn’t moved.
“Bub, I said shower,” he repeated and Jonas sighed, got up and started to slink out of the living room.
“That your man?” Matt asked in my ear.
I twisted my neck and watched Tate walk down the hall toward our bedroom.
“Yeah,” I replied and I knew it sounded breathy and I figured that was uncool, considering Matt still hadn’t moved on from Ellen.
But I couldn’t help myself.
*
I was standing in my undies in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches on my hair.
Buster was sitting on the bathroom counter, her ginger eyes watching my hands in my hair.
Tate was standing in the doorway, wearing his suit pants and a dress shirt not done up, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed on his chest, watching my hands in my hair.
“You should wear it down, babe,” he noted for the fifth time.
“Krys wants it up,” I replied.
“Looks better down,” he told me.
“Okay, but Krys wants it up,” I repeated.
He didn’t answer. I finished my hair and then reached across the basin to the shelves where I kept my hairspray. This meant Buster scampered. I didn’t often use hairspray but Buster had made a habit of hanging with me in the bathroom, she’d been there when I’d given my hair a good shot and she was a smart cat. She learned quick she wanted to be nowhere near the bathroom when I was wielding a can of hairspray.
I was about to give my hair a good dose when Tate’s body hit my back, his hands sliding along the skin at my belly.
His mouth dropped to my bare shoulder and he muttered there, “Like this underwear, Ace.”
He would. It was pale yellow and all lace, a strapless bra and barely there panties.
“Captain –”
His big hand roamed up from my belly to cup my breast.
“I like it a lot,” he murmured, his lips moving up to my neck.
“Tate, we’re already going to be late.”
I watched in the mirror as his head lifted and his eyes caught mine.
“Right,” he muttered but the tips of his fingers trailed the lace at the edge of my bra and I shivered.
Tate felt the shiver. I knew this because he grinned then he let me go and walked out of the bathroom.
I dosed my hair with hairspray. Then I walked into the bedroom and dosed my body with perfume.
Then I went to the closet to put on my bridesmaid dress.
*
“How many kinds of fool am I?” Krystal, standing at the back of the church about to walk down the aisle, asked. “I’m marrying Bubba in a church.”
I stared at her in shock.
And this was not because somewhere between seeing her yesterday at the bar and seeing her today she’d dyed her hair a deep, auburn red (that looked fantastic, by the way).
No, it was because Krystal was nervous.