Packaged Husband

by Noelle Adams

  This whole conversation is unusual.

  “But I’ve been seeing lately that you’re all grown up. All of you.” He meets my eyes as if this is significant, and the gesture makes my chest ache. “You’ve found you some good men, and you don’t need me running your lives anymore. So I figured it was time for me to move on.”

  “When are you getting married?” Hunter asks over the low murmur of response.

  “Couple of months. We’ll just have a simple ceremony. But I wanted to tell you tonight because I’m inviting her over for Sunday supper tomorrow night. Her and her daughter.”

  “She has a daughter?” Sam gasps.

  “Grown daughter. ’Bout your age. I hope y’all will treat her like family. She and her mama have been alone for a long time.”

  We assure him that we would, and we offer genuine congratulations. The evening ends really well—in all aspects.

  And I try not to worry about that poor adult daughter of Pop’s fiancée.

  She has no idea what’s in store for her, joining this particular family.

  WHEN OWEN AND I GET home, I wash my face and change clothes since I feel like a mess after my breakdown in the bathroom.

  I come out to find that Owen has collapsed in his recliner. His eyes are closed, and he’s got it reclined all the way back.

  “Really? You’re sleeping in your recliner? Tonight?” My voice is fond rather than annoyed.

  He really looks quite adorable there.

  He opens his eyes. “I’m not sleeping. Just waiting for you.”

  “You want to have sex or something?” I come to stand right beside him.

  He reaches for my hand and tugs until I end up in the recliner with him, snuggled up at his side.

  He wraps an arm around me and gives a hoarse sigh. “I do want to have sex. We’re definitely going to do that tonight. But I think I need to recover a little first.”

  I giggle. “Recover from what?”

  “From being alive. And over forty. And in love. And having a broken heart for the past week.”

  “Your fault.”

  “I know that. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now.”

  “I don’t understand how you didn’t realize I cared about you too.”

  He frowns and lifts his head. “What’s this about caring about me? I thought you loved me.”

  “I do love you.” I nuzzle his shirt. “I’m just saying that I can kind of understand if you didn’t realize I was in love with you, but I don’t understand how you didn’t know I at least cared a lot about you. That I’d be really hurt by what you did. I didn’t know you loved me, but I knew at least you cared about me.”

  “I did know that. At least I think I did. I figured it would hurt you a little, and I could see it did. But I never thought... I just couldn’t imagine... I mean, you’re young and gorgeous and vibrant and so incredibly sweet. You could have any man you wanted. Literally, any man.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Some men are married or in a relationship. Some men are gay or asexual or just not into romance. Some men just don’t want me.”

  “Okay—I’ll accept the first two, but not the last one. Anyone who knows you would want you.”

  I’m giggling again. I can’t seem to help it. “That’s not been my experience, but it’s clear that you believe it.”

  “I do. And I always have. So I just couldn’t fathom a world in which you would... you would choose me. So that’s why I didn’t know. That’s why I was such a clueless asshole.”

  “That’s okay.” I press a messy kiss against his throat. “I forgive you.”

  “Good.”

  We lay together, holding each other for a long time.

  I didn’t realize it before, but I’m exhausted too. And relaxing here with Owen feels exactly right.

  After a while, he says, “I do want to tell you something.”

  His tone makes my spine stiffen. “What? Something bad?”

  “No. Nothing bad.” He presses a few kisses against my hair. “Just something I wasn’t entirely... open about.”

  “What is it?”

  “I saw you several months ago.”

  I’m frowning, confused and trying to read the odd note in his voice. “You saw me?”

  “Yes. A month or two before our interview. I saw you. I was having lunch with Trevor downtown, and you were coming out of a restaurant across the street with your friend. Eva.”

  I have no idea what to expect from this confession. “You saw me?”

  “Yes. I was just looking out the window, and there you were. You were wearing this purple dress, and the sun was shining on your hair, and you were smiling in my direction, and I...”

  “You what?” I turn so I can see him better.

  He swallows. “I was gone. And then you...” He clears the throat. “There was a crow perched on a trash can. He must have been squawking at you or something because you turned to the crow and talked to him, like you were having a conversation.”

  I suddenly remember the day he’s referring to. “Oh yeah! I remember that sassy crow. It seemed like he was complaining that there wasn’t any food in the trash can.”

  “That makes sense. Because you had a pastry or something in a bag, and you reached into it and pulled a bite out to toss to the crow.” His voice is hoarse, like this little incident really meant something important to him. “If I hadn’t been gone before, I was gone for good then. When you gave that silly crow something to eat.”

  “I can’t believe you saw all that. You didn’t know who I was though.”

  “No. But Trevor caught me staring at you, and he told me all about you. He pretended not to see that I was blown away by you. He probably felt bad for me, knowing I wouldn’t have a chance with you. But I kept thinking about you. And I kept trying to come up with some way to meet you.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask Trevor? He could have arranged a dinner or something with us.”

  “I wanted to. But I knew I would blow it.”

  “Why?”

  “You were on a first date with me, weren’t you?” His voice is very dry. “You know perfectly well that if we’d gone out, I would have made a mess of it and you never would have talked to me again.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” There’s a smile in his voice, and he rubs his jaw against my hair.

  “I guess maybe you are. So you weren’t going to do anything?”

  “No. Not really. But then I was talking to Trevor about my packaging problems, and it occurred to me... I might have put in a hint or two... that maybe you’d be a good person to help me.”

  “Oh my God!” I sit straight up on the recliner. “Trevor is a little sneak! He never even hinted that you might have had me in mind.”

  “He’s a good guy. Like I said, I think he just felt sorry for me. Anyway, I wanted to tell you. I already knew who you were when you first emailed me.”

  “You asked who the hell I was?”

  “I know I did. I could hardly confess that I’d seen you across the street one day and I was a goner ever since.”

  “You’re kind of a sneak too.”

  “I know.” He pulls me back down into a slow kiss. “Do you forgive me for that too?”

  “I guess so. No one has ever made me feel as special as you do, Owen. I hope you know that.”

  “Then everyone else is an idiot. Because you’re the most special thing that’s ever happened in the history of the world.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it.

  But I also tear up a little because I know he believes it.

  We end up kissing some more, and then we make love right in the recliner.

  And only once do we threaten to topple it.

  Recliner sex is not anything I’ve ever done before.

  But I figure Owen is my husband for good now, so we can have sex anywhere we want.

  LATER THAT EVENING, we finally go to bed. In Owe
n’s room.

  He tells me that it’s not his room anymore and that I need to move downstairs with him for good the following day, and I see no reason to object to this arrangement.

  It’s exactly what I want.

  He doesn’t take a shower before bed, and neither do I. I climb into bed and turn to look at him.

  He frowns at me. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go right to sleep or not.”

  “I’m probably going to go to sleep pretty quickly.” He gives me a dry half smile. “But that still doesn’t mean you should be all the way on that side of the bed.”

  I scoot over and fit myself against his side.

  I feel him relax as he wraps an arm around me.

  “We should talk about your job,” he murmurs.

  “Oh. Oh yeah. Of course.” My heart speeds up as I tilt my head up to look at him. It’s dark in the room, but I can see enough of his face to see his expression is that quiet, serious one.

  “I know it’s important to you. I wanted to make sure you still had it, even though everything else felt like it was falling apart. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

  I think about this for a minute. “Oh. I thought... I thought it was because you cared more about the company than about me. That’s why you didn’t suggest I quit my job.”

  “That wasn’t it at all. I do want you at Masterson’s. You can really help us. But that wasn’t why I said you should keep the position and move upstairs. I was scared—for a lot of reasons—but I wasn’t going to let my own mess take something that good away from you.”

  I snuggle closer. “It is good. I really love what I’m doing there.”

  “I want you to keep doing it. But I’m not going to pretend it won’t be complicated.”

  We both lie in silence for a minute. “Do you think we can make the internship work at least? The way it was before? If I’m careful about only working twenty hours and I do what you tell me to at work. Do you think we can make it work for a year?”

  “Yes. I think we could.”

  I turn over so I’m almost lying on top of him. I stretch up to press a kiss against his mouth. “Thank you. If you’ll let me keep doing the internship, then after I’m done I can find another job. I’ll have some experience then. Maybe someone else will hire me.”

  He doesn’t answer immediately. I hear him breathing heavily.

  And I’m hit with a flutter of nerves. “You don’t think anyone will hire me?”

  “Of course they’ll hire you!” My words obviously jarred him out of his subdued reverie. “Anyone would be crazy not to hire you. I’m just...” He clears his throat. “I’d like for there to be a way for you to work for Masterson’s. I don’t want to... lose what you can give us. But you need a good job that’s really your own. So of course you’ll want to move on after the internship is done. I think that’s a good plan.”

  I’m listening to his words and hearing a slightly reluctant edge to his tone and suddenly understand it. Laughter spills out of me as I kiss him again. “You’re trying to be generous!”

  I can hear a frown in his voice, although he returns my kisses. “Of course I’m trying to be generous. I love you and I want you to be as happy and fulfilled as possible. Even if it means I lose you for Masterson’s. Did you think I’d be greedy and try to keep you there even if it wasn’t the best for you?”

  “No! I never thought you’d be greedy.” I’m still giggling like a fool. “It’s just that no one has ever wanted me—for work, I mean—so much that it’s a hard thing to give me up. You really do think I’m that good.”

  “Of course I do. What do you think this whole conversation is about?”

  “And you’re willing to sacrifice something for Masterson’s in order to make sure I’m happy?”

  “Of course I am. I don’t understand where you’re going with all this.”

  I give him a hard hug. “Where I’m going is even more in love with you than I already was.”

  “Oh.” He sounds gruff, almost begrudging. But he fits me at his side again. “Okay then. I’ll take it.”

  We go to sleep soon afterward.

  I know Owen is happy. I can feel it in his body.

  But I can’t imagine he’s any happier than me.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I’m on the edge of awake when I hear my phone buzz with a text.

  It’s unusually early to be getting texts, so the sound wakes me.

  It’s Sunday morning, and it’s not even eight. Owen is still asleep beside me, his hair sticking out all over and the covers pushed down toward his waist.

  I reach for my phone to check the text.

  It’s Sam.

  She’s linked something on Twitter.

  Fully awake now, I click the link and gasp at what I see.

  I poke Owen.

  He mumbles.

  “Owen, wake up.”

  “Don’t wanna. Early.”

  “It’s not early. It’s almost eight.”

  “Sunday.”

  He starts to roll over, so I poke him again.

  “Ow.” He’s finally opened his eyes, and he’s glaring at me.

  “Look at this! Someone videoed your little serenade last night and posted it on Twitter.”

  He sits up abruptly, staring down at my phone. “Oh fuck. That’s me.”

  I’m trying not to laugh since I don’t know how he’ll react. Someone caught him on their phone, and the slightly wobbly image shows him singing to the closed door of the bathroom. He appears completely unconscious of anyone else around, and it’s really the sweetest thing.

  “Oh fuck,” he says again. “It’s gone viral.”

  “Yep. I’m afraid so. And they know who you are. You should read some of these comments.”

  “I’m definitely not reading the comments.”

  “They’re mostly good. About how cute and romantic you are. And a few talk about your ass.”

  “What about my ass?”

  “That it’s a good one.”

  He sniffs and rubs his jaw. “Oh. Okay.”

  I lean over to kiss him, forgetting for the moment about morning breath. “It will blow over soon. Everyone will forget about it. These things always do.”

  He grumbles wordlessly, and I know that means he’s not really upset about this.

  “And what do you want to bet that you’ll be getting calls from all kinds of designers this week who want to work with you after your sudden popularity?”

  “No way that will happen.”

  “You want to bet?”

  He slants me a considering look. Then finally shakes his head. “Better not. You’re a lot smarter than me about this kind of thing, and I’d probably end up losing that bet.”

  That comment and his sober expression earn him another kiss.

  It’s a long time before we stop.

  Epilogue

  EIGHT MONTHS LATER, I wake up on a Saturday morning when it’s still dark outside, knowing that something good is happening today.

  Then I remember what it is.

  I lie in bed for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Owen breathe until I can’t contain my excitement anymore.

  I give him a quick poke.

  He huffs and rolls over so his back is to me.

  I frown at the back of his head and poke him again, this time right between the shoulder blades.

  He mumbles wordlessly.

  This is improvement, so I give him one more poke.

  He rolls over onto his back. “Whas’it?”

  “It’s morning. Saturday morning!”

  “M’kay.” He makes a move I recognize—the one that’s going to lead to his rolling over and going back to sleep—so I grab his arm to stop him.

  He gives me a malevolent glare. “What time is’t?”

  “I don’t know. Around six, I think.”

  “Too early to get up.”

  He’s awake now. All th
e way. I know because he’s speaking in complete words. But he’s keeping his eyes closed and pretending to still be groggy.

  I give him another poke.

  “Ow.” He rubs his arm.

  “Stop faking. I know you’re not asleep anymore.”

  He chuckles and opens his eyes. “Why did you wake up so early?”

  “I got too excited about today.” I sit up in bed, the covers falling down around my waist. “Aren’t you excited too?”

  His eyes are soft and sleepy and fond as they gaze up at me. “Yes, I’m excited. You know I am.”

  “Then why are you still sleeping?”

  “I’m not sleeping anymore. I’m not sure how anyone could sleep through all that poking.”

  “Well, you weren’t waking up, and I wanted to do something.”

  He smooths down his hair and rubs his bristly jaw. He’s bare chested, and his hair is a tousled mess that smoothing doesn’t come close to taming. “Okay. Just give me a few minutes to wake up first.”

  “You are awake.”

  “Yeah, but I need to be a little more awake than this if you want me to get it up for any length of time. You might take off your top.”

  I look down at myself. I’m wearing a pretty white camisole and pale blue cotton pajama pants. “You want me to take off my top?”

  “Yes. That’s the quickest way for me to get in the mood.” He’s got his serious, focused expression on right now, an adorable contrast to his rumpled appearance.

  I giggle helplessly. “You think we’re going to have sex?”

  He blinks. “Isn’t that what you wanted? You said you woke up early and wanted to do something. I just need a minute or two to get ready.”

  I’m laughing so hard now I bend forward at the waist.

  Owen is frowning at me when I straighten up.

  “I didn’t mean I wanted to have sex,” I explain, barely able to control my voice. “I had something else I wanted to do.”

  “Oh. Okay. You can keep your top on then.”

  I lean over to kiss him, slow and affectionate, and then I nestle in at his side. “I just adore you. You know that, don’t you?”