by Lacey Black
“Uh, no. Soothing Sunset Coral.”
Rhenn barks out a laugh. “She painted your place pink? The man who hates color has a pink house?” He can’t control his laughter. “That’s fucking golden. I knew I loved that girl for a reason.”
I stand up straight and glare at my future brother-in-law before I even realize I’m doing it.
“Oh! Did you see that?” Jensen bellows, pointing at my face.
“Definitely. I think he was about ready to rumble with Rhenn over Free,” Latham chimes in.
“I was not.” My argument falls on deaf ears.
“Oh, there was definite anger on that face,” Rhenn agrees with a grin. “I was scared a little.”
“There wasn’t… I wasn’t…”
“Samuel and Freedom sitting in a tree,” Jensen sings, like the annoying little brother he’s always been.
“Shut up,” I retort, like the older annoyed brother I’ve always been.
“Boys, boys, boys, let’s not fight. Samuel can’t help it he’s falling in love with Freedom,” Latham replies, making them all laugh. It’s supposed to be a joke, one at my expense, but I can’t seem to muster the will to laugh along with them.
Mostly because it’s not funny.
When Rhenn sees I’m not laughing, nor am I annoyed, he stops snickering and his face turns seriously. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Jensen asks, glancing my way.
Rhenn takes a step forward. “You really did. You fell in love with her.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I can’t.
“Son of a bitch,” Latham adds with a big smile and a slap on the back. “You fell for her.”
I plan to argue, to deny, but when my mouth opens, different words spill out. “I don’t know how it happened.”
Rhenn chuckles and shakes his head. “You never see it coming, right?”
Latham grins and nods. “Never. One minute you’re ready to pull out your hair and wring her neck, and the next thing you know, you have her pressed against the countertop and can’t even form sentences.”
“Gross,” Jensen gasps.
“It happens to the best of us,” Rhenn replies, as he picks up another dirty dish and hands it to Jensen.
They all go about their jobs, washing the pans, drying and putting them away, no one the wiser to the turmoil brewing in my head and chest. The constant tug-of-war between the two organs, neither of them getting the leg up on the other.
“So,” I start, adjusting my necktie, “what do I do now?”
The three men I’m closest to—my brother and the two I consider brothers—all turn and look my way. The water is shut off, the towels are set aside, and attention is turned on me. I hate it, but I don’t shy away. I asked them for help, the least I can do is hear them out.
“What do you mean what do you do?” Jensen asks, leaning his hip against the counter.
“Well, I mean, we live together, technically, we’re married—”
“What?” three men all bellow at the exact same time, and it’s right then and there I realize my mistake.
“Shit,” I mutter, closing my eyes and wishing the clock would turn back ten seconds. When it doesn’t and I know they’re still standing there, waiting on me to elaborate, I open my eyes and say, “Freedom and I, we, uh, got married in Las Vegas.”
“No shit? How? When?” Latham asks. There’s no judgment on his face or in his question, just curiosity.
“That night after the magic show. We left the club and drank. A lot. Apparently, we continued to drink and wound up at some little chapel on the strip.”
After a beat of silence, Jensen says, “I never would have thought you’d be the one to elope with someone you’re not even dating.”
“No kidding, but, somehow, we’ve been spending all this time together, and even though she painted my living room pink and the oak furniture some seafoam green color, I think I fell in love with her.”
They continue to smile at me for several long seconds, and I start to feel a little hot under the collar.
“Congratulations, man,” Rhenn says, coming over and patting me on the back.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Love is pretty great. Take it from a man who ran from it and avoided it his entire adult life. It wasn’t until I spent those few weeks here, with your sister, that I actually realized what a gift it really was.”
“Before you know it, you’ll be an old married man like me,” Latham adds.
“Actually, I think technically, he beat you to it,” Jensen says with a pointed look.
“Shit, you’re right. Who here actually thought Samuel would be the first to marry?” Latham teases.
“Not me,” Jensen argues.
“Actually, I’m not sure we’re going to stay married,” I tell them, suddenly feeling a tad nervous.
“What do you mean?” This from Rhenn.
“I’ve filed.”
I’m met with three shocked expressions. “Why?” Latham asks.
“Because we’ve gotten it all wrong. From the start, you don’t get married before you date, guys. That’s not how this works.”
“Not all stories are the same, Samuel,” Rhenn says.
“Besides, it’s the shit in the middle that makes the story good,” Latham adds.
“So you did things a little backwards. How bad could it be?” Jensen asks before turning around and finishing up the dishes.
How bad could it be?
My heart is telling me it’s not the end of the world, but I can’t seem to let it go. My brain just isn’t wired like that. It’s black and white, with no room for gray. And right now, I feel like my whole life is a whole lot of gray.
***
“Do you want some peach cobbler?” Freedom asks from the back door.
“Uh, no, thank you.”
I’ve been sitting outside, enjoying the cooler night, and thinking. Talking with the guys tonight planted the seed that I don’t actually have to get a divorce. Yet, here I am, trying to convince myself it’s the only way. Start over. Fresh slate. It’s all there in black ink, just waiting for me to sign on the line.
The door opens and Freedom blows onto the deck like a light wind. She’s wearing one of her signature skirts and has paired it with an ivory sweater that hangs loosely off one shoulder. There’s no strap, which tells me she’s not wearing a bra beneath the knitted top. My cock starts to thicken at the thought.
“So, I was thinking,” she starts, coming over to where I’m seated. Shockingly, she doesn’t take one of the other available seats, but instead, climbs up on my lap.
My entire body stills, even though my hands itch to touch. “What were you thinking about?” I ask, clearing my throat. I reach for my necktie but realize it’s not there. When we came home from dinner, I took it off and hung it in the closet beside the dozens of other ties. It’s weird to not wear one right now.
“I was thinking we should add a little something to the kitchen,” she says, curling her legs up on my lap and essentially making herself comfortable.
I have no other option than to wrap my arms around her and hang on. “Define a little something.” My heart starts to pound in my chest.
“A theme.”
“A theme?”
“You know like farmhouse chickens or vibrant sunflowers,” she says, as she leans her head back on my shoulder and gazes up at the stars. “They’re so bright tonight. The sky’s so clear.”
I glance up and take in the majestic beauty of the sky. When was the last time I just stopped and looked at the stars? Ever?
“When I was at the compound, I used to watch the stars. I’d lie on the ground and make shapes and pictures with them. Once, I swear I saw a whale in the sky.”
I’m not sure if her comment requires and answer or not, so I just pull her tighter into my chest. All I can picture is a young Freedom, with her long brown hair in the dirt and a smile on her face as she stares up at the sky and finds star animals.
“Any
way, I was thinking you needed a theme. Some matching hand towels, a few pictures on the wall, and maybe a clock. If you’re feeling super adventurous, we could even paint the cabinet faces a coordinating color.” The entire time she talks, she just stares up at the sky, a serene look on her face.
“Those are solid mahogany cabinets, Freedom.”
She turns and our eyes meet. “Are those nice?”
I snort a laugh. “Yeah, darling, they’re nice. They were quite expensive to install.”
“Huh. Really? I mean, they’re okay, but why spend so much on something that’s just a plain wood? You could have gotten a cheaper pine cabinet and painted them to fit your mood or theme,” she reasons, and I find myself, surprisingly, smiling.
“Maybe my next kitchen.”
“So, we don’t paint your fancy cabinets then. What about the walls? We could do an accent wall?”
The no is on the tip of my tongue, but for some reason, I don’t say it. Instead, I find myself agreeing. “That might work. What theme were you thinking?”
Her eyes widen with delight as she tells me all about the different ideas she has. I don’t really pay that much attention. I’m too transfixed on her eyes. At the delight. At the sparkle. At the light that seems to radiate from her soul. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Freedom is a true ray of sunshine, packed in a tiny, eccentric woman.
“Oh! What about some Aztec pottery? Did you know I used to make bowls and things to sell at the market?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, when I was seven, they showed me how to bake pottery over a fire.”
My heart stops in my chest. “At seven?” I ask, trying to picture young Freedom working by a large fire she had no business being around.
“That’s how I got this,” she says, holding up her arm and showing me a faint scar across her wrist. “One of the pieces we were baking fell over and touched my skin. It burned horribly,” she says, holding up her arm to my face.
I find myself bringing my lips down to the skin and skimming over the soft area. “I’m sorry you were burned.”
She shrugs. “They put some cream on it, and it was better a few days later. But this mark never went away.”
My eyes are glued to hers, and I swear I fall further in love with her in this moment, with her sitting on my lap and my arms wrapped protectively around her body. “I think adding some pottery to the kitchen would be a great idea,” I tell her. My heart swells with happiness as she beams a bright smile at me.
“Okay, well, I’ll check around and see what I can find.”
“Okay.”
We sit together, staring up at the sky, and lost in our own thoughts. I’m thinking about the woman in my arms, about the difficult childhood she must have endured. I’m sure she didn’t realize it at the time, and maybe difficult isn’t the right word. Different. Like me. Her upbringing was different than mine. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. She learned so many important lessons we may not have learned until an older age, if ever.
Maybe that’s what I need in my life. Not a piece of normal, but a slice of different.
Someone like Freedom.
Glancing up, I smile. “Do you see those stars there?” I point to the dozen stars all clustered together. “It looks like a taco.”
Chapter Eighteen
Freedom
The days fly by, and before I know it, I’ve been staying with Samuel for almost four weeks. We’ve successfully learned to coexist in a small house, without killing each other. If you would have asked me months ago, I would have sworn one of us wouldn’t have survived this excursion. But here we are, with splashes of color all over his drab, white house.
Except his bedroom. It’s the only room he hasn’t allowed me to decorate.
Yet.
I’m anticipating the call my apartment is ready any day. I’d rather just stay here, but I know that’s not going to happen. Although he’s allowed me to bring a little life to his home doesn’t mean he’s ready for a permanent roommate. And he’s welcomed me into his bed pretty much the entire time. He also seems more relaxed, maybe even a little happier than before. None of that means he wants me to stay.
He hasn’t brought up the whole divorce thing, not since early in our roommate arrangement, and I’m not about to say anything. Instead, I’ve tried to show him, day in, and day out, how great of a team we make—together—and I think he may finally see it too.
I smile as I grab the container of treats I made and head out the front door. Today, I’m scheduled to work with my bestie at Kiss Me Goodnight. I’m so excited to spend the time with her. It seems Elma Hanson enjoyed her time away so much, she actually started scheduling herself less hours and asked me to fill in for her. So I added another job to my already busy schedule.
But I don’t mind. I love being so busy, doing a wide variety of jobs.
The drive to the lingerie store is short, and I’m singing Backstreet Boys as I pull into the alley behind the shop. I smile when I see Latham milling around out back by the lumberyard behind the hardware store and pull into the space closest to my bestie’s sexy store.
When I get out of my car, I spot Latham heading in my direction. He waves and smiles when he spies the container in my hand. “Any chance that might be some of your banana bread again?”
Smiling, I open the lid. “Not banana bread, but cranberry and mandarin muffins.”
He glances down, grimacing. “Will I like it?” he asks, hesitantly taking a treat.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Latham snorts and takes a bite on the top of the muffin. He chews slowly, pulling a face. “Are there nuts in there?”
“Oatmeal.”
He takes a second bite, again carefully chewing, before he reaches in and grabs a second from the pan. “I’ll just take another for later,” he says before throwing me a grin and a wink and turning to head toward his side of the business. We all know ‘later’ really means like five minutes.
“Enjoy!” I holler, grinning as I close the container and make my way to Harper’s side.
“Thank you, Freedom!”
“You’re welcome, Latham!”
“Were you talking to my husband?” Harper asks when I pop in the back door.
“I was. He stole two muffins,” I tell her, taking my phone out and setting my purse in her small office.
“Only two? He’s always hungry,” she says, shaking her head and grinning like a loon.
“Hungry for your cookie?” I tease, recalling one time I showed up to help with inventory but found them in a very compromising position in the dressing room.
Harper laughs. “That too…”
I follow her to the counter and grab the coffee cup that doesn’t have the lipstick mark on the top and take a sip. “Mocha?”
“Sugar free,” she adds with a wink.
“So, good,” I draw out, groaning in happiness as I take my first sip.
“We have fifteen minutes before I have to unlock the door. Tell me all the deets of living with my brother, but leave out the icky stuff,” Harper begs, her bright blue eyes wide with excitement as she takes a seat on the stool behind the counter.
I shrug. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”
“Bullshit! You painted his front door. I still haven’t heard how you got away with it.” Harper grins over the lid of her coffee cup.
Again, I shrug my shoulders. “His place was in need of some serious color,” I tell her, even though she already knows.
“No shit! Did he flip his lid and start spewing statistics about burglary and crime rates to houses with painted doors?”
I chuckle. “No. I mean, yes, he flipped his lid, but mostly because of all the other stuff I painted too, remember? I’ve learned since then he’s not so bad if I just ask for his input before I do it.”
I can feel my bestie’s gaze from across the counter.
“What?”
“You love him.”
I open my mo
uth to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, I go with the truth. “Totally.”
“So? What are you going to do about it?”
I sigh. “Well, he hasn’t brought up the whole divorce thing for a while, so I’m kinda hoping he just wants to stay shacked up with the ol’ ball and chain.”
She smiles. “And if he doesn’t?”
The thought makes me sadder than I ever thought possible.
“I guess I’ll just have to change his mind with the sex,” I tell her, going for comedy relief instead of facing the real issue.
Harper snorts and shoves half a muffin in her mouth. “I’m so glad you’re having the sex, even if it’s with my brother,” she says through an open, full mouth.
“I can see what Latham sees in you, being all refined and ladylike,” I tease, as she continues to chew through her massive bite.
The moment she swallows, she says, “It’s my boobs.”
“Hell yes,” Latham chimes in as he enters the boutique side of their business. When he reaches his wife, he adds, “And her ass too,” as he gives her a hard slap that makes her yelp.
“Please don’t get all kinky right now. We’re about to open, and I really don’t want to have to explain why you’re demonstrating the flogger to the first lady to enter.”
“You have a flogger?” Latham asks his wife, his eyes eagerly searching her lingerie boutique for the dirty goods.
“No. Well, not here anyway,” she replies with a grin and a wink.
There’s no missing the fact Latham adjusts his crotch before kissing Harper on the lips. “See you at lunchtime. Love you.”
“Love you too,” she tells him, smiling like a schoolgirl with her first crush.
“Bye, Free.”
“Later,” I tell him as he disappears into the hardware store. “You two are so cute.”
She snorts. “I know. And we’re banging like monkeys right now. Total honeymoon phase. I kinda don’t ever want it to end, but then again, my vag could use a day or two of R and R.”
“You can take a break from beaver bumping, you know. Just because you rest the cooch, doesn’t mean you’re not in the honeymoon phase anymore,” I reassure her.
