Suit - Woodruff Jettie - Страница 51
- Предыдущая
- 51/65
- Следующая
Chapter Sixteen
I did exactly what Paxton wanted the next morning for breakfast. He woke up to greasy bacon and eggs waiting for him in the kitchen. The radio played Justin Bieber until he entered, and then I switched it. NPR news talked about a clerk refusing same sex marriage license, Joe Biden’s son’s death, a missing seven year old, and a hurricane losing strength off the coast of Hawaii. Donald Trump’s new drama, and a dip in the economy.
“You’re not eating with me?” Paxton asked with a piece of wiggly bacon hanging from his mouth. It turned my stomach just looking at it.
“Not necessary,” I said with my back to his. I cleaned up the greasy mess, ignoring my husband and his unhealthy breakfast.
“What the fuck, Gabriella?”
My hair flipped to the right and to my back with a frown when I turned to look at him. “Is it, Paxton? Did I sit with you before I forgot who I was?”
“No, but you’ve been doing it ever since. Sit down.”
If that was his nice way of telling me he liked me sitting with him over breakfast, he sucked. Nonetheless, I poured coffee and sat with a bran muffin. Cranberry. Without one word, I picked off a piece and plopped it to my mouth.
“What’s with you and this health kick? We don’t eat muffins. We eat good stuff. Like this,” he said while his eyes shifted to his plate and a biscuit sopped up gravy.
“You can eat like that. I’m not.”
“You did before.”
I laid it on thick without even meaning to. Total diva. “So, I hear. Anything special I should know about before I screw this day up, too?”
“I hate this attitude. Where the hell is this coming from?”
I stood, taking great care not to meet his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to get your lunch ready. Do you want the bacon? Bacon sandwiches?”
“Sure, but don’t you want to save it for the girls?”
“No, they’re not eating that.”
“You can’t make them eat muffins every morning.”
I wiped up more grease that I’d seen glisten from the stove light. Jesus. How much grease did a pound of bacon have? “They don’t eat muffins every day. They eat pancakes, eggs, cinnamon toast, cereal, breakfast burrito’s with eggs, cheese, and spinach, and—.”
Paxton sopped up more gravy, placing a slice of bacon on top. “I get it. Whatever. Can you just lose this attitude before I get home tonight?”
“I’m not taking them to anything today. They can do piano in the morning, but that’s it.”
“You have no say in that, but I talked to them last night. They only want to do a couple things. I get that, but they have to finish out tee-ball. There’s only two more games.”
I refrained from saying a word about it being more for him and his male companion egos. I didn’t say much of anything. I shrugged my shoulders and cleaned up more grease.
Paxton ate his breakfast of heart attack and looked over his stocks on his phone. I packed his lunch and pushed it to the counter. Nothing healthy. Not even a bottle of water like I had been tossing in there. His carbonated cola would go better with his meal. I secretly hoped it made him sick. It would serve him right.
As soon as he finished the last bite, he pushed it away and strolled toward me. I crossed my arms and looked around him, but only for a second. Paxton pinched my chin and made me look up to him. I did, but I didn’t uncross my arms. Even my eyes held a standoffish stance. At him, yet through him.
“That’s enough. You’re acting like bitch, and I won’t have it,” he warned just above a whisper.
I blew out a puff of smart-ass air and rolled my eyes. That time I did look at him. Straight at him with daggers, poking his eyes out. My lips met his without thinking about it, and I kissed him. One quick peck before stepping back.
“Your lunch is ready,” I said with a nod toward the green and white lunch box, arms still crossed.
The rest of the day went as planned. Almost. The girls and I were just about to go float in the pool when my phone rang.
“Yes, how may I be at service to you?” I said, smartly while using my professional voice.
“Jesus, Gabriella. Are we still doing this? I’m at a jobsite that I can’t leave. I’ve got concrete coming any minute now. I need you to bring me over some Rolaids or something. I’ve got heartburn like crazy.”
I smiled when I heard the thump. I knew Paxton was beating his chest with a fist, trying to rid the burn. “Why? You’re just going to eat bacon again for lunch.”
“I don’t think I will. Can you bring me one of those wrap things that you made me the other day?”
“Oh, you mean the one with the honey-mustard that you hated.”
“I didn’t hate it. Shut the fuck up and bring me something for this heartburn. I’ll send the address to your GPS.”
My eyes shifted to the fight brewing in the kitchen over a blue spatula. “Okay, I’ve got to go break up a cat-fight. I’ll be there in a little bit.”
“Why are they fighting now?”
“Who knows? Rowan has a blue spatula and Ophelia is trying to trade her for a green one.”
“Why?”
I dropped my phone for half a second and whistled. Two fingers between my teeth. “Knock it off,” I said, yelling over the petty argument. That didn’t help. They looked up with big eyes for half a second. Ophelia snatched the blue one right out of her hand and Rowan screamed.
“Ugh. I gotta go, Pax. I’ll be there in a little bit.” I hung up without another word and threw myself between two screaming girls. Ophelia put both her hands behind her back when I held out an open hand.
“I was on the chair to get the blue one first. Rowan didn’t get a go first. I thought of it. That’s why she can’t get it. Cause I said it first.”
“Give them both to me. What do you want it for?”
“I had it first,” Rowan squealed.
“That’s it. Enough of this constant bickering. Go to your room. Go to your room,” I said with a stern look back and forth from one to the other.
“But I had—.”
“Argh! Shh. Both of you go to your rooms until I say. I’m going to make your dad some lunch, and then we’re going to take it to him. If you two don’t stop fighting, I’m going to leave you there with your dad. Now go to your rooms and think about how much you love each other. Move it,” I said for good measure with a pat to each of their bottoms. They walked off with pouty lips, Rowan still arguing about having the stupid thing first. The reasoning behind the fight was left a mystery. I had no idea why they wanted the stupid spatula, or why the identical green one wasn’t good enough.
I may have done a little victory dance while I made my obstinate husband a healthy lunch. I sang in a loud tune with Katy Perry, dancing my hips while I boasted my husband’s illness. Told ya.
By the time I went for the girls, they were both sitting on Rowan’s floor making arrangements for an enchanted ball. Ophelia’s Barbie would arrive wearing an ice gown like on Frozen. Rowan’s would show up in a pink gown with silver shoes. Both girls brushed out their doll’s long hair, Indian style on the floor.
“That’s more like it. Let’s go see, Daddy.”
Like good little troopers, my girls stood and followed me out. Barbie’s in hand. God, I loved them.
I dropped my guard a little once we made it to where Paxton worked. I was overly impressed. An entire back yard transformed into a beautiful addition to the beach house. The pool looked like it flowed over into the ocean. Elegant blue lights twinkled below the water. I kept a hand in mine, one on each side while I observed Paxton’s work. He did do more than mow yards.
The landscaping was amazing, and I couldn’t wait to make it over to the stone patio. Paxton was bent over, smoothing a sand mixture between the cracks. He looked up to us, and I waited for him to drop a trowel before I walked over to him.
“Wow, Paxton. This is amazing. You did this?” I questioned as I dropped the shoulder bag and looked around.
- Предыдущая
- 51/65
- Следующая
