Defining Us (Rocky Waters)

Chapter 26

26

GRAYSON

I wake up the next morning with a raging erection, but when I turn to face Ainsley, her spot is empty. Sighing, I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. She’s going to pester me about where I was yesterday, why I couldn’t help her deliver the cupcakes we had worked so hard on. Ha, there is the “hard-on” again , I think, trying to decide what to do about my own. Maybe I can distract her with sex all day so she doesn’t ask where I was. The smile quickly fades into a frown because I know I should tell her. But I’m not sure I want her to know yet. And then a light bulb goes off in my head and a plan formulates. My smile returns, just as my girl does.

Ainsley saunters back into the room, wearing nothing but my T-shirt. She’s carrying a tray, with two mugs of coffee—bless her soul—and a plate of something. As carefully as she can, she places the tray on my nightstand, making sure that it isn’t going to teeter off. Grabbing my usual mug, she commands, “Sit up.” And obey her I do. I push myself up to sitting, trying as best as I can to conceal the situation in my pants. Knowing Ainsley, it will be the first place she looks once she climbs back in bed with me. I would grab her and pull her down, but she’s handing me my mug so that’s not going to work .

She takes the plate and her mug and walks over to her side of the bed. Balancing the plate on her overcrowded nightstand, she slides into bed next to me, careful not to spill her cup.

“What’s on the plate?” I ask her as she settles down on her pillow.

“A new cookie recipe. I couldn’t sleep so I’ve been baking.”

I glance over at the clock. Eight a.m. “How long have you been awake for, darling?”

She shrugs. “Since 5:30. I didn’t think you’d want the early wake up on your day off.”

While she’s right, I do like to sleep in on the weekends, she also knows that she can wake me up whenever she wants; it’s never stopped her before. On several occasions, she’s woken me up from a deep sleep for a variety of reasons, all of which involve some sort of sexual act. No, that’s not true. Every once in a while, she has bad dreams and once she woke me up because the main character in the book she was reading died. A fictional character. And she was sobbing like she lost her best friend in the entire world. She’s lucky I love her.

“Thanks, darling. I appreciate it.” I bring the mug of steaming coffee to my lips and take a tiny sip, so as not to burn my mouth. Placing it back on the nightstand, I slink my way out of bed so I can use the bathroom. At least I had the good fortune of sleeping with my boxers on last night.

When I get back, my erection much less of a problem now, Ainsley’s nibbling on a cookie. Throwing myself on the bed next to her, I swipe the cookie from her hand.

She immediately protests. “Hey! That’s my cookie. Get your own.”

With my mouth full of cookie, I mumble, “I believe you are mistaken. My mouth, my cookie.”

She huffs as she turns herself to grab another cookie off the plate. After swallowing, I commend her recipe. “I like this one. There’s a hint of orange? ”

She nods. “Too much?” She hesitantly awaits my answer. I hate that she still doubts herself when trying something new.

“Nope. It’s perfect.”

“Phew. I made some notes so I can remember it for later when I need to replicate it. The first batch was a definite no. Those went right in the trash.” She giggles.

Over the last few months, she’s been way more adventurous in the kitchen. She has a lot of recipes in her repertoire, and she’s really good at cooking without a recipe to recreate a dish she’s eaten before. Lately, though, she’s been branching out and creating her own concoctions. While everything might not taste great, at least it’s mostly all edible, unlike some of the disasters I’ve tried to concoct to compete with her. My stomach howls in protest remembering one batch of a god-awful creamy pasta sauce. Yuck!

“Earth to Grayson,” I hear her call as I snap out of my memories. I noticed she’s finished her cookie and has put her mug down too. She cuddles up close to me, laying her head on my chest. She rubs her fingers over my chest, tugging gently on the light smattering of hair. No matter what her mood, the time of day, what we are doing, when she lays her head on my chest, even if we are standing, I’ve learned that she needs comforting.

“What’s up, darling?” I ask, bringing my arm around her back.

She sighs, takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Where did you have to go yesterday?” she whispers.

Crap! I seriously didn’t think it would bother her this much. I figured she wouldn’t let it go without an answer, but her position, coupled with the fact that she’s hesitant and whispering, lets me know it’s really bothering her.

Before I can answer, my fingers find her hair and begin to twirl. “Are you okay?” I have to strain to even hear her.

It’s been a while since I’ve had to do damage control. We’ve managed to avoid her mother since the wedding, and she hasn’t said anything to me about whether or not she’s spoken to her father about it. I know she wanted to talk with him once we got back from Drew’s wedding, but I don’t know that she ever got a chance without her mother there. Besides the major fight we had about Natalie and Caleb, my bubbly girl has been in appearance lately.

“I went to see your father.”

“Oh,” is all she manages to squeak out. She continues rubbing my chest, applying a little more pressure now, so I know I have to tell her the whole story. Not that it’s a secret because in truth, I know it will be a good thing for her.

“I had to ask him a question, a question I should have asked before I asked you to marry me. But I was too damn excited for you to wear my ring that I overlooked it.” I pause for a moment. I know she’s hanging on my every word and is willing me to continue, preferably as fast as I can get it out. “He was shocked.”

I don’t get to continue because she whips her head off my chest and is glaring at me. Maybe glaring is too harsh of a word; she’s more gawking at me, wondering what the hell I’m going to say next.

“He’s shocked that you had the decency to ask now?” she wonders.

I shake my head. “No, he actually didn’t mind too much that I didn’t ask his permission. He knows you are undoubtedly happy so there’s no concern there. He just didn’t know.”

She’s getting irritated at me, her face conveys it all. “Grayson, he didn’t know what?” she asks, pouting her lips and furrowing her brows.

“He didn’t know your mother told you they wouldn’t be at your wedding.”

She about jumps off the bed. “He didn’t know that? How could he not have known that?” She’s off the bed and pacing the floor, muttering to herself as I continue.

“He flat out told me that he wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world. Like, nothing is going to stop him from walking you down that aisle.”

She stops pacing, her face jerking in my direction. “He said that?” When I nod, her face softens the tiniest bit. “My mom?” she questions.

“We didn’t talk about your mom. The only time I mentioned her was when I told him what she said about not coming to the wedding. I didn’t even go into the other things she said because his face looked like, well like yours did a moment ago when you jumped off the bed.”

“So, he’s really going to come?” She’s whispering again.

I get off the bed and walk over to her. I cup her face in my hands and look deep into her eyes. “Yes, darling, he will be there. No matter where, no matter when, your dad will be there. Heck, he even offered to pay for it.” Her face, which looked so fallen and sad just a few short moments ago, now beams with joy. And there’s no doubt in my mind that the tear that slips down her cheeks is one of pure happiness. And I can’t help to feel responsible that I helped her get to this place because she so deserves this. If I have to spend the rest of my life making sure she knows this, then I will make that my mission. Because as happy as she is right now, she makes me infinitely happy, happier than I ever imagined I could be.

Out of nowhere, she’s jumping into my arms. I manage to catch her before we both fall over. She lays her head on my shoulder, hanging her arms down my back. “Gray?”

“Yeah, love?”

“You realize you’re stuck with me, right? Like, especially now that you have my father’s blessing, I belong to you?”

Since I can’t see her face, I can’t quite gauge her reaction, but when her body starts to slightly shake, I confirm that she’s laughing. Her response is just what we need to lighten the mood, so instead of answering her, I toss her down on the bed. Her cackles fade away as she matches me, thrust for thrust, showing me that not only does she belong to me, but that I belong to her.

O nce Ainsley knows that her dad will officially be at the wedding, she finally starts to plan it. And by “finally” I mean, she allows me to talk about it more than once a day. And by “plan it,” I mean that every day, she picks one thing she wants. She actually doesn’t have too many requests, but she damn sure has opinions about what she doesn’t want. I think it only takes us about three months to make every last decision.

In the meantime, she has decided to start a blog, chronicling her passion and love for baking. My favorite posts are what she calls “Trashcan Treats” where she describes the mistakes she makes along the way, the food that ends up in the trashcan. She absolutely loves both the writing and the baking aspect of it; it’s the perfect fit for her, and I can’t but help to feel so proud of who she’s become, the sense of worth this project gives her. I think she finally “gets” that she’s worth the love and adoration that I not only have for her, but our friends and her father, too. We still don’t talk about her mom, and well, her friends from her life BG, “Before Grayson,” only come around once in a blue moon. However, the fact that she’s ridiculously happy allows her to see the world in a different light, one with a more positive worldview.

As for me, I can’t wait to make this girl my wife. About once a week, I think about giving in to her original wishes about a small ceremony, and then she does something that makes me change my mind. Like right now.

As much as I don’t like to share her with others, when she’s up in the front of a classroom of students, giving instructions on how to measure out the flour, the sugar, the chocolate, I want to invite everyone I know and then some to our wedding so that everyone and anyone knows that not only will she be my wife, but she is my life .

I watch as she moves to the girl in the back row. She’s about nine and she can’t quite seem to crack the eggs for the cupcakes they are making. With the utmost skill, Ainsley patiently demonstrates the best way to crack the eggs to avoid getting shells in the bowl. When the shy girl finally successfully completes the task, her face lights up. And while Ainsley couldn’t be more proud of her student, I couldn’t be prouder of her.

When she’s done with the girl, she glances at me where I stand in the back of the room. It’s where you’ll find me every Tuesday afternoon, just watching her. She once asked me if I had a possessiveness fetish with keeping her close to me. I prefer to call it a devotion, but yes, when it comes to Ainsley, where she is, I’m bound to be close by. What can I say? She stole my heart the minute her lips met mine, and well, nothing in this world can ever make me take it back.

She blows me a kiss, mouths, “Love you,” and diverts her attention back to the kids. Crossing my feet at the ankles and leaning against the doorframe, a smile creeps over my face. “Ainsley Bradford, you overwhelm me, in the best possible way,” I whisper. I know she can’t hear me, but she knows, she gets it.

And she’s the only one who ever will.