First Comes Marriage (Aster Bay #3)

Chapter Twenty-six

Baz was working on his laptop at the kitchen island when Sabrina got home. For the last two weeks, he’d taken to working the end of the day from home, timing his arrival to coincide with her typical return from the pottery studio. It would be another few days before she held her first break-up party there for Kyla’s friend Jo, but since opening last week she’d welcomed a group from the senior center, led by Mrs. White and Aunt Lucy, to make bowls for the food pantry’s latest fundraiser, and a local mommy-and-me class. It was a slow start to be sure, but Baz was certain that once word got out about the break-up parties, business would be booming.

Even if she never booked another event, he was so damn proud of her. She’d built a whole new studio, started from scratch and had it up and running in record time, and she’d done it all on her own. And he was the lucky bastard who got to stand by her side while she did.

He couldn’t imagine not standing there for the rest of his life. He certainly couldn’t fathom giving her up simply because they’d met an arbitrary deadline on the calendar. But he wasn’t sure if she felt the same way.

Most days he came home early to hear about what was happening in the studio. So far, he’d learned all about the difference between slab building and throwing on the wheel—well, not all about it, but enough to understand what she was talking about when she enthusiastically recounted her day.

But today was different.

Today, she’d had her first appointment with a new doctor—someone Tessa had recommended in Providence—and Baz had been on edge all day waiting to hear how it had gone, if she’d gotten whatever she needed to keep her from being in pain again. Sabrina had tried to explain that it wasn’t that simple, that even with medication there still might be bad days, but it had to be better than what he’d seen on that first day back from Vegas, right? And if that was a mild flare up…

He hoped this doctor was good.

He glanced up from his laptop when the door closed behind her. “How was your appointment?”

“Fine.” She stepped between his legs, into his waiting arms, and tilted her face up to receive his kiss. It was all so…domestic. Simple. Easy.

“You got what you needed?”

“Mmhmm. One shiny new prescription for birth control pills.”

“And that will help?”

“It should.” She rested her hands on his biceps, her fingers skating over the muscles beneath his shirt. How did that simple touch feel that good? “What do you want to do for dinner tonight?” she asked.

If someone had asked him a year ago—hell, two months ago—if he’d ever be the kind of man who waited for his wife to come home from work, who felt lighter with each passing week of these everyday conversations and joint decisions, he would have laughed in their face. Well, to be fair, Baz didn’t laugh all that often even two months ago. Yet another thing Sabrina had changed about his life.

Baz curled his hands around the back of her thighs and pulled her closer, nuzzling into her neck. “I have a few ideas.” He nipped at her skin and she laughed, the throaty, fluttery kind that meant she was already turned on. “Let me take you out tonight.”

“Like a date?” Her voice was breathy, unsure.

“Yeah, wildflower. Like a date.”

Simple.

Could it be simple?

Sometimes he could almost forget that none of this was meant to happen. Not taking her out on a date, not sleeping every night in her arms, or waking up and reaching for her. Not the way she looked at him like she was always on the brink of saying something he hadn’t let himself want in years—not since her sister.

It all seemed close enough to touch, as real as the feel of her silken hair wrapped around his fist or her breath on his neck.

They hadn’t done anything in the right order, and yet maybe that was the key. With Holly, Baz had followed the rulebook: he’d waited until after their third date to ask her up to his apartment, he’d gotten down on one knee, he’d smiled for the overpriced engagement photos—and where had it gotten him?

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for traditional. Maybe he and Sabrina were meant to forge their own path. Maybe simple was a feeling, not a plan.

Like eating ice cream at two a.m. as the moonlight danced on his wife’s skin.

Like watching the town he loved open its arms to her, and watching her embrace it right back.

Like the feel of her freckles beneath his lips as he traced their path across her clavicle.

Simple.

** *

Baz watched from the bathroom doorway as Sabrina put small diamond studs in her ears, the finishing touch on her date night outfit. She was always beautiful but she was beyond gorgeous in the form-fitting dress in a green color that made her eyes seem even more vibrant, her long legs on display and the neckline low enough to tease at the shadow between her breasts. He was half tempted to call off this plan and take her to bed straightaway.

Stop thinking with your dick.

This was important. They needed to keep their hands to themselves long enough to have a real conversation—about their future, about whatever was going on with her health, about the feeling in his chest that he was afraid to name. And the longer he went without naming it, the more he felt like maybe it was all in his head. It had only been a few weeks, after all. Maybe he was confusing lust with…something more. Maybe he was letting their circumstances muddle his thoughts. Baz had never thought he’d be the kind of guy to find commitment sexy, at least not after Holly, but knowing Sabrina was his wife, that she wore his ring—Christ, it made him half hard just thinking about it.

And yet they’d skipped all the things that were supposed to come before “I do”—the courtship and the slow discovery of one another. Sabrina deserved that. She deserved to be swept off her feet, to feel chosen. Tonight, he would give her that.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re not going to make it to dinner,” Sabrina said with a laugh.

“Just admiring the view.” He pushed off of the doorframe and stepped behind her, settling his hands on her hips and his lips on the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

She sighed happily and leaned back against him. “We could stay home. Order in.”

He nipped her shoulder, and she yelped in surprise, the sound dissolving into a giggle that made him smile in spite of himself. “Temptress.”

She laughed in earnest, then pushed away from him and reached for her lipstick, a bright red he fully intended to see smeared all over his cock later. “Two minutes,” she said when he got distracted by the color painting her lips.

He shook his head to clear it. “I’ll give you five.”

“You know me so well.”

“That I do.”

When she emerged from the bathroom—four and a half minutes later—Baz had to remind himself to breathe. Then she took his hand, and smiled up at him, and for a moment, it felt like everything was slotting into place. Like this was the way it was meant to be all along.

Their first stop was at Lemon and Thyme. Baz had called ahead and placed a to-go order, despite Jamie doing his best to convince him that the food would taste better if they ate in at the restaurant. But Baz had other plans, a whole evening, and it didn’t involve sitting in Lemon and Thyme while half of Aster Bay tried to eavesdrop on their conversation.

The hostess greeted Baz warmly and within minutes Jamie pushed through the double doors of the kitchen in his pristine chef’s jacket, a large brown paper bag filled with some of the best food in the state in his hands.

“You’re lucky you’re practically family,” Jamie said, handing over the bag. “I usually don’t make my calamari for to-go orders.”

“We appreciate you compromising on your impossibly high standards,” Baz said.

“You better.”

Sabrina beamed at Jamie. “You have a packed house tonight!”

“Every night,” Baz said. It was funny, the way pride blossomed in his chest, to brag about his friend’s success, to watch Sabrina drink it in, to know that, as Jamie’s accountant, he had some small part in that.

“Hopefully it’ll slow down a little soon or I’ll need to hire even more help for while I’m out on paternity leave,” Jamie said.

“How’s Tessa holding up?” Baz asked.

“She’s great. Sore and she thinks I don’t hear her talking to the baby. She’s due in two weeks but she keeps telling the baby to stay in a little longer. I told her not to schedule the baby shower so close to her due date, but she’s determined to make it until after the shower.” Jamie shook his head, smiling.

“And the breakup party this weekend. Don’t let her forget,” Sabrina said.

Jamie chuckled. “No chance of that. She’s been talking about smashing a clay penis for weeks.”

Sabrina smiled wider.

“I’ve been cooking something special in the back for her. I added a dish of it for you. My treat,” Jamie said.

“What does Tessa have you making this week?” Baz asked.

“All South American flavors. I think I’ve finally perfected my fried plantains.”

“I thought you hated plantains,” Baz said.

“Chef.” A young kid, likely a busboy, approached the hostess stand where they stood talking. “Sorry to interrupt. Your wife’s on the phone. Something about empanadas.”

“Alright, Ben, thanks. I’ll be right in.” Jamie turned back to Baz, grinning. “You’ll see, when Sabrina’s pregnant with your first kid, it won’t matter what you hate anymore. Anything she wants, she gets.”

“Fucking right,” Baz said, grinning.

Alone again, the air suddenly felt heavier between them. Baz took Sabrina’s hand in his and squeezed. “Ready to go?”

She blinked away whatever shadows had crept into her eyes. “Yeah. Let’s go.”