My Fake Husband by Black, L. (lightest ebook reader .TXT) 📗

“You don’t have to cook for me, you know.”

“I know. But you’re doing me this tremendous favor. Opening your home to me and letting me use it as collateral. I can cook you some dinner,” I shrugged.

“It’s nice. Having supper made for me, knowing you’re here when I get home,” he said. My stupid heart turned over and I felt all mushy about it.

That was how dinner went. Flirting, accidental blunders admitting my lust and concealing it poorly. It was a minefield of meat and potatoes.

We went to the bank to add my name to the deed on his house and complete the paperwork on the application. On the way in, I stopped him.

“Something on my tie?” he asked.

“You’re tie’s perfect. Are you sure you want to do this? This makes it real. What if I can’t pay this for some reason?”

“Okay, first of all, marrying you was pretty damn real. And I have faith in you. You’ve got a successful business, you’re responsible and loyal, and there’s no doubt in my mind you’ll be fine.”

I was grateful that he believed in me, and it put my mind at ease a little. We sat together while we waited, and I showed him the email from my landlord who wanted out from under the headache of the building and its need for repairs. He essentially said it was mine if I could afford it, and named a price lower than what I had expected. So I completed the paperwork, optimistic for once.

The next afternoon, I was on my knees applying caulk beneath a waterlogged baseboard when I got a call from the bank that my loan was approved. I whooped, and then I texted Nicole and Michelle. They sent back the dancing emoji of joy. I finished up early, booked the plumber, and went to the grocery store. I bought steak and a little ice cream cake for a celebration dinner and picked up a bottle of champagne at the liquor store.

When Damon got home from his shift at the station, I had dinner waiting. I had washed and dried my hair, also taking the trouble to put on makeup. I’d even put on my purple dress for a sense of ceremony. When he walked in, he gave a low whistle.

“You look amazing. What have I done to deserve this?”

“You’re my hero. I say that unironically, too, because you married me and with all your worldly goods to me endowed. I got the loan!”

He ran over and grabbed me in a bear hug and spun me around.

“I’m so proud of you. You’re right. We should celebrate. Let me take a quick shower and clean up. You deserve a date who doesn’t look like he just pulled a twelve at the fire department.”

He kissed my cheek as he put me down. I felt flustered and giggly. I put the supper on our plates and lit a candle on the table. I turned on music on my phone. When he came down in his wedding suit, the collar of his shirt open, I saw that his hair was still damp from the shower. It made my palms itch to run my fingers through it. I bit my lip.

“This looks incredible, thank you,” he said, tucking into his dinner with appreciation.

I talked about which plumber I booked and when he could come, what the estimate was on repairs and how I was going with a cheap but durable laminate flooring for the shop and backroom both, and I planned to install it myself to save money. He offered to help.

“You’ve done so much already, I can’t let you. But thank you,” I said.

“What if I want to help? What if I like taking care of you, Trix?” he said, his voice low and beautiful, seeming to coil around me and intoxicate me.

“I got champagne,” I blurted out and took it out of the refrigerator. “Would you do the honors?”

He got up and popped the cork, poured it into glasses.

“To the flower shop,” he said, “to great success.”

“To my husband,” I said softly, feeling odd and sentimental.

We clinked our glasses and took a drink. He took my glass and set them both down. He brushed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You look so beautiful, so happy.” He was looking at me strangely, leaning closer. I spun away, my dress swirling around my legs. I got the ice cream cake from the freezer, brandished it proudly and cut slices for us as a distraction.

When we were done eating, I cleared the table, expecting him to go watch TV or something. But he stayed to help. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, “I’ll wash,” he said. “Least I can do after such a great dinner. I should’ve taken you out on the town.”

“Diner closes at nine,” I quipped.

“Okay, out on a bigger town than Rockford Falls,” he said ruefully.

I scooted over and started drying the dishes he washed and putting them away. We didn’t talk much. The playlist on my phone had ended so the music subsided. When he passed me the last pan to dry, I wiped it, trying to concentrate on what I was doing and not the fact I could smell his good cologne which he’d put on after his shower, seemingly just for me. I breathed it in so deep I wished I could’ve snorted it. It was so good.

I folded the dish towel and hung it on the side of the sink, brushed off my hands and looked around. Damon took my arm and pulled me closer. He crowded me back against the cabinet, his face so close to mine.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed. I shook my head, breathless.

Damon’s hands were on either side of me, gripping the counter, pinning me there. I swayed toward his chest, tipped my chin up for the kiss I was dying for. He lowered his mouth to mine. At the shock of that touch, I jolted,