Page 110 of Now and Then

“Today’s Halloween, and look.” I point to the window. “It’s still raining. I think they can survive a day stuck in the station without me. I’d much rather spend a day like this wrapped up in you.”

She braces her chin on her hand. “That sounds perfect.”

“Good.” I run my fingers through her hair. “Better question is, can you take the day off?”

“I can’t remember the last time I took a day off.” She taps her finger against her lip. “Good thing I’m technically at work.”

I stand at the kitchen counter, pouring two cups of coffee as the warm, familiar scent fills the air. I can’t help but wonder if this is all a fever dream. When you pray for something for so long, it’s hard to believe it’s real when you finally get it.

Yesterday we did a little bit of everything and nothing at all. We set up some of the new decor, sorted my belongings in the barn into keep, sell, and donate piles, and grilled burgers for dinner. Sutton spent part of the afternoon answering emails and working at the kitchen table, though I did manage to convince her to take more than a few breaks with me since we were supposed to be taking the day off.

My house is too far out of town to get trick-or-treaters, so we spent the evening on the couch watching a haunted mansion show surrounded by our favorite junk food. Around nine, Sutton drifted off to sleep draped across my chest, but I stayed up later listening to her breathe.

I slide her mug across the counter as she leans against it, fingers curling around the ceramic.

“Do you think Greer will notice?” Sutton murmurs, her voice muffled against the mug.

I yawn, stretching my neck side to side. “Notice what?”

She grunts. “That we . . .” She waves her hand vaguely between us. Her face is already blushing a deep pink, and it’s not even nine in the morning.

“Oh,” I laugh, “she’ll notice. They all will. In fact, I’m sure Navy’s already got her questions ready.”

“Fantastic,” Sutton groans. She takes a sip from her mug. “We’re never going to hear the end of this, are we?”

“Doubtful.” I step forward and press a kiss to her forehead.

“Good thing they’ll be distracted untangling three miles of Christmas lights.” Sutton laughs softly, the sound easy and unguarded.

I could die a happy man getting to hear her laugh every day. “Three miles?”

“You’re underestimating just how much Greer loves Christmas.”

Later, we head to Greer’s. Water puddles along my dirt driveway, and the streets glisten and shine as we enter town. Sutton rolls down my truck windows. The air is crisp and sharp as it whips into the cab of my truck.

“I love it when it rains,” Sutton says wistfully. Her hair is twisted up in a more casual version of a typical sleek bun, and she’s put on some of the clothes I bought and put in her drawer.

Reaching across the bench seat, I rest my hand on top of her thigh. Her mouth tilts up at the corner.

We decide to stop by Ground Up first, and when we get there, we’re lucky to have the place to ourselves. We park along the street. A blast of warm air hits us in the face as I open the door, and we’re instantly surrounded by the heady scent of warm nutmeg. My mouth waters at the thought of one of Navy’s infamous cinnamon rolls.

“Well, well, well,” Navy teases, her head popping up over the pastry case. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“You know,” I say, holding the door open and gesturing for Sutton to step in. “Good morning is the typical greeting for customers.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see that surly look on your face,” Navy says.

Sutton steps in front of me, hands held out like she’s stopping a fight. “It’s early. I need more coffee. You two can do whatever this is later.”

I nod my head. Navy eyes me over Sutton’s shoulders. I can practically see the questions and judgments appearing over Navy’s head like speech bubbles in a cartoon. I look her dead in the face and raise my eyebrows in a dare. She glowers at me, looks to Sutton, who’s scanning the pastries, and back to me.

Suddenly, Sutton’s phone rings, breaking the tension between Navy and me.

“I’ll be right back,” Sutton says, stepping back into the damp November morning.

I step up to the counter and into general kneecap-breaking distance. Sutton is animatedly talking on the phone, most likely with her mom.

“She looks happy,” Navy states plainly.