“Would that change things for you? You know, with us?” I can’t even keep a straight face through that.
He does though. “I think we both know it would.”
“Wow.” I shake my head, laughing. “Also, whipped cream is full of sugar. As is your pie. So, it’s not healthy. No matter how you spin it, which just makes it a waste. Because you could be eating straight-crap dessert, as all dessert should be, with the full, delectable flavor of a straight-crap dessert, but instead you’re settling for veggies in a bland crust, soaked in sugar. Still crap. Just with former nutrients and less of the yummy factor.” I press my lips together and raise my brows at him. “Face it, Knox. Pie sucks.”
“I suppose next you’ll want to tell me the Bermuda Triangle is made up too?”
“You’re talking to the girl with a ghost in her closet,” I remind him. “Obviously, it’s real.”
For a moment, we both wait it out, and I’m almost pleased to see he’s as stubborn as I am. Then we both crack at the same time, laughing at each other, and I’m even more thrilled to find he’s also just as easily amused and unlike my ex-husband, doesn’t take banter so seriously he takes offense.
“Alright then,” he says as both of us quiet down again, “if my list seems so trivial to you, what would you deem most important to cover right out the gate?”
“Hm. Good question,” I pretend to ponder.
“Don’t even try me,” he pokes my side, tickling me. “I know you have a whole list ready to go already.”
“Fine.” I grin, like an idiot. I don’t think anyone’s ever had me so pegged so fast before. “Just so you know, my list is serious, for real, important stuff.”
“Just so you know,” he says dipping his head toward mine. “You didn’t have to add that disclaimer.”
I can feel my grin attempt to stretch wider, but my face is out of room. So, I close my eyes, take a breath, and get real motherfucking real. “Most valuable thing you can share in a relationship. One thing you refuse to tolerate. And,” I pause to look up at him, “the last one is a scenario with multiple choice.”
“Go ahead.” He nods for me to continue.
“Imagine a couple that’s been married for a while and has a baby. Nah, let’s make it a toddler. It’s evening. After dinner. Before bath. And before bedtime. The husband is more than ready for some alone time with his wife, but she’s still running around cleaning up the kitchen, finishing up the laundry and picking up toys. Does he, A, wait patiently until she’s able to finish her work, get the baby to bed and focus on him without being distracted or B, does he stop her and sit her down for aserious chat about his feelings regarding not being a priority and how he’s desperate for her attention?”
“You want them answered in order?” he asks.
“Totally up to you.”
“In order it is.” He nods. “Most valuable thing you can share is trust. One thing I can’t tolerate is hate. And C. He cleans as she cooks, so there’s barely anything left to do after dinner. Since he hasn’t seen his kid all day, he can’t wait to do bath time, giving her a chance to catch up on the laundry she started earlier. Then bedtime is a family affair. Stories. Snuggles. The whole damn thing. And after, he follows her around the living room with the toy bin while she collects the toys from the day, giving them a chance to chat and pay attention to each other.” He shakes his head. “What the hell kinda options were A and B?”
I shrug. “The ones my ex went with.” I can barely keep from beaming. I figured he’d be smart enough to recognize the last one was a trick question, but I expected c to be something along the lines of, he got off his ass and did the chores while she got the baby ready for bed. Knox’s answer was so much better than that.
“No offense, but your ex sounds like a douchebag.” He wiggles my hand a bit, as if we’re shaking off the mention of him. “What about you? Where do you stand on those things?”
“You’re going to think I’m copying you,” I admit. “But trust is my number one thing too. It’s the one thing you can’t repair once you break it. Can’t replace it or rebuild it or whatever the fuck other terminology you want to throw at it. Once it’s broken, there’s just no coming back from that.” And I’ve tried. A lot. No amount of forgiveness can make you forget. Not to mention, those who broke my trust, always did it again when given the opportunity to. “I’m with you on the hate thing as well. But I probably would have answered intentional ignorance. Which, I kind of think tends to amount to the same thing.”
“What I’m hearing is, where I tend to try and just shut the bullshit down, you go about trying to enlighten the idiots.”
“I don’t really know why I bother. I don’t think I’ve managed to persuade anyone into the shining light of love and tolerance yet,” I mutter grimly.
“I’m glad you bother,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I often wish I had the patience to try that route.”
“Hot head?” I ask.
He laughs uncomfortably. “I mean, I don’t want to lie to you, but I don’t really want to claim that flaw full-on either.” He gets serious again. “Yeah, I can be. Certain things can definitely still trigger that side of me. But,” he says, stepping ahead and turning to face me even as we walk, “I believe we’re always able to grow and learn and evolve, and especially in the last decade or so, that hot head side is one I’ve been working hard at understanding and changing.” He slides in beside me again. “What about you? What would you say is your least likeable flaw?”
“Easy. I’m super judgmental.” Then I realize how that sounds and add, “but not in the way most people think when they hear that word. Like, I don’t judge people for their choices or mistakes or lifestyle, or what-the-fuck-ever. I’m all about ‘you do you’, just don’t hurt anybody else while you’re doing it. But,” and this isn’t really any less unpleasant, “I will absolutely judge someone for being weak or not using their allotted brain power to the fullest extent. Which sounds like I’m saying I judge people if I think they’re being stupid, and I do, but only if I know they could have been smarter. Make sense?” It’s still not pretty.
“Makes sense.”
“Are you going to judge me for being judgey?” I ask, suddenly regretting having just come right out with that. I’m sure I have other flaws. Milder ones. Ones women think are flaws but men don’t. I’m sure I have something like that.
“Do you feel like I’m judging you right now?” he sounds surprised. “Babe, this is a safe space. You and me, what we’re doing here, this all cards on the table shit, isn’t about changing how we feel about each other or altering how we see one another, it’s just about you knowing me, and me knowing you. And I do want to know you, Kenley. Every last part you want to show me. I’m here for it. And I don’t plan on looking away.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
