“Garrett!”
“Go to work.”
“We’re going to argue about this later,” she snaps.
I grin. “I’m counting on it.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry?—”
I catch Rory as she comes flying into the condo. She’s still in scrub pants and a t-shirt that saysShow Me Your Uterus. “It’s okay.”
She huffs out a breath and a curl that came loose from her double French braid bounces against her forehead. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and change.”
“No rush. The ninety minutes doesn’t start until we’re both ready.”
She brushes a kiss against my mouth and then runs to the shower. The water cranks on, then off. When she sprints out of the bathroom barely wrapped in a towel, water droplets still clinging to her, I follow her to the bedroom.
Suddenly I’m less interested in ice cream and more interested in chasing those droplets with my tongue.
“Don’t,” she warns as she briskly dries herself off, making everything jiggle.
“Why not?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“We’re running out of time to appreciate our neighbourhood.”
I tip my head back and laugh. I don’t bother pointing out that she walks through Little Italy every day, going to and from the hospital. What she’s really saying is, we need to take one of our precious blocked-out date moments and focus on the good that we had here.
Something specific to remember and hold in our hearts.
So licking my way between her tits and down her belly will have to wait until after we get gelato.
Fine.
I lean against the doorway and cross my arms. “All right. But slow down, let me appreciate you getting dressed first.”
She rolls her eyes, but then takes her time stretching herarms high over her head, making her tits bounce, as she slides her arms into a t-shirt.
By the time she’s zipping up her jeans, I’m half hard and completely dialled in.
“Ready to go?”
“Mmhmm.” She picks up the partridge timer. “Never too late, right?”
“Never.”
She turns it to the full hour and a half. “And…start.”
Hand in hand, we stroll the few blocks to the gelato shop. Her fingers feel so good woven through mine. Strong little fingers. Sure little fingers. Hands that are so steady when she’s doing surgery, and so soft when she’s welcoming a baby into the world.
And personally, so very clever when she touches me.
I rub my thumb against her skin, and she looks up at me. “How are you feeling about being done at the garage?”
I shrug. I liked some of the guys I worked with, but people come and go. This week it was my turn to go. “I’m mostly excited to get the rest of the move done.”
On my days off this month, I’ve been driving back and forth to Pine Harbour on my own. First it was to find us a rental house. Then I took a load of boxes to the farm. Then I got the keys to the house, and dropped off the couch Rory bought when we were broken up. The couch we hooked up on the first time and that I’ll cherish forever.
That most recent trip, Rory’s mom talked her way into getting a spare set of keys so she could clean our rental house top to bottom.
