accompany Elise to a dinner with a client. It’s part of my job now that I’ve moved up in the agency. I don’t mind it either—good food, good company—but I missed Aiden. He’s been busy the last few days, more so than usual.
I turn back down the hall and Stanley trots beside me. If he ever gets too far ahead, he loops back to me again, as if impatient with how slow I walk compared to him.
I dip my head into the living room, but Aiden’s not there.
I flip off the TV and fold a throw blanket, tidying up before I head back out into the hall.
Our guest bathroom is empty, as is the guest bedroom.
I hear the telltale sound of a pinging keyboard as I get closer to our small office. The door is mostly closed, but I toe it open another few inches. Aiden doesn’t notice. I doubt he’s noticed that the room is pitch-black either. His eyes have slowly adjusted to it. He sits behind his computer screen, his focus on the words he’s writing. His expression screws up, as if he’s not happy with something, then his fingers start flying again. I listen to the sound of the keyboard as he types rapidly, and it proves as soothing as a lullaby.
Any residual stress from work and life seem to disappear as I watch him work.
My husband, the journalist.
If I didn’t interrupt him, he’d work well into the night. He’s always been like that, chasing words when they seem to flow, no matter the time or the day. He’s missed doctor’s appointments and dinners because he’s so caught up in his work. I have to remind him to eat if he’s really focused. More often than not, I just bring food to him at his desk. When I do, he murmurs a thanks, sometimes not even bothering to glance up at me before I leave the room.
It’s not always like that, though. Only when he’s really in the zone.
“I see you standing over there,” he says suddenly.
I grin.
“I thought I was being sneaky.”
“Yeah, well Stanley’s breathing ruined that.”
The dog leaves my side then, trotting over to Aiden and rising up onto his hind legs so he can prop his front paws on Aiden’s thigh. Aiden rubs his head and glances over at me.
His gaze drags down me from head to toe, then back again. Our eyes lock and he tips his head to the side.
“Beautiful.”
I half-smile, not quite believing him. It’s been a long day at the office, followed by a long dinner. I could use a bath and some sleep.
“C’mere,” he says, waving me over.
I push off the doorjamb and curve around his desk, walking up to him. He reaches out for my waist and tugs me down onto his lap. Stanley barks and jumps, feeling left out.
“How was your day?” Aiden asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear gently.
“Busy.”
He hums. “Good busy?”
I smile and nod.
His face is only illuminated by the soft glow of the computer screen. He has a five o’clock shadow and tired eyes. He probably hasn’t moved from this spot all day.
“How’s the article coming along?”
“I had to completely restart it this morning. I’d somehow lost my thread.”
“And now?” I ask, flattening my hand against his chest, right above his heart so I can feel its rhythm.
“It’s better. I think. I won’t know until I read back through it in the morning. It could still be total gibberish.”
I laugh because I know it’s not. Aiden is ridiculously good at what he does. He still works for the Times. After his impromptu move back to Texas, his editor called and they struck a deal. Aiden could continue to work for them on a freelance basis. He’d take a partial pay cut in exchange for less travel demands. It’s worked out well for us. With our combined salaries, we could afford to buy and fix up an older house east of I-35. It needed a lot of love. I cringe thinking about the state the place was in when we first bought it.
We took our time renovating it, learning to do most of it ourselves as we went along. We ripped out the horrible orange shag carpet and tore away the maroon wallpaper that seemed to dominate every room in the house. We updated the cabinets in the kitchen and bought new appliances. And sure, it could still use some updates. The original hardwood floors creak. The clawfoot tub in the master