The Flame Game (Magical Romantic Comedies #12) - R.J. Blain Page 0,47
Of my asshole parents. She thinks it was them. I already told Chief Barfield to request an angel for verification when they’re brought in for questioning. Practitioners could trick people with their likeness, and I’d rather have the truth than jump to conclusions. But, let’s face it. My asshole parents would do just that. Maybe we should ask the uncle over there about adding some extras to their future accommodations.”
“I could work something in with roses,” the Devil replied, coming out of the house and brushing his hands together. “I’ll take the roses home with me while you’re vacationing and care for them until your return. That will prevent any future trouble, and my wife enjoys caring for the underdog.”
“I’ll call her over for coffee when we’re back, and I might even give her back,” I replied.
“You’re evil,” the Devil informed me.
I giggled.
My husband regarded me with narrow eyes. “What have you done, you sneaky woman?”
As I looked forward to whatever punishment my husband would concoct, I announced, “I cut a good deal with the Devil, so I get to invite his wife over whenever I want, and I might even give her back.”
“And you yell at me about bargaining?”
“But she likes coffee, and I make the best coffee. And she likes kids.”
“She wants you to have another one of my suits, and I may have told her this specific suit works very well with wings.”
It didn’t take my husband long to figure out what I had in mind. “I’m going to let this slide once, Bailey.”
Victory was mine. “Okay. What do you want to do about my asshole parents?”
“I’ll let Barfield deal with that problem. Once we get the roses moved inside, we’ll gather what we need for our trip and resume our vacation.”
“I can go start the packing while you manly men—and angel—handle taking care of my roses,” I offered.
“I’m going to need your coffee for this,” Quinn announced without any shame. “I have gone weeks without your coffee, and I will surely perish if I do not get any.”
I loved him so much it hurt. “I’ll make extra coffee just for you.” As I’d get scolded if I fell again, I waddled to the door, gave my favorite rose’s new pot a fond pat, and began preparing for our adventure to Vermont.
I did my best work on making coffee while my eager husband hovered, the equivalent of an excited puppy while observing me make his precious brew. As such, I went to work scouring the house for clothes suitable for a hike into Vermont, discovering I needed to do a better job of shopping for winter clothes. As promised, I snagged the lacy black bra and panties Quinn loved best, and I dug through my box of spare clothing to retrieve several other sets just like them I’d found in different colors.
I grabbed enough clothes for him, selfishly selecting what I enjoyed him wearing the most.
Once we had what we needed for the trip, I went into our home office, which had our filing cabinets, book storage, and a small table two could work at when necessary. Fortunately, Quinn kept immaculate records, and he had receipts from the day he’d turned eighteen. Not only did he have his old receipts, he labeled them by type and month, making it easy to sort through. As I had no idea when he’d married Audrey, I started from the very beginning, rummaging through his life before we’d met.
The receipts told a startlingly sad story of him working and doing little else. I found the title and purchase agreement for his car, discovering he’d bought it used and had financed it for five years. It hadn’t had many miles on it when he’d gotten his hands on it.
It cost significantly less than I’d expected it to.
I would have thought his promotion would have earned him something better—or at least with a much higher price tag.
Once Audrey came into his life, his spending habits changed—and his work hours increased a terrifying amount. Then, starting shortly before he’d come storming into my life, his financial story changed again.
He established a budget for coffee, and he established folders dedicated to his coffee habit.
Most of the receipts came from my work.
“What an obsessive man,” I murmured, making sure I put everything back exactly as I found it before eyeballing the filing cabinet Quinn constantly glared at. It took some trial and error, but one of the keys he’d given me for the cabinets opened it.