She drops the sign as I stop in front of her, wrapping her arms around my neck and hanging on when I pick her up with my good arm clamped around her and kissing her thoroughly.
Not for long enough, but we are in a public place, and it’s definitely harder to hold her up with just one arm. Reluctantly, I lower her back to her feet and end the kiss. She smiles up at me, her hands cupping my stubble-roughened cheeks, pulling my lips to hers for one quick, sweet kiss. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
My brow wrinkles in concern. Megan’s not a cryer. She’s stone cold when she’s angry, and if and when she does let out her tears eventually, it’s in private. “Hey, now. What’s with the waterworks? Has staying with Lance been that bad? I mean, I lived with the guy for a couple years, so I get it, but I would’ve thought Abby would’ve toned that shit down by now.”
She lets out a gurgly laugh. “I’m just happy you’re here is all.” She steps back and laces her fingers with mine, taking my suitcase with her free hand since I’ve got the damn sling on. “Did you check a bag, or is this everything?”
“I had to check my garment bag with my suit.”
With a nod, she leads the way to baggage claim, standing next to me, leaning against my side while we wait. I wrap my arm around her, happy to just soak in her presence without a word.
After grabbing my bag, she leads the way to the car, and we make small talk as she drives us through our old stomping grounds to the downtown hotel where we’re staying the next few days.
“How was staying with Lance and Abby?”
She shoots a smile my way, the streetlights illuminating her face, and whatever weirdness had claimed her when she met me in the airport seems to have dissolved. “It was good. They’ve got a nice place now, so I got an actual bedroom instead of the couch.”
“Do they still have that same couch, though?”
She looks affronted at the suggestion they would’ve replaced the couch she shared with Abby when they lived together ages ago. “Of course. Why wouldn’t they? That couch is the best.”
I chuckle. “I don’t know. Maybe they wanted an upgrade from college-student chic?”
“Pssh.” She flips a hand, dismissing my comment. “Anyone would be lucky to have that couch. Plus, Abby’s too frugal. She doesn’t like replacing things that aren’t overtly broken or falling apart. I predict that Lance will be able to convince her to buy a new couch when that one either breaks or the fabric starts fraying in multiple places.”
“Good point,” I agree with a smile. That does sound exactly like Abby. Even when they got married, she had a hard time registering for new dishes and kitchenware because she insisted that what they had was perfectly fine. Megan, in her duties as maid-of-honor, forced Abby to at least register at a few stores and told her she could exchange anything she didn’t want for things she actually needed or return them and keep the cash after the wedding if having new dishes bothered her that much.
Of course Megan was counting on the fact that Abby would think she’d seem ungrateful for doing that, and so she ensured that her friend would at least get an upgrade from the mismatched thrift store dishes she’d been using for years. “It would be one thing if they were purposely mismatched and went well together,” she’d complained to me, “but they’re just grab-whatever’s-cheapest-on-half-price-day-at-the-thrift-store mismatched. I just want her to be happy.” And the artist in Megan insists that people are happiest when they have beautiful things.
And I have to admit that since living with her, I am happier. Arguably, that’s more about her than the things she surrounds herself with, but having her decorate our space certainly doesn’t hurt anything. Our condo is a riot of colors and textures, but they all harmonize with each other, and even when she’s not home, I feel better in that space than I ever did in the house I shared with Matt and Lance for a while with its crappy second-hand furniture, bare walls, and discount store bedding.
Mostly, though, it’s Megan. Her energy infuses our space, and being with her always makes me better.
Which is why I’m so glad to be here with her again. And when it’s time to go, I’ll be happy we’re returning home together.
Reaching over, I settle my hand on her thigh as she navigates the maze of one-way streets, finally stopping in front of the valet stand in front of a small, boutique hotel. The lobby is tiny, but sumptuous, full of dark woods and lush fabrics. We skip the check-in desk and head straight for the closet-sized elevator, because Megan checked in before coming to pick me up.
Once we’re in our room, I hang my suit up in the closet next to Megan’s dress so it won’t be wrinkled for Coach Hanson’s retirement party tomorrow before relieving myself of the sling, twisting my neck this way and that to work out a few kinks and gently stretching my tender shoulder.
When I turn, Megan’s eyes are on me, tracing the lines of my body that press against my fitted hunter green thermal henley.
She raises her eyes to mine when she notices that I’ve caught her in the act of checking me out. With a smile pulling on her lips she says, “You are a beautiful man.”
“Thank you.” I smile back, slow and sexy, reaching for her and reeling her in until I have her in my arms.
She sighs and wraps her arms around me, her cheek over my heart. “This is much better.”
A warm bubble of happiness swells in my chest. “You
