“Shouldn’t that be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?”
Pregnant! I tense. Shit. No. Kids. Hell no. “Not yet,” I state, as I try to calm my suddenly spiked heart rate.
“No. Not yet!” Ana sounds as panicked as me.
I take a deep breath. “On that we can agree, Mrs. Grey.”
She stops mashing the avocado. “You do want kids, though, don’t you?”
“Sure, yes. Eventually. But I’m not ready to share you yet.” I kiss her neck.
One day. Sure.
“What are you making? Looks good.” I nuzzle her ear. She quivers and gives me a wicked grin.
“Subs.” She smirks.
God, I love this woman’s sense of humor.
I nip her earlobe. “My favorite,” I whisper in her ear, and am rewarded with a poke in my side from her elbow. “Mrs. Grey, you wound me.” I clutch my damaged side in a performance worthy of an Oscar winner.
“Wimp,” Ana teases.
“Wimp?” Playfully, I slap her behind. “Hurry up with my food, wench. And later I’ll show you how wimpy I can be.” I spank her again and head to the fridge. “Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask.
Ana flashes me a quick smile. “Please.”
Ana does good sub. What can I say?
Taking both our plates, I leave them in the sink for Gail. I top off both our wineglasses, then spread out Gia’s plans over the breakfast bar. We pore over her drawings; she’s worked hard and produced thorough and detailed elevations. Her designs are impressive. But what does my wife think?
Ana looks up at me. “I love her proposal to make the entire downstairs back wall glass, but…”
“But?” I prompt.
She sighs. “I don’t want to take all the character out of the house.”
“Character?”
“Yes. What Gia is proposing is quite radical, but, well, I fell in love with the house as it is, warts and all.”
Oh. I think this house is in need of a serious update.
“I kind of like it the way it is,” she says quietly, her expression serious.
In that moment, everything becomes clear to me. “I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you want. It’s yours.”
She frowns. “I want you to like it, too. To be happy in it, too.”
“I’ll be happy wherever you are. It’s that simple, Ana.” I mean it. You are what will make the house a home, and I want you happy. Always.
“Well—” Her breath catches in her throat. “I like the glass wall. Maybe we could ask her to incorporate it into the house a little more sympathetically.”
“Sure. Whatever you want. What about the plans for upstairs and the basement?”
“I’m cool with those.”
“Good.”
She bites her lip. “Do you want to put in a playroom?” she blurts, and her question completely takes me by surprise. She flushes.
Ana, Ana, Ana, even after today, you’re still shy about what we do?
I hide my smile. “Do you?” I ask.
She raises one narrow shoulder, trying to look nonchalant. “Um, if you want.”
I think she does.
“Let’s leave our options open for the moment. After all, this will be a family home. Besides, we can improvise.”
“I like improvising,” she whispers.
Me, too, baby.
“There’s something I want to discuss.” I don’t want separate bathrooms. I like showering with Ana too much.
Fortunately, she agrees.
“Are you going back to work?” Ana asks as I roll up the plans.
“Not if you don’t want me to. What would you like to do?”
“We could watch TV.”
“Okay.” I deposit the plans on the dining table and we both head into the TV room.
On the couch, I pick up the remote and switch on the TV and start flicking through the channels, while Ana curls up beside me and rests her head on my shoulder.
This is nice.
“Any specific drivel you want to see?” I ask her.
“You don’t like TV much, do you?” Ana says.
I shake my head. “Waste of time. But I’ll watch something with you.”
“I thought we could make out.”
“Make out?” I stop flicking and stare at her.
“Yes.” Ana frowns.
“We could go to bed and make out.”
“We do that all the time. When was the last time you made out in front of the TV?” she asks with a shy smile.
Um… Never?
I shrug and shake my head, embarrassed to answer. I didn’t do the make-out thing. I would have liked to. I remember Elliot bringing home girl after girl and making out with them
I used to burn with envy.
But I couldn’t bear to be touched.
How can you kiss and cuddle someone when you can’t tolerate their hands on you?
Fuck. Those were tough years.
I flick through the channels, and an old episode of The X-Files pops up.
Ha! Scully, my first adolescent crush.
“Christian?” Ana asks, bringing me back from my fucked-up past.
“I’ve never done that,” I answer, quickly. Can we move on?
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not even with Mrs. Robinson?”
I laugh. “Baby, I did a lot of things with Mrs. Robinson. Making out was not one of them.” Ana looks horrified, and I want to kick myself for allowing Elena into our conversation. And then it occurs to me—maybe Ana has made out with countless boys. I narrow my eyes. “Have you?”
“Of course.” She’s scandalized that I would think otherwise.
“What! Who with?”
Ana clams up.
What the fuck? Does she have some first great love? I know nothing about her love life. I assumed, stupidly, that she didn’t have one, because she was a virgin. “Tell me,” I press her.
She gazes down at her hands, knotted in her lap. I place my hand over hers, and she glances up at me.
I’m just curious, Ana. “I want to know. So, I can beat whoever it was to a pulp.”