My gut clenched. “Was there a bomb?”
“Nah. You know how cautious everyone has gotten since last year. Then we boarded again and had to wait while they got his luggage off. And by that time, the wings needed to be de-iced again.”
“That sucks. I’m…I’m glad you’re back.”
“So am I.” He yawned. “Sorry. I’ve gotta get to work. I’ll see you later, babe.”
It was almost midnight when he came dragging through the door. The living room wasn’t lit, but it wasn’t in total darkness. The lights on the Christmas tree were blinking blue and red and green and white.
“I’m sorry, babe.” Wills yawned so widely I could almost feel the ache in my own jaw. “I really wanted to help you decorate the tree. Something burning? You didn’t have to call the fire department, did you? Remember the mess they made of Mr. Vincent’s apartment?”
“Uh…” Shit. I’d grown so accustomed to the lingering odor of the wood I’d burned in the fireplace the other night that I’d forgotten all about airing out the apartment.
Now, with Wills home early—relatively speaking—I had to scramble for an explanation that made sense.
“That’s just a new candle I was trying out. Not sure if I like it or not. What do you think?” I intended to block his view of the room, but then I realized it wasn’t necessary. His eyes were bleary with fatigue, and even without him having said anything about it, I could tell that job had been one of those that must have been especially rough.
“I like it.”
“I’ll keep it then. Did you eat anything?”
“Ms. DiNois brought up a sandwich from the cafeteria…I’m pretty sure I ate it.” He shrugged. “I must have. I don’t feel hungry.”
“Why don’t you take a shower and hit the sack? You can take a shower without drowning yourself, can’t you?”
He swayed on his feet. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Theo.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I touched his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Windburn?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Windburn.”
I brushed his hair off his forehead, to see it was burned too. Well, Minnesota. The wind coming off whatever Great Lake was bordered by Minnesota. “Go on, babe. I’ll turn off the lights.”
It didn’t take me long. I pulled the plug on the tree and toyed with the idea of opening a window to air out the rest of the smell, but I figured Wills would buy the candle story sooner than any reason I could come up with for an open window in December.
It had been a long ten days, and I’d missed having him in bed. The phone sex had been great, fun, but it wasn’t the same, and I was just glad he was home.
I went into the bedroom and stripped off my clothes. All I could hear from the bathroom was the sound of the shower running. Usually Wills sang in the shower.
I opened the door, turned off the water, and joined him in the shower. He was leaning against the tiles, his head bowed and his eyes closed. He was nearly asleep.
“You really are tired, aren’t you, babe?” I petted his arms, his chest, his hips.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “I’ve been dreaming of this for the past ten days, and now you’re finally touching me, and my dick lays there like a lump. I’m dead. I must be dead. Why haven’t I been buried?” He managed to open his eyes enough to give me a half-hearted glare when I laughed at him.
“Come on, baby. I’ll dry you off and put you to bed.” The important thing was he had returned.
He didn’t protest, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out cold, his breathing deep and even.
I wondered which had exhausted him more—the job or the flight home. I felt bad that he had to make all those connections, but I was so glad to have him back in our bed.
He’d left his suit lying on the floor, and I picked it up. I’d just make sure the pockets were empty.
I’d learned Wills worked for Huntingdon, an international corporation with branches and subsidiaries throughout the world. He’d come home a couple of times with the colorful paper money of Mexico or Canada, and he’d told me, the time I’d found Loonies and Twonies in his pockets, that he’d been called to Canada—someone had opened a questionable e-mail and downloaded the attachment, a particularly annoying worm that had crashed the system, and he’d been required to clean up the mess. Another time something had come up in Mexico, and he’d had pesos in his pockets when he’d come home. I’d folded the bills and put them in a box where I kept the other currency I’d found in his pockets at various times.
Tonight there was only a handkerchief, his wallet, and an odd-looking pocketknife.
I set the suit aside to go to the cleaners in the morning and got in bed beside him.
“Love you, Theo,” he mumbled as I arranged myself along his back.
I kissed the corner of his jaw. “Me too, babe.”