Page 34 of I Do, or Dye Trying

“That’s for sure,” I agreed. We bought white wicker furniture with solid teal cushions, and watercolor printed accent pillows. I didn’t think that I was in any real danger, but why borrow trouble? “Let’s talk about names while we figure out what curtains you–we–want to hang up in our new home. The house needs a new name, and so do we.”

“You don’t want us to keep the names given at birth?” Josh asked. He seemed surprised. “It’s the name printed on your diploma, your employee records, and the thick file IA has on you. I’m kind of surprised you want to go through all the hassle to change your name.”

I ignored his IA jab and went straight to the heart of the issue. “You don’t want to change your name?” I asked, and yes, I sounded a little disappointed. I couldn’t disguise the fact that I wanted my name attached to Josh, I wanted it all.

Josh shrugged. “It’s one of many things that I never gave much thought to before you came along. I never saw myself getting married or having children, so I didn’t waste time or energy thinking about those two things,” he said casually.

“And now?” I asked

Josh put down the fabric swatch he was looking at and gave me his full attention. “And now I want to share every part of my life with you and want the same in return. I think we should hyphenate our names like all the cool kids do these days.”

“Like I add your last name onto mine and you do the same with yours?” I asked.

“Mr. Roman-Wyatt and Mr. Wyatt-Roman,” Josh said, then tipped his head and pursed his lip as he considered it. “Too busy,” he said. “It’s like someone going crazy with stripes and florals in their design.” He acted like his statement should clarify things for me. Josh could tell that I wasn’t getting it, so he explained further. “You can have a mix of florals and stripes, but one needs to act as the primary, and one needs to act as the complementary accent. Otherwise your poor eyes don’t know where to focus. Our names need to be the same, so we’re either both Roman-Wyatt or Wyatt-Roman. You decide, Gabe.”

“Me? Why do I have to be the one to decide?” I asked.

“Because I have a million other decisions to make on the house design then the salon remodel, and let’s not forget that little thing called a wedding that is taking place in six weeks!” His pitch rose an octave higher with each word spoken.

I threw my hands up in surrender. “Roman-Wyatt it is,” I announced. Then I smiled because it was truly going to happen. I looked back down at the swatches on the work table set in the middle of the living room. “I don’t like this busy number right here,” I said, hoping that he found it helpful if I told him the things that I didn’t like.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a contender and was in the pile of ‘no way’ swatches. These,” he gestured to the five other stacks of fabric, “are the contenders. Would you please go through them and tell me which ones offend you as much as that paisley print did?”

I tried, I honestly did, but after a while, they all started looking alike. Oh my God! How many shades of brown, gray, and blue are there? I ruled several out that I wouldn’t line the bottom of Diva’s cat litter box with let alone hang from a wall or use on a pillow.

“Why don’t you go check to make sure they delivered all the furniture I ordered. I think I’d like to have dinner out there tonight before we go back to the salon.” We’d already started to refer to the other house as the salon and our new one as home. “Think up a name for our house while you’re at it since it’s not a mansion and Georgia isn’t living with us, or at least I don’t think she is,” Josh added. I snapped my fingers and held one up as the name occurred to me. “Something besides Charlotte,” he called after me.

I walked out on the porch with a smile on my face because he was on to me. That smile slid off my face as I stared in shock at the furniture they delivered. “Fuck!” I knew Josh was going to see that dark wicker furniture with the blue and gray striped cushions and freak the fuck out. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“You sound like Savage,” Josh said, stepping onto the porch. “Fuck!” he exclaimed too when he saw the delivered furniture wasn’t what we ordered, but it was exactly what Emory had described in his premonition. Josh covered his mouth with both hands and tears filled his eyes.

“Don’t,” I told him, knowing where his mind had taken him. “I’ll call the furniture store and have them come back and remove it.” I pulled Josh tight against my chest. “It doesn’t mean that something bad is going to happen to me, Sunshine. I promise you that I’m not going anywhere.”

“I was stupid to think that I could thwart fate by simply picking the different furniture for our porch. Just like Emory thought he could prevent the vision with Jonathon from coming true by cutting his hair.” Josh laughed dryly. “This furniture wasn’t even an available option, Gabe. I thought that Emory’s vision might’ve been far into the future and that I’d have more time…”

“I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere. I am going to marry you in the flower garden in the backyard of this house while staring into your beautiful eyes. We’re going to build a life here filled with kids, pets, arguments, make-up kisses, and so much love it makes people gag to look at us.” I tilted his head back so he could look into my eyes and see how serious I was. “No one is taking me away from you. We’re going to have a wonderful life together. Just you wait and…”

My words were cut off by the sound of a car door closing. I stepped out of Josh’s embrace and turned to see who had arrived. I didn’t recognize the dark sedan parked in our driveway or the man in the suit walking toward us. Josh tried to evade my grip so he could step in front of me. “It’s okay, Sunshine.” Although I didn’t know the guy, he carried himself like a lawman.

“Gabriel Wyatt?” the man asked as he approached the porch.

“That’s me,” I said, still wrestling to keep Josh beside me instead of in front of me. I loved his passion, but no way in hell I’d ever let him take a bullet destined for me. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is Ryder Pinelli and I’m a private investigator from Cincinnati.” He held out his hand, and I shook it.

“Can I see some identification?” I asked, unwilling to take his word for it.

“Absolutely,” he replied, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Here you go.” He flipped open a rectangular wallet that had his picture ID on one side and his PI license on the other. “I’ve been hired by your birth mother to find you, sir.” Honestly, I think I would’ve been less surprised had he pulled out a gun and aimed it at me.

“Her family used to be good friends with mine,” I told the man. “Why not call them instead of hiring a PI?”

“Mrs. Gutierrez worried that they wouldn’t approve of her requesting to meet you after all this time, so she hired me. She asked me to give you this letter and let you know the decision is all up to you and she’ll not force herself into your life or try to contact you again.” Pinelli held out an envelope toward me, but I could only stare at it.

“Thank you, Mr. Pinelli,” Josh said, easing the envelope from the man’s fingers. “I’ll make sure he reads it when he’s ready.”

“Very well,” Pinelli said formally. “Have a nice evening.”

I said nothing as the man returned to his car and drove away. Hell, I don’t think I even moved until Josh slid his fingers between mine and tugged me over to the wicker furniture we didn’t even want. “Wow,” I finally said after several minutes of quiet.