Page 51 of Loving Wild

On Thursday night, we drove into town and had dinner at a new Middle Eastern place that had recently opened, and tonight, Gabe will be bringing Ava and her friend Sophie home with him, and we’ll be taking them for dinner at a local pizza restaurant.

For anyone else, this might sound like a typical or boring week. For us, it’s been heaven. We’ve cooked together, showered together, we’ve eaten, talked, and fallen asleep in front of the telly. We’ve just been us.

And now it’s Friday, and I’m waiting for Gabe to get home with the girls. I took time away from my work this afternoon and did some cooking instead. I’ve baked sausage rolls and muffins and made wontons. Our reservation isn’t until eight, and I know when they arrive home around five, the girls and Gabe will be starving.

With my music blasting,I’m putting muffins on a serving platter while shaking my arse and singing along to Fleetwood Mac when I sense someone behind me.

Turning my head, I see Gabe standing at the top of the stairs, shirt sleeves rolled up, hands buried in his suit trouser pockets, eyes on my arse. My eyes take in his tanned forearms, which I’m still obsessed with. The white of his shirt makes a striking contrast against the dark hair and olive skin covering the muscle and tendons that flex and move as I watch him watching me.

When I’m here on my own, I accept this as being my life now, but each morning I wake up next to him, each evening when he comes home to me, and each night before I fall asleep, I’m hit with how much my life has changed in these past few months, and how lucky I am to have this man in it.

The fairies, or whatever mystical creatures they are who’ve taken up permanent residence in my belly, flap their little wings, causing flutters inside all different parts of me.

“Shit, you made me jump,” I tell him as my hand goes to my chest. “Sorry, the music’s loud. I’ll turn it down.”

His eyes slide up to meet mine, and he shakes his head.

“Believe me, this isn’t loud. What I’ve just listened to in the car for the past fucking hour, now that, that is loud.”

I smile, but before I can say anymore, his eyes go back to my arse, and he nods in its general direction.

“You’re wearing jeans,” he states.

I place the last muffin on the platter before turning fully towards him.

“I am,” I agree.

“They’re tight.” His eyes dance over my face as he emphasises the T at each end of tight with a quirk of his brows and a smile on his lips. “I haven’t seen you wear jeans much since the night we met.”

“I haven’t. They're all a bit big. This pair is really old, like, ancient old. They haven’t fitted me in years, but I managed to squeeze into them today . . . although, I did have to lay back on the bed to do them up, and I have a spare tyre the Michelin Man would be proud of, hanging over the top,” I finish as he moves towards me.

“I like them, your arse looks fucking amazing, and spare tyres are my favourite.” He reaches out and gives the roll hanging over my jeans a squeeze.

“Thank you,” I whisper, fighting not to bat his hands away and inwardly cringing at what he might really be thinking. I’ve spent most of my adult life wearing loose tops to hide this part of my body. It’s hard to believe he might find it even a little bit attractive.

“You know the best thing about this spare tyre?” he asks right before taking my hand in one of his, sliding his other to my hip, and dancing us around his kitchen.

Looking up at him, I shake my head.

“It’s part of you.”

I have no response, none. No smart-mouthed comment, no sarcasm. Nothing.

Instead, with my head full of fluff, a heart made of marshmallow, and my belly filled with all the flapping things, I listen to Gabe singing along with Christine McVie about finally believing in miracles and magic, and right at that moment, I understand why, back in the day, when men were gentlemanly and chivalrous, and women were innocent and demure, they would faint so often. I’m middle-aged and have experienced life. Even so, this man has me feeling faint at his actions and words.

He spins me out before pulling me back in, pressing me tightly against him. His hands, now on my arse, hold me there as he moves his hips against mine.

It’s not a song you can slow dance to, and that’s not how he moves us. Instead, he keeps us at a perfect pace and rhythm to the music, all the while his mouth remains against my ear, singing into it how I make loving fun.

Gabriel Wild is so full of surprises. Not only can this man dance, but he can sing too.

“Hey, Lauren.” My eyes hit Ava’s as Gabe spins us around. She’s standing at the top of the stairs with a dark-haired girl next to her. Both are grinning at us.

“Keep dancing. This is the quietest they’ve been since I picked them up,” Gabe whispers into my ear.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I smile up at him and shake my head. The song ends, and I reach for my phone and turn the music down. Gabe moves to lean against the kitchen bench and pulls me to stand with my back pressed against his front, his hands on my hips.

“This is my friend, Sophie. I told you about her last week.” Ava gestures with her thumb towards the girl standing beside her.