Page 24 of Saving Love (Pulse Medical #2)
FIVE YEARS LATER
E mily dipped the paintbrush into a can of soft sage paint and swished it against the plaster. The walls were beginning to take shape, moving away from the prison-cell chic the previous owners had painted it to a more welcome-home-and-put-your-feet-up kind of tone.
It was a Saturday morning and Emily and Bette, who took off most weekends, were renovating their new home.
A double-story Craftsman-style house they’d bought on a whim after falling in love with it just less than two months ago.
It was a work in progress—a massive work in progress—but that didn’t stop them from putting in an offer.
Not only was it perfect for the two of them, but it was also a street down from the beach and walking distance to Oakridge.
Not to mention that it had tons of potential—wide porches, classic white railings, large windows letting in plenty of light.
Bette had insisted on restoring the original trim, the kind that was too detailed to be seen in newer homes, and Emily had insisted on choosing earthy tones to complement the natural light flooding through every room.
The only problem now was the splatters of color on the living room floor, the sides of thekitchen island, and—most notably— on the back of their border collie they adopted nearly four years ago.
Herbert, or who Bette called our beloved son , had run right through the paint earlier and managed to smear some of it all over his back, his front paws, and the underside of his tail.
Luckily, the herringbone flooring was set to be installed next week. Emily could never forgive Herbert if he got paint all over her perfect floors. That was a lie. She’d die for Herbert if she had to.
“I can’t believe we’re spending our three-year anniversary doing this,” Emily said, glancing over her shoulder at Bette, who was sanding down the edges of a doorframe with the intensity of someone trying to make it perfect.
“When you said we were doing something special this year, I thought we were going to try that new Italian place downtown.”
“Renovating our new home definitely beats a creamy Carbonaro,” Bette said, abandoning the sander. “And we can order pasta if that’s what you feel like”
“I don’t want delivery,” Emily teased. “I want a candlelit dinner and a red rose.”
Bette tilted her head and smiled. “I know you well enough, babe, to know that’s the last thing you want.”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” Bette sauntered over to Emily and stepped in behind her. Her hands found Emily’s waist, fingers pressing into her sides while her chest brushed against Emily’s back. “Don’t you remember our first wedding anniversary?”
Emily couldn’t possibly forget it. Bette had planned a lovely evening at a fine dining restaurant downtown.
She had high expectations for the place but as luck had it, they were seated near a couple celebrating their own big moment—an engagement.
The man, who had clearly been far too excited, had knocked Emily and Bette’s table when he’d tried to get down on a knee, sending the glass of red wine tumbling and splashing all over Emily’s brand-new dress.
It wasn’t exactly one of their better memories; although it always got people laughing when they told the story.
“Fine,” Emily muttered, watching Herbert out of the corner of her eye. He circled a spot and curled into a sleepy ball. “You’re right.”
Bette kissed her neck, her lips ghosting just over her skin, barely there but more than enough to cause a prickly shiver to run down Emily’s spine.
“I think this is a hundred times more romantic than sitting in a restaurant,” Bette whispered, her hands sliding forward and slipping under the hem of Emily’s shirt.
“Sure,” Emily said somewhat sarcastically, though not in the snarky way, and leaned into Bette. “Nothing screams true love like peeling paint and caulking.” She tried to focus on the wall in front of her, but Bette’s hands on her stomach made the task impossibly hard.
“Do you know the best thing about moving into a new house?” Bette asked, kissing the side of Emily’s neck, behind her ear, her lips lingering for a minute.
“What?” Emily asked, closing her eyes, embracing the delicious touch of her wife’s mouth on her skin. “Because if you’re going to say consummate every room, you need to keep in mind this place is basically a construction site. There’s dust everywhere. And we don’t even have a bed.”
“We don’t need a bed.” Bette spun her around so fast that Emily nearly lost her balance. “We just need a flat surface, and this house is full of flat surfaces.”
Before Emily could blink, Bette’s hands slid beneath her, scooping her off the ground.
Emily’s breath hitched, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around her wife’s neck, giggling like a damn schoolgirl.
After all these years, Bette still made her feel light, free, and ridiculously happy.
It was like nothing else mattered in the world when Bette was holding her, not even the dust, the massive amount of renovation that still needed to be done, or the pressures from work that had thankfully eased up over the years.
When it was just them, everything else could wait.
“We don’t even have curtains yet,” Emily said, a little breathless. “What if someone looks in and sees us?”
“Who cares?” Bette grinned, guiding Emily onto the countertop.
Emily spread her legs apart and Bette moved into the space between them.
Her hands slid up Emily’s thighs, fingers smoothing over the skin until they slipped beneath the hem of her shorts.
Every part of Emily was suddenly on fire.
Bette was right. They didn’t need a bed.
They didn’t need anything but each other.
Without waiting another second, Emily crashed their lips together into a kiss so hard and needy, she could feel Bette sink into her. She wasn’t going to admit it—not yet anyway—but this was by far their best anniversary yet.