Chapters (38)
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- epilogue
Halle watched me through the shower door and tried to paw her way in. I was almost tempted to let her experience it once and for all and cure her fascination.
When Rick opened the door at six, the apartment was perfumed with garlic and tomatoes simmering on the stove. I’d lit candles on the kitchen table and offered him a kiss with a glass of wine.
“This is perfect, Ronni. I’m tired and hungry and you are an angel. Thank you.”
“Why don’t you go shower and relax? I’ll have dinner ready in about thirty minutes.” I grinned and turned him toward the bathroom, feeling all wife-y and proud of myself. I measured spaghetti noodles and tasted the sauce for the tenth time. It was delicious. By the time Rick plopped onto the couch I had everything set for a romantic evening.
Again: very proud of myself.
I snuggled up next to him and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. I love your freesia shampoo.”
“Yeah. I really need to bring some manly stuff over here.”
“You’re manly enough to counterbalance Strawberry Shortcake shampoo, Mr. O’Shea.” I took a deep gulp of wine. “I love having you to myself and...”
I was interrupted by the smoke alarm shrieking and smoke billowing from the oven. “Oh, no, no, the garlic bread!” It was fully on fire and I grabbed a glass of water and threw on it as Rick stabbed the detector over and over before finally shutting it off. I was removing a soggy black mess from the oven as someone banged on the door. Rick answered it to find my neighbor, Mr. Eldredge, anxiously peering into my apartment. “Is there a fire? Do I need to call 911? Are you all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Eldredge,” I smoothed my sweaty hands down my sides and walked to the door. “Just a little kitchen mishap. I’m sorry.”
“Well, as long as you’re okay.” He looked Rick up and down suspiciously.
“This is my boyfriend, Rick O’Shea.”
He stuck out his hand. “Frank Eldredge. Ricochet. Is that a nickname?”
“No, sir, it’s a curse. My first name is Rick. My last name ...”
“Oh, I get it. Well, as long as you’re all right, Ronni.” He turned to leave. “Take good care of her, O’Shea. She’s a nice girl.”
“I know it and I sure will, Frank. Thanks for checking on her.”
“Sometimes paper thin walls are a good thing, I reckon.” He eyeballed Rick one last time and left.
“Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed your first episode of Domesticity with Ronni,” I laughed. “There’s still spaghetti.” At that moment I heard the sizzle of water boiling out of the pot and running all over the stove.