“It’s exactly what I’d like. And to ride your face,” she tacks on.

“That’s a given. Is there anything else you’d like to add while you’re creating your list of demands for the evening?”

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” She shifts around in her seat.

On the drive home Queenie provides a very extensive, descriptive list of what she’d like to happen once we’re naked. I’d like to say we make it to the dining room table, but that would be a lie. We don’t even make it out of the garage. In fact, I end up on my knees on the concrete floor with Queenie wrapped around me. The floors are heated, so it sounds a lot worse than it is.

She’s wobbly on her feet, and half her clothes are missing, by the time we’re finished, so I offer my assistance in getting inside. “Want me to piggyback you?”

“Please.” I give her my back and she climbs on, clasping her arms around my neck.

Her lips part against my neck. “You’re salty.”

“Not as salty as you were when you got in the car.”

“These eight-day away-game stretches suck,” she mumbles.

“There aren’t a lot of them.” I grab her messenger bag and close the passenger-side door, then carry her through the garage.

“Oh crap. I didn’t even think to pack an overnight bag.”

“I stopped at your place before I picked you up today and grabbed all your toiletries.”

“You’re so thoughtful.” She kisses up the side of my neck.

“I try.” I carry her through the mudroom and down the hall, past the staircase leading to the bedroom.

“Where are we going? Aren’t you taking me to bed?”

“In a minute. I have something to show you first.”

She perks up when she notices a new painting hanging on the wall. “Whoa, wait a second; let me down.” I let go of her thighs, and she slides down my back. I feel her face mash into my back for a second, and she wobbles a bit as she steadies herself, still gripping my arm as she glances down the hallway, the walls no longer bare. “Are these all mine?”

I can’t read her expression. “They were all just sitting in a corner in your place. I thought they should be where someone could appreciate them.” Queenie’s chaos is reflected subtly in all her art. She creates these amazing watercolors, half in pastels and the other half in dark, contrasting colors, the calm and the storm in everything. They’re stunning, and the last place they should be is covered by a drop cloth.

“How many of them did you put up?” Her fingertips follow the edge of one raw canvas.

“Whatever was hanging around your place.” She’s been sleeping here more and more over the past few months, leaving things behind every time she stays over, which is every night when I’m not off on an away series.

She turns to me, her expression soft and warm. “When did you have time to do this?”

“This afternoon.” I link my pinkie with hers. “There’s more; come on.”

“More?”

My palms start to sweat as I lead her farther down the hall. While I was away, I hired a decorator to come in and renovate one of the main-floor rooms, hoping it would act as an enticement.

I kiss her temple. “Close your eyes.”

“What’re you up to?”

“You’ll see. Just keep them closed until I tell you to open them.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll ruin my surprise.” I open the door and guide her to the center of the room. I stand directly in front of her, taking in her stunning face, bottom lip caught between her teeth. I skim her cheek with a fingertip. “Okay. You can look now.”

Her lids flutter and I step to the side. “What do you think?”

Her mouth drops open, and her hands come up to cover it. “Oh my God, King, this is incredible.” She turns a slow circle, taking in what was once an oversize workout room. It has amazing natural light, with huge windows that face the garden in the backyard.

One wall has been painted black with chalkboard paint. Another boasts giant blank Post-its that can be changed out regularly. A few of Queenie’s gentler watercolor paintings that remind me of childhood fairy tales line the far wall. A desk and a drafting table have been set up, as well as adult-and child-size easels. There’s even a pair of lounge chairs.

“It’s pretty multifunctional. I thought it would be a good place for you to study, and I figured it might be good for you to have a space to work in case you wanted to bring Lavender here some days.”

She smooths her hands over my chest. “This is amazing. I don’t even know what to say.”

I run my palms nervously up and down her arms. “I know we talked about you moving in with me at the end of the semester, but my place is closer to the university, and you always stay here when I have home games, and I’d really like it if you were here all the time.”

“Are you asking me to move in now?”

“You’re already halfway there, and now you have your own art studio. It makes sense, don’t you think?” God, I’m so nervous.

“I’m kind of messy.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’ll deal with it. I don’t mind coming home to your bras hanging off the back of the couch, as long as it means you’re wandering around with perky nipples. I want to know you’re sleeping in my bed, our bed, even when I’m not there.”

“Sleeping naked in our bed. Don’t forget that important detail.”

“Obviously. I thought that was a given.” I brush her hair away from her face. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes. It’s a yes. I’ll bring my chaos into your calm.”

I place a soft kiss on her lips. “There’s no place I’d rather be than the eye of your storm.”

EPILOGUE

MY KING

Queenie

Six years later

The doorbell rings at 3:45 p.m. I put my paintbrush in the mason jar of water and walk as quickly down the hall to the front door as possible, which isn’t very fast, since I have a small bowling ball hanging off the front of my body and it’s slowly becoming more of a waddle than a walk these days.

Kingston has knocked me up for the second time in two years. Scout, our son, is currently having his afternoon nap, but I’m sure he’ll be up soon and looking for entertainment. Thankfully, I have the perfect source standing at the front door.

I throw it open, smiling widely, excited for today’s session. “How was your first day of school?”

Lavender’s long auburn hair is pulled up in a haphazard ponytail with flyaways blowing around her face. She’s dressed in her eclectic style of homemade clothes sourced from old items she tears apart and puts back together again with more flair. Lavender is going to be a very talented seamstress one day.

However, right now she looks more sullen teen than happy-go-lucky ten-year-old. “Boys are stupid.”

“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

“Eh, it’s whatever.” She bends and pats my rounded belly. “Hello in there. I hope if you’re a boy, you end up being nothing like the ones in my school.”

“Do you want a snack, or do you just want to get down to it?” I ask.

“I’d like to paint, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” When Lavender’s hands are busy creating, she’s the most chatty; all her feelings and thoughts are channeled into whatever she’s making. She would probably sew her way through our sessions, but the sewing machine is loud and makes it tough to talk, so she generally uses paints or pastels when she comes here.

In the past six years I’ve finished my degree and have gotten my master’s. Kingston and I got married the summer after I graduated.

He was mine and I was his, and he wanted it to be official. He wanted to see me walk down the aisle in a gorgeous dress and recite our vows in front of our friends and his crazy, wild family. And so we did. Then we spent a month traveling, just the two of us.

And now here we are, about to be parents for the second time, and I have my own art therapy studio. Lavender doesn’t always need the weekly sessions, but it’s become our thing over the past few years.

Instead of picking up a paintbrush, she goes over to the massive sheet of paper taped to the wall and gets out the finger paints. Which tells me everything I need to know about her day. The finger paints rarely come out anymore.

I don’t push her to talk right away, allowing her time to warm up and settle in.

“River and I are in different classes.”

Ah, here we go. “And how do you feel about that?”

She swipes her fingers across the page, thin yellow lines converging and twisting before she moves on to red. “Guilty.”

“Why guilty?”

“Because I’m as relieved as I am disappointed.” She drags her red fingertips through the yellow and then swirls up and around. It looks like sunlight and angry wind on fire.

“It’s okay to want space and the opportunity to be your own person.”

“I know.” She pushes her glasses up her nose.

“But?”

“It’s hard when everything is new and different. I want him to be more than my shield from the world.”

“So being in a different class this year will be good for you, maybe?”