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We ended up at Dad’s for dinner again. It was beginning to be an every other night occurrence. It took me a while, but I finally figured out what my husband was up to. He was bringing me here because he knew, didn’t he?

He knew I was missing this, and bringing me home a few nights per week was his way of making the world right for me.

Sometimes I just love him more and more. Dinner was a typical dinner at my dad’s, with loud conversation, people everywhere—Jarrod and Lacy joined us this time—and simple food.

I am still getting used to having a chef on call twenty-four hours a day. I don’t think Houghton has eaten Sloppy Joes even once in his life.

But he did tonight. Jillian made home fries with it. Houghton acted like he was in heaven.

I shudder to think what kind of Sloppy Joes version he’ll have the chef coming up with. I like the chef, his real name is Jason, but sometimes…he just tries too hard.

A hamburger should be a hamburger, after all.

Nothing more.

Houghton just rolled over in the bed, his arm flopping around like he’s looking for me in his sleep. If I scoot closer, I can guarantee I’m going to get some serious cuddling. If I don’t, he’s going to keep flopping around like a fish.

What is a woman married to the hottest man on the planet supposed to do? Good night, laptop. My man is waiting.

 

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