My eyes bulged, but she was too excited (again) to notice.
“But I definitely wanna get my belly button done,” she finished. “And if you like it, we could get my nipples pierced too.”
“We?” I teased gently.
“I know I don’t really have to ask your permission, but… I want to. I like it when I feel like you own me. I know that sounds crazy, but…” She shrugged. “I can’t help it.”
“Some of the things I like are pretty crazy.”
She grinned and leaned over to kiss me. “Thank you. I think you’ll like my new piercing.”
“As long as it’s only the belly button.”
“For now,” she said. Then she cocked an ear.
“Did you hear something?”
“No, but I think I’ll check on her. I… um… want to make sure she’s good and asleep.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, okay. What for?”
“We have a date with the dining room table.”
She didn’t make the connection right away.
“It isn’t a pool table,” I said, “but it’s the right height.”
“Insatiable?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, yes, please!”
* * *
Trip’s life changed the most with our new business. He’d been turning into a jerk at the big company, although I couldn’t really blame him. Corporate culture and management encouraged it. Still, he wasn’t the type of person I’d wanted to spend a lot of time with outside of work. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but I’d been slowly pulling away from him for the better part of three years.
That all changed once we didn’t have to deal with the boys’ club and hyper-competitive environment. We still had deadlines and budgets and the constant push for new projects—more so, since it was our own company—but we didn’t have the “greed is good” mentality, the pressure to win at all costs, to kill or be killed.
In other words, Trip became fun to work with again. He was still just as serious, just as good at his job, but I didn’t want to punch him in the face anymore.
“Admit it,” I said to him one day after everyone else had gone, “you’re happier now than you’ve ever been.”
“Oh, no argument.” He reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Gentleman Jack. “You want one?”
“Sure.”
He set two glasses on his desk and filled them. He passed one to me, and we leaned back in our chairs and put our feet on his desk. He took a long, slow drink. I did the same, and the whiskey fumes filled my sinuses.
“I’m even happier at home,” he said. “Wren says I help more around the house, help with Davis, you name it.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m doing anything different, but she does. And you know what they say…” He raised his glass. “Happy wife, happy life.”
“Amen, brother.”
“I’ve had some pretty good ideas in my time,” he said, “but this one tops ’em all, and I owe it all to you.” He toasted me and then took another long drink. “It’s been good for you, too,” he added after a moment. “I mean, you get to design things again.”
“Yep. And I can educate our clients about what makes good design.”
“Right. No more value engineering! God, I hated doing that. It always made me feel… I dunno… dirty. Like changing the background on the Mona Lisa or something.”
“The background in the Mona Lisa isn’t so special,” I said.
“You know what I mean,” he laughed, “Mr. Art History Nerd.”
“You’ve been around Christy too long.”
“Not long enough, you mean.”
I furrowed my brow.
“I’d forgotten how talented she is. Ever since you built her that studio. You saw the painting she did of Wren and Davis, right? And she made him a set of those little… whatchamacallems? The turtles that know karate.”
“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” I laughed. “Yeah, I saw those.”
“They’re just like the real thing. Better! ’Cause they’re one-of-a-kind. He keeps ’em on his dresser and says goodnight to ’em every night. He knows their names and everything.”
“They’re Renaissance artists! How can you not know their names?”
“Hey, I never studied music theory.”
“Touché.”
He eyed me over his glass. “And I’m not supposed to tell you, but Christy’s working on something for your birthday. You know I’m not an art nerd, but this is pretty cool.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her I know.”
“You’ll see it soon enough. But… yeah, mum’s the word.” He inhaled to clear his head. “Anyway, let’s say I have a new appreciation for how awesome Christy is.” He swirled his whiskey and stared into the glass for a long moment. “Something else,” he said somberly. “I… um… I’ve been talking to Wren, and I think I understand what you all went through after Laurie was born.”
My eyebrows rose.
“Yeah. I… um… I’m sorry. For everything you had to deal with, but also for how I treated you. Both of you,” he amended. “I mean, I thought it was all in her head or something, but… not according to Wren.” He tossed off the rest of his whiskey.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into a downer,” he said. “I just thought you should know… You don’t have to go through that shit alone. Wren and I…” He cleared his throat. “We love you, man, both of you. And if anything like that ever happens again… come to us. We’ll help, any way we can.”
I swallowed hard. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
“Yeah… I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”
“Water under the bridge.”
“You’re way better’n I deserve,” he said seriously. “You and Christy and especially Wren.”
“We’re all pretty lucky.”
“You got that right.”
* * *
Our business continued to improve over the next few months. We had several houses under construction already and nearly a dozen in varying stages of design. We were looking for ways to expand when Trip came across a large tract of land near Lake Lanier. It was almost three hundred acres and included frontage on the lake itself. It had been on the market several years earlier, but the listing had expired without a recorded sale.
Trip started digging and found out that the original owner had died. Trip called his son and asked if he might be interested in selling. He wasn’t, but Trip didn’t take no for an answer. He asked the man if we could buy him dinner and talk about developing the property instead. He wasn’t interested in that, either, but then Trip made a chance remark about baseball. The man was a Braves fan, and Trip knew an opening when he heard one.
“You know,” he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but… one of our partners is a Braves player.” He listened and then said, “No, an actual player. Uh-huh.”
I stuck my head into his office at that point, drawn by the conversation. Trip held up a hand to keep me quiet. Then he grinned, although he immediately composed his expression and pretended to apologize.
“No, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you who. He’s a silent partner. But… I might persuade him to join us if you want to talk about selling the property.”
I glared, but Trip wasn’t paying attention.
“You will?” he said in surprise. “That’s great to hear! Let me talk to my partner— Sorry, my not-so-silent partner.” He shot me a grin. “We’ll talk to our actual silent partner and see if he’s willing to meet. It’ll have to be Thursday.” He smiled and nodded. “Right, spring training games on Wednesday and Friday.” He flipped open his planner. “Okay, so… Thursday, seven o’clock. Do you like steak?”
He made arrangements for us to meet the man and his wife at Wren’s father’s steakhouse. Then he hung up and beamed at me. I gave him a pointed look in return.