Back to You(2)
Declan replies to my little white lie with a chuckle. “Shit, those two are mini-monsters in pretty disguises. I thought little girls were supposed to play tea party.”
“Have you met our girls, Dec? They are anything but dainty.”
“Nothing like their mother… girly, graceful, sexy. Which reminds me, when I get back I’m whisking you away. An anniversary getaway. The beach, a suite, and lots of alone time.”
I hop over the delivery box of high-tech, state-of-the-art recording equipment, smiling. He’s going to love this. The thought of making him happy and hearing the word ‘getaway’ makes me tingle. “Mmmm,” I purr into the phone. “You, me and the beach… sounds like heaven.”
“That moan of yours sounds like heaven. I’m booking something as soon as I get off this phone. Mexico, Aruba, St. Tropez?”
I wish… maybe in another lifetime. “They all sound perfect, Dec, but as much as I’d love to go somewhere tropical I’m scared to fly and leave the kids behind. What about a road trip? The Hamptons? Hilton Head?”
“You never step out of those mommy shoes, do you?” He doesn’t argue because he knows my stance on this. As naïve as they seem, the kids went through their own hell while the two of us were separated. It’s my job to protect them, shelter them from the bad, and give them the perfect life—okay, sue me for feeling a little guilty for my less than perfect behavior with… never mind.
“Nope,” I boast before hearing another loud thud and a stifled curse from John, the head contractor. “Um, Dec. I have to go… I have to put those mommy shoes to work. Charlie just um… chucked a block at Cara and broke the vase in the den.”
“Okay, babe. Kiss the monsters for me and I’ll give you a call tomorrow. I love you.” He hasn’t ended a conversation without those three words since that night he reclaimed me at the bar.
“I love you too, Dec. Talk to you tomorrow… And babe?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wait to see you.” I might need him to be out of my way to complete my surprise, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the heck out of him.
“Me too. Bye, babe.”
We hang up and I rush downstairs again. Thank God my mom took the girls for the afternoon. I wouldn’t be able to divide my attention between them and this mess. I let out a huff as I focus on the catastrophe that is my once-completely-untouched basement. One half of the unfinished room has been turned into pure mayhem. “Um, John, you sure you can still have this done by Thursday?” It seems impossible.
“I said Thursday, Mrs. Murphy, so Thursday it is.” He barely looks up from what he’s doing, but I sense the sincerity in his tone. He came highly recommended so I have no doubt in his ability to come through, but his crew is so flipping… messy. I linger, my eyes roaming over all the loose ends that need to be tied up.
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Murphy?” John glances over his shoulder from his hole in the wall.
I close my eyes tight, and gulp back my doubts. “Nope. No problem. I’m just excited for my husband to see it, that’s all.”
I feel a brawny hand at my shoulder as one of the crew member whispers, “He’s a lucky guy, that husband of yours. I hope he makes you lots of pretty music once it’s all done.”
Removing the rough, calloused hand from my arm, I turn and grin. “Exactly. Now get to work.”
The thick, burly man returns to his job with a deep chuckle and I pace the room a few more minutes, mentally picturing the finished product. Once the walls and floors are insulated and soundproofed, the wiring will begin. I go over the shipment invoice from the music store—everything but the word ‘microphone’ looks foreign to me.
Thankfully, I had the help of my brother-in-law, Connor, and Declan’s musical partner in crime, Eric—my best friend Grace’s husband. When I told the two of them about my plan to create an in-home recording studio as an anniversary surprise for Declan, they made a list of top-of-the-line studio must-haves. I didn’t second-guess a single item. Instead, I just ordered them all, knowing they would be a part of Declan’s magic-making one day.
My heart smiles thinking about what he’s capable of doing down here. For once he’ll get that sexy voice of his recorded, maybe even fulfill his lifelong dream of creating an album. His talent has gone unnoticed for too long. Not that I mind being a private audience to his swoon-worthy performances, but I can’t be the only one who ever gets to enjoy the soulful, raspy sound of his voice. Giving him this means making one of his dreams come true—answering a ‘what if.’ And if I’ve learned anything this year it’s that you can’t live in regret or wonder ‘what if’ without it eating a hole into the marrow of your existence. It took a lot of heartache and too many mistakes to learn that lesson. But I have to believe that the heartache portion of our story is over. This story needs to continue with a pretty song and a love stronger than steel.