The phone ringing at noon had become an expected treat. I answered with a smile, knowing I’d hear Monroe’s warm voice through the speaker.
“Hey, baby. What ‘cha doin’?”
I loved it when he called me that. I loved it even more when he put that wicked lilt in his voice he knew got me hard. Three months of lunchtime phone calls, of dinners out, and nights in bed. Of weekends spent cuddling on the couch or hiking or at the zoo. The sound of his voice still got to me and I fervently hoped that never changed.
“Arranging flowers. Wedding tomorrow. What’re you doing?”
“Crunching numbers,” he responded.
I huffed a breath. “Sounds boring.”
Monroe laughed, and that, too, was a sound that never failed to burrow inside me, making me feel warm and fuzzy. He had the best laugh. The very best laugh.
