Paper Bride ✔️ (Book 4 - DP Series - COMPLETE)

20. I Miss You

Since our surprisingly fun date last night, Seth and I haven't had much time to converse. He's been working like a mad man lately, and I haven't been able to spare much time either. His birthday is in a week and I've still got one more desk to build. I have to finish before we celebrate or there's no way I can take that weekend off.

So, here I am at ten pm slaving over this dang desk. The pieces have all been cut and now I'm gluing the wood planks for the tabletop together. My fingers are nearly jittery with exhaustion. It's like not realizing how hungry you are until you start to smell the food. That's how I feel. I know that I've only got one step left for the evening before I'll have to leave the project to dry overnight, and my body is an anxious mess. I just need to be done. I need sleep.

I had to cancel on Steve today, which he was gracious enough to understand. I even told him my goal to finish the desks this week so I could spend a lovely weekend with my husband. He'd actually hummed in approval when I'd told him where we planned to go. If hobo Steve can appreciate what I've got planned with Seth, then Seth definitely will.

I'm only calling Steve a hobo right now because he actually took my advice seriously, and is trying to grow a man bun and a beard. He pretty much looks like a mangled Tarzan. I think he might have actually gone so far as to sleep in the dirt. And I wonder if he actually plucks random beard hairs to achieve that patchy look. Whatever it is that he's doing, it's bad. And yet, I'm an evil evil girl because I have no intention of telling him. I just want to wait it out and see how far he takes this. Thankfully, he hasn't asked my opinion on it yet, or I'd have to be honest and break his heart.

Finally, cranking the last clamp into place, I'm free from this crap shack. I love my workshop, but right now I'm tempted to saw my fingers off just so I have an excuse to never have to touch a plank of wood again. I'm weary all the way down to my toe hairs. I almost forget to lock up after myself on my way back to the house. Even the few feet that it requires me to walk feels like an impossible feat.

Flinging the door open, I trudge to the couch and drop face-first into it. For once in my life, I'm not even concerned about my empty stomach. I actually think I'm passed out before I even realize I'm hungry.

Seth must come home just after I've fallen asleep because I wake up at some unforgivable hour in the night with a blanket draped over my frame, and a sub sandwich sitting on the coffee table. I actually moan, and though it's not that loud, it nearly pierces my eardrums in the stillness of the house.

I'm ripping into the food before I can even question Seth's whereabouts. My eyes are drooping with bliss and exhaustion as I shove the last bite into my over-zealous mouth. Then I wad the trash up in my palm and launch it across the room. I don't care where it lands. I'll clean it up later... maybe.

Once the energy from my meal hits my brain, I'm awake. I couldn't fall back to sleep right now if you walloped me in the head with a sledgehammer. Curious now that my mental abilities are in full swing, I realize how odd it is to be sleeping on the couch. I never sleep here in fear that Seth will kick me out of his territory. But, that didn't happen.

I stand up from the couch and make my way to the guest bedroom. I assume that's where he is. I've often wondered why he chose the couch over the spare bed, and I think it has something to do with denial. A couch feels less permanent. He can sleep there without reality kicking in. But, the moment he claims the guest room as his own, our marriage is basically over. That's my theory anyway. I might never know the real reason.

I turn the knob and peer into the room. I was so positive he'd be in there that I would've bet anything on the fact that I'd find him snoozing peacefully in that bed. Heck, I would have literally bet my head on it—and I would have lost it—because he's not there. Good thing I'm not a gambling girl. I would have been dead by the age of three when I bet my dad I could do a cartwheel off the diving board. Let's just say, I don't go near diving boards anymore.