Aniha

“If I had to pick one person to be in my corner, it’d be you. Every time.”
― Emily Henry, Book Lovers

“Nora.” He just barely smiles. “You’re in books. Of course you don’t have a life. None of us do. There’s always something too good to read.”
― Emily Henry, Book Lovers

“Clowns.”

Clowns? “Really?” I tried to imagine a tiny Aiden crying over men and women with overly painted faces and red noses, but I couldn’t.

The big guy was still facing me. His expression clear and even, as he dipped his chin. “Eh.”

God help me, he’d gone Canadian on me. I had to will my face not to react at the fact he’d gone with the one word he usually used only when he was super relaxed around other people. “I thought they were going to eat me.”

Now imagining that had me cracking a little smile. I slid my palm under my cheek. “How old were you? Nineteen?”

Those big chocolate-colored eyes blinked, slow, slow, slow. His dark pink lips parted just slightly. “Are you making fun of me?” he drawled.

“Yes.” The fractures of my grin cracked into bigger pieces.

“Because I was scared of clowns?” It was like he couldn’t understand why that was amusing.

But it was. “I just can’t imagine you scared of anything, much less clowns. Come on. Even I’ve never been scared of clowns.”

“I was four.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. “Four… fourteen, same difference.”

Based on the mule-ish expression on his face, he wasn’t amused. “This is the last time that I come over to save you from the boogeyman.”

Shocked out of my mind for a split second, I tried to pretend like I wasn’t, but… I was. He was joking with me. Aiden was in bed joking around. With me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I was just messing with you.” I scooted one more millimeter closer to him, drawing my knees up so that they hit his thighs. “Please don’t leave yet.”

“I won’t,” he said, settling on his pillow with his hands under his cheek, his eyes already drifting to a close.

I didn’t need to ask him to promise not to leave me; I knew he wouldn’t if he said so. That was just the kind of man he was.

“Aiden?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” he murmured.

“Thank you for coming in here with me.”

“Uh-huh.” That big body adjusted itself just slightly before he let out a long, deep exhale.

Without turning around, I laid the flashlight down behind me and aimed the beam toward the wall. He didn’t ask if I was really going to leave the flashlight on all night—or at least however long the battery lasted—instead, I just smiled at him as I took my glasses off and set them on the unused nightstand behind me. Then I tucked my hands under my cheek and watched him.

“Good night. Thank you again for staying with me.”

Peeking one eye open, just a narrow slit, he hummed. “Shh.”

That ‘shh’ was about as close to a ‘you’re welcome’ as I was going to get.

I closed my eyes with a little grin on my face.

Maybe five seconds later, Aiden’s spoke up. “Vanessa?”

“Hmm?”

“Why was I saved on your work phone as Miranda P.?”

That had my eyes snapping open. I hadn’t deleted that entry off the contacts when I quit, had I? “It’s a long, boring story, and you should go to sleep. Okay?”

The “uh-huh” out of him sounded as disbelieving as it should have. He knew I was full of shit, but somehow, knowing he knew, wasn’t enough to keep me from falling asleep soon after”
― Mariana Zapata, The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

“GO BACK TO DALLAS!” the man sitting somewhere behind us yelled again, and the hold Aiden still had on the back of my neck tightened imperceptibly.

“Don’t bother, Van,” he demanded, pokerfaced.

“I’m not going to say anything,” I said, even as I reached up with the hand furthest away from him and put it behind my head, extending my middle finger in hopes that the idiot yelling would see it.

Those brown eyes blinked. “You just flipped him off, didn’t you?”

Yeah, my mouth dropped open. “How do you know when I do that?” My tone was just as astonished as it should be.

“I know everything.” He said it like he really believed it.

I groaned and cast him a long look. “You really want to play this game?”

“I play games for a living, Van.”

I couldn’t stand him sometimes. My eyes crossed in annoyance. “When is my birthday?”

He stared at me.

“See?”

“March third, Muffin.”

What in the hell?

“See?” he mocked me.

Who was this man and where was the Aiden I knew?

“How old am I?” I kept going hesitantly.

“Twenty-six.”

“How do you know this?” I asked him slowly.

“I pay attention,” The Wall of Winnipeg stated.

I was starting to think he was right.

Then, as if to really seal the deal I didn’t know was resting between us, he said, “You like waffles, root beer, and Dr. Pepper. You only drink light beer. You put cinnamon in your coffee. You eat too much cheese. Your left knee always aches. You have three sisters I hope I never meet and one brother. You were born in El Paso. You’re obsessed with your work. You start picking at the corner of your eye when you feel uncomfortable or fool around with your glasses. You can’t see things up close, and you’re terrified of the dark.” He raised those thick eyebrows. “Anything else?”

Yeah, I only managed to say one word. “No.” How did he know all this stuff? How? Unsure of how I was feeling, I coughed and started to reach up to mess with my glasses before I realized what I was doing and snuck my hand under my thigh, ignoring the knowing look on Aiden’s dumb face. “I know a lot about you too. Don’t think you’re cool or special.”

“I know, Van.” His thumb massaged me again for all of about three seconds. “You know more about me than anyone else does.”

A sudden memory of the night in my bed where he’d admitted his fear as a kid pecked at my brain, relaxing me, making me smile. “I really do, don’t I?”

The expression on his face was like he was torn between being okay with the idea and being completely against it.

Leaning in close to him again, I winked. “I’m taking your love of MILF porn to the grave with me, don’t worry.”

He stared at me, unblinking, unflinching. And then: “I’ll cut the power at the house when you’re in the shower,” he said so evenly, so crisply, it took me a second to realize he was threatening me…

And when it finally did hit me, I burst out laughing, smacking his inner thigh without thinking twice about it. “Who does that?”

Aiden Graves, husband of mine, said it, “Me.”

Then the words were out of my mouth before I could control them. “And you know what I’ll do? I’ll go sneak into bed with you, so ha.”

What the hell had I just said? What in the ever-loving hell had I just said?

“If you think I’m supposed to be scared…” He leaned forward so our faces were only a couple of inches away. The hand on my neck and the finger pads lining the back of my ear stayed where they were. “I’m not”
― Mariana Zapata, The Wall of Winnipeg and Me