TimeBound (Time Tells #1) (COMPLETED)

Chapter Sixteen

It's after that, that I realise something about my husband. And about myself.

My husband needed spaces between the moments of our intensity. After today's confession, I knew I couldn't push him to speak to me again that evening. And I don't. I remain quiet as he enters the house. My eyes track him and I sense he is aware of it, but he keeps true to his path and walks through the revolving panel.

Then there's another thing I realise.

That I had fantastic intuition about my husband and his moods. I just hadn't recognised it or used it earlier.
Having a built-in radar of when to approach him and when to back off, helped me. It made me less desperate because I saw the long term benefits.

If I approached him too soon, he closed off, pushed me away. But if I stayed away, sometimes he came to me.

And it was always always best. When he came to me.

I realised this three days after I had ambushed him—of sorts—at work.

Three days where I stayed away from him. Not by ignoring him, no. The opposite. I paid extra attention to him.

I woke early to see him leave. But I sat at the breakfast counter, facing the raised path and watched him go.
I waited for him every evening at the couch in the living space. But I stayed where I was. Just watching, waiting.

That particular day, was a spectacularly bad writing day.

I was sitting with both my knees folded up, my laptop closed and resting between my stomach and my thighs as I all but rocked in my misery. The pain was real. The writer's block was even worse.

I repeatedly knocked my head against the tops of me knees.

Work brain, work.

"Word trouble?"

My head snapped up at the sound of my husband's voice. I see him standing wearing his grey pants and his shirt. His tie was off and so was his jacket. He stares at me with curious icy eyes. His hair was slightly tousled as if he had run a hand through it.

I make a face, "The worst kind." I admit.

His brows raise mildly as he puts his hands in his pockets and starts toward me. I straighten involuntarily, watching him.

"What's the worst kind?" he asks me as he comes to stand right before me.

My head is tilted all the way back, eyes wide up at him.

"When not a single word sounds good." I say after a few seconds.

He jerks his chin at me, "Move over."

I grab hold of my laptop and drop my legs scooting over a little, eyes rapt on my husband. He takes the spot I was sitting in, the one right beside the arm rest.

He wraps his fingers around the edge of the laptop closest to him. His gaze lifts and when I see molten blue, it's like a punch to my gut.

"May I?" he asks, his gaze unmoving from mine.

I nod, my fingers opening and letting the laptop slide through my fingers.

He opens my laptop and it reveals the page I had stopped at. He scrolls to the beginning of the document. A little v forms between his brows as he places his elbow on the arm rest and curls his fingers against his chin and begins to read. His eyes flash across the screen quickly.

I snap out my head, "Oh. This is the second book of the serious. I probably need to explain what the basic plot of the first.." my words had gotten slower with every word when he turns to look at me, with a smile and a tilted head.