Labor of Love

Sixteen

When he woke the next Morn, Bobby was acutely aware that he was alone before he even opened his eyes. He almost wondered if he really had just been Dreaming as he bolted upright, barely pausing long enough to grab his boxers before darting out his bedroom door. Surely, he couldn’t have Dreamt that he’d spent his Summer working himself into the ground in a single Night.

        Getting out to the kitchen brought a sense of relief the likes of which he couldn’t Begin to describe. Marissa was looking through the cabinets in a way that was like a woman on a mission crossed with a curious puppy. Her fellow Witch sat on a bar stool at the lil breakfast bar that separated kitchen from living room with a smirk on his face.

        Judging by how she moved through the decent-sized room, his wife was not only curious, but hungry. While he might still have yet to know every lil thing about her, he’d gotten to know her well enough to be able to tell certain things. And unless he was mistaken, it was roughly the Time of month she oughta be fertile. If he was right about that, she was prolly craving Chocolate, whether she realized it or not, and that wouldn’t help matters.

        “Why don’tcha just wake him up?” the younger brunette chuckled. ‘You’re making my head hurt even worse with all your rooting around.”

        “Ya must have a Death Wish, Richie,” she grumbled as she closed yet another cabinet door. “Waking Bobby before he’s ready to rise’s as bad an idea as waking me before I’m ready.”

        “Yeah, and letting ya go hungry ’cuz neither of us know how to use this kinda stove’s just as bad an idea,” Richie retorted gently.

        “Then you’ll be glad to know the best chef’s at least conscious,” the bassist chuckled, startling both of them.

        The young Witch whirled with a gasp, looking absolutely delectable in the boxers and T-shirt she’d swiped outta his dresser.

        “Mmm, what a sight to wake up to,” he said, moving to give her a good-Morn kiss.

        “What is? It’s just whatcha call boxers and a T-shirt,” Marissa mused once they parted.

        “Nothing sexier than a woman running around in my clothes,” the bassist told her with a grin and a wink.

        “You’re incorrigible, Bobby,” she laughed, her face turning pink.

        “Well, ya look even better in nothing at all,” Bobby admitted. “But I know I’m not getting that till late at Night after I throw Bret outta our room till we find our own place.”

        Both Time-Traveling Witches looked confused as they watched him move to start a pot of coffee. As he went through the more familiar motions, he said that they didn’t necessarily have to live here with the rest of the band. Richie could if he wanted to, or they could find a place big enough for all three of them that’d still offer room to grow.

        Marissa cocked a brow as she questioned what he meant, ’cuz while she thought she knew, she wanted it confirmed. Turning to face her once the device he’d been fiddling with was making a soft Sound, he was more than glad to explain.

        In being a relatively young newlywed, the bassist didn’t necessarily consider himself ready to start a family. Should such a thing occur in the near Future, he wouldn’t try to argue it, but he didn’t Intend to actually try for a baby yet. But should such a thing happen, he felt they oughta have their own place as opposed to living with a bunch of wild, crazy bachelors who drank and did drugs.

        “So, I’m not saying we need a house big enough for us, eight kids, and even Richie, too,” Bobby chuckled.

        “Goddess, I damn sure hope ya don’t Intend to make eight children on me!” she told him.