Free Deception by Sharon Cullen Page B

been like if everything had worked out.
    But a husband who hadn’t been there for her, a lonely marriage— that was her reality.
    Tess closed her eyes to the steady cadence of Alex’s breathing.
    She brushed a stray tear off her cheek. She wanted more than what she’d had. She wanted a husband who put their marriage before his career. A husband who would be there when she needed him and not just when he could fit her into his busy schedule.
    His arm came around her, turning her until her back met his front and she decided that tonight she wouldn’t think about all the bad stuff. She fell asleep with his hand cupping her breast and her bottom brushing his erection.
     
    ***
     
    Tess woke to sunlight pouring in the slats of the closed blinds and an incredible thirst for root beer. She rolled over, feeling better but still like she’d gone a round or two with her electric mixer.
    Voices drifted through the closed bedroom door. She turned her head to find Alex’s side of the bed empty, his pillow indented where he had slept.
    The sharp, unpleasant odor of burnt food seeped into the room and she wrinkled her nose. Pans clattered in the kitchen and a muffled curse was followed by a crash and Othello’s yelp.
    Tess sat up. The room tilted and instead of the small of her back aching, her entire back ached. She had a vague recollection of searching for the clock in the middle of the night. Damn Alex! He’d hidden the alarm clock so she would sleep longer. Now she understood what he meant when he’d said, “I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
    She threw the covers off, groaning with each creak and moan of her muscles. When she coughed, her lungs rattled less but her ribs ached more.
    Another muffled curse from the kitchen had her moving as best she could into the hallway where the stink of scorched cookies hung thick in the air.
    She stopped in the doorway to her kitchen. Alex sat at her desk, gold wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he read a recipe card. Two days of beard growth covered his cheeks and jaw. Flour and a yellow sticky substance she didn’t want to identify were smeared over his jeans and T-shirt.
    Papers spit out by the fax floated onto a pile on the floor. Othello was in the corner, scarfing down black, charred cookies while Tony stood in the middle of the kitchen, an oven mitt on each hand, looking at her with wide, innocent eyes.
    She tried to focus on it all, but her mind refused to comprehend the utter destruction. “What are you doing?”
    Alex jumped, dropped the card and whipped the glasses off. Othello hacked, then began to lick crumbs off the floor. Tony slowly removed the oven mitts.
    “We’re finishing up your orders,” Alex said.
    “You’re what?”
    Alex grabbed his cane, which was covered in a fine dusting of flour, and pulled himself up. “We’re finishing your orders. We figured we’d bake the cookies and Barbara agreed to come over and help us decorate.”
    Tess’s gaze went from Alex to Othello, who dropped to the floor with a deep groan. Alex moved to block her view. “That was our first attempt. We’re better now.”
    “He’s going to get sick.”
    “Then I’ll clean that up too.”
    His thoughtfulness made her want to cry. Everything made her want to cry. He must have been up for hours. Standing so long wasn’t good for his knee.
    “It’s time for your medicine and you’re probably thirsty too. Are you hungry?” he asked.
    The oven timer beeped and Tony removed a tray of perfectly baked cut-out cookies. Alex turned to her with a questioning look and smiled when he saw her staring at the cookies. “Didn’t think we could do it, huh?”
    Tess shook her head, too stunned to speak.
    “Just don’t tell the guys at work,” Tony grumbled, expertly sliding the spatula under the cookies and lifting them off the cookie sheet.
    Othello stretched his neck and sniffed the new cookies, his tail thumping the floor.
    Alex limped over, a glass of orange juice in his