After breakfast this morning, Seth had left for work before I could announce my exciting—if not a little bit terrifying—news. Guess that will have to wait until tomorrow because now I've got to busy myself with making the house presentable. This place is fit for a monkey. No joke. There's junk everywhere and I have no clue what to do with it. So, I do what any normal person would do. I dump it all into trash bags and then shove the bags into the spare room—which is where they're probably stay until the day I die.

I've been cleaning like a chipmunk on speed and finally, by two in the afternoon, the house looks presentable. Seth and I have settled on doing burgers on the grill, but I still feel as though a couple side dishes would be nice. I make a quick trip to the store, gathering supplies for potato salad and some chips and salsa, before making my way home.

It's close to four by the time I start cooking, and Seth mentioned he'd be home around five to start up the grill. I find myself actually excited. I'm not sure if this has anything to do with meeting Tracy and finally feeling secure about her friendship with Seth, or if I'm just excited to get some human interaction for once. Whatever the reason, I'm thankful that I have something to look forward to.

I get to work chopping up potatoes, celery, onion, tomatoes, and other ingredients for salsa and potato salad. I've just blended the salsa together in the food processor when I hear Seth pull in. My chest constricts with the reality of the moment. We're actually having people over.

Our relationship was so bad before that we never even had company. I'm still not entirely sure why Seth refused to have friends over throughout that time. Maybe one of these days he'll explain himself to me.

Scratch that. One of these days I'm going to make him explain himself to me.

I greet him with a 'howdy' and a smile as he enters the house, and then turn back to my task. Seth utters a 'hello' back, but I don't realize he's entered the kitchen until I feel his arms slide around my waist. It's similar to what I'd imagine a snake feeling like if it were to wrap itself around my body. Shocking at first, and then invigorating.

I melt into Seth's embrace, s when I feel his lips meet the skin just behind my jugular. There's something intoxicating about the person you love brushing their lips over a part of your body that's stirring with life. It's as if his lips are the flame, bringing my blood to a boil.

The sensation doesn't last long, because he's pulling away before I can fully enjoy it. I turn my head, following his movements as he heads out the backdoor. A moment later, he returns and pulls a package of thawed minced beef from the fridge, and dumps it into a mixing bowl. We work silently, side-by-side until Seth is finished seasoning the meat and squishing it into patties. Then he's heading back outside, my greedy eyes following his movements until the door blocks him from view.

Once my dishes are completed, I stick them in the fridge to keep them cold before making my way outside. Seth is whistling to himself, his back to me as he peeks in on the burgers. Not satisfied, he closes the lid and resumes whistling. He seems so content. It's like he was meant to be a carefree, burger-flipping husband. For a moment, we look normal. I'm the proud wife, watching her husband work, and he's the diligent husband providing for his hungry family. It's a beautiful sight and one that I hope we can make a normal routine soon.

I want us to feel normal, not just look it. It's one thing to put effort into gaining back what we had, but I'm growing tired of the effort. I'm just ready for us to find comfort in each other again. I don't like having to watch what I say or what I do in fear of pushing us back to the beginning. I want us to finally be standing on that sturdy platform as a happy couple, willing to fight the battles of life together instead of letting life fall apart around us as we battle each other. We're supposed to be a team, and I'm beyond thrilled to see us actually acting it... even if that's all it is right now... acting.

He must hear me approach, because he turns quickly, his whistling coming to a stop. When his eyes find mine, he smiles. I'd been standing at the threshold of the door watching him, but it was the moment I started towards him that he turned. As I take the last few steps towards him, I watch his smile slip, his eyebrows mimicking the movement as they lower in confusion.

"You okay?" I ask, stopping to take in his odd expression.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," he tells me, as he lifts the large grilling utensil in his hand to point at my leg. "You're limping."

"Oh," I laugh stupidly. "Yeah, that's a long story."

I take the last few steps towards Seth, fighting a grimace when I step on the edge of a rock and roll my ankle slightly. I play it off well, thinking Seth doesn't notice, but I'm wrong. He definitely notices because he's turning to place the spatula on the tabletop attached to the grill and then facing me again before taking a step in my direction. I watch as he lowers himself to the ground, crouching beside me as he lifts my pant leg.

"Mercy!" he reprimands when his eyes take in the discoloration around my ankle. It's really not that bad, but Seth seems to think so. I shrug like a child who's aware of their stupidity but is too proud to acknowledge it. "What in the world did you do?"

"Uh..." I scratch my head as I construe just how to word this. "I tried to hurdle my way over the fence."

Yeah, not my smartest word choice. Maybe I should have just skipped the jumping the fence part, and gone right to the 'I twisted my ankle in a ditch' part. At least then he wouldn't feel the need to ask his next question.

"Why were you hurdling the fence?"

I nod. "To outrun the cop."

Again. Stupid.

"Um..." It's not often that I leave Seth speechless, but I'm always up for adding new accomplishments to my wall of success.

I watch as Seth scratches the rim of his ear, his eyes dropping to the nasty wound one last time before standing to face me. He has an intimidating stance. I'm not sure if I've ever noticed that. But, right now, with his brows dipped and his eyes analyzing, I feel tiny—minuscule—and very much intimidated. I straighten my shoulders, forcing myself to remain confident.

"Care to explain?" Seth inquires, his eyes glinting with humor.

I'm quite surprised by this reaction if I'm being honest. He's typically the one to obey rules and flee from circumstances that could get him into trouble. To see him giving me a look that is both stern and comical has me puckering my lips in thought.

"Well," I say, clearing my throat.

And then I go into full detail of my night. I consider explaining what gave me such a burst of genuine excitement, but I don't feel like this is the right place to announce that I'd quit my job. It needs to be more special, not just some nonchalant piece of information. I mean, it's a big deal, and I want to have the opportunity to fully take in his expression when I announce it.

When the doorbell rings, not even three minutes after explaining my night, I'm glad that I managed to contain my news.

"I'll get it," I offer, already turning toward the house to make my way inside.

Seth nods, eyeing my ankle again, as he reluctantly returns to flipping burgers.

I try to keep my walking as smooth as possible, but it's tricky with the stepping stones being uneven. I manage to make my way inside and then speed-waddle my way to the front door. Swinging it open, I plaster a smile onto my face, hoping to hide the lack of enthusiasm swirling in my chest.

The moment my eyes land on the woman positioned on our doorstep, my mouth goes dry. She's everything I feared she would be. Her dress hugs each curve like pantyhose on a hippo. Only, she's no hippo. She's stunning. Truly stunning. My eyes quickly trail from her stiletto-fitted feet to her hairspray-stiffened hair and then drift to eye the sweet little girl standing beside her.

To sum it all up in a single word: Tracy is ravishing.

I feel like a perv as soon as the thoughts enter my mind, but there's no doubt about, Tracy is stunning. And in my faded skinny jeans and oversized cashmere sweater, I feel like a beautiful toadfish. This is a sad moment for me, but I shake it off and reach a hand out to the model-worthy woman.

"Welcome," I say with a smile, ignoring the sound of Seth approaching from behind. "You made it just in time."

Just as I'm about to introduce myself, I notice a few more people making their way up the sidewalk. That's when Seth's hand glides over my shoulder and I turn slightly to see him standing with a plate of burgers in his opposite hand.

"Hey," Seth greets, lifting his hand from my shoulder and reaching for Tracy's.

"Hi," she says, flashing us a genuine smile. "It's lovely to meet you."

I assume she's talking to me and I quickly respond with, "It's lovely to meet you, too," but when Seth mutters the exact same thing just as I do, I turn confused eyes towards him.

Huh?

There's no time to inquire of Seth's reasons for saying something like that to a client he's worked with for weeks before two more people join Tracy and her daughter on the doorstep.

"Mercy," Seth says after a moment, and then gestures towards the woman behind the model, "I'd like you to meet Tracy."

I balk. Most likely, my reaction is very much obvious because I just stand there for a moment, my eyes jumping from the pretty lady in front of me and then behind her to the woman that Seth claims is the real Tracy. I'm stunned. Completely stunned. Because there's no possible way that the woman Seth is referring to as Tracy could be younger than sixty.

She's got a nice head of gray hair, and several wrinkles around her kind eyes.

"Oh!" I suddenly say, a flood of relief washing through my body. "I thought you were Tracy," I explain, motioning towards the younger woman. Then I shake my head, smiling at my own stupidity as I step forward and take the real Tracy's hand in my own. "It's nice to finally meet you. Seth said you'd be bringing your daughter, so I just assumed."

I try to reign in my enthusiasm. I wouldn't want Tracy junior to think I don't like her, but I can't help but feel excited by the fact that she isn't Seth's client. Clearly, they've never even met before.

Gosh, jealous Mercy sure is an ugly little thing. I'm going to have to work on that a little bit. I hate that I judged her before I ever even met her. How unfair.

"Hi, Mercy," Tracy says, her hand warm and soft in my own. "I've been dying to meet you." She smiles and I feel a need to pull her into a hug—a need I most certainly do not act upon. "I'm very sorry to hear about your mother." The genuine concern in her eyes gives me an indication that she's suffered similar pain.

"Thank you," I answer, mirroring the look on her face with a tender smile of my own.

She releases my hand then as she gestures to the three people around her.

"This is my husband, Clark." Her hand reaches out to touch the arm of the man beside her softly as she introduces him. "And my daughter, Allyson," she explains, motioning to the woman I'd mistaken Tracy for earlier, "and my granddaughter, Peyton."

It's the first time I really take in the little girl. She's got her mother's features, but instead of blonde hair, her locks are vibrant red. I assume they came from her daddy... or even her grandpa, because woven into her grandpa's gray strands are a few burnt auburn ones.

Once we're all introduced, we invite the family into our home. Conversation comes easily, but all the while my mind is stuck on one stupid thought.

Why didn't Seth just admit from the beginning that Tracy was an older woman?

And then it dawns on me...

He probably wanted to prove himself, not just simply blurt out the one thing he knew would erase all my doubt.