It's A Sweet Life Part 19

She shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. I won't miss the boys or the twins opening presents." They'd bought extra toys for Jenny's sons. Jenny and her boys would also be going to Grover's for the holiday.

She insisted on them taking her over to the couch, where they got her settled with a soft blanket and her heating pad. "Grover helped me go shopping for you," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't get them brought upstairs yesterday. They're down in a box in my office."

Ben kissed her forehead. "I'll go get them."

Galileo jumped up onto the couch and crawled into her lap. "Mwrao."

She scratched his head. "Yes, Santa Claus even brought the grouchy tabby something."

Allan fixed her a mug of coffee and brought it over to her. "I wish I could make your pain go away, baby."

"Me, too."

Ben returned with the box of gifts. They saved giving her the jewelry for last. When she opened them, tears welled up in her eyes and they helped her put them on because her fingers hurt too much to manage it.

The men finally gave in and helped her get ready to go to Grover's. "I don't want to miss Santa Grover," she joked with a pained smile as Allan helped her shower while Ben grabbed his over at the other apartment.

"We'll pull rank on you if you look like you're really bad off today," Allan said.

"I'll be okay." She snuggled against his chest. "I have the two of you. As long as I have you guys, I'll always be okay."

Allan and Ben kept a close watch on her during the day and festivities, refusing to let her help in the kitchen, or even get her own food. They made her stay planted on the couch in the living room where she could take part in the celebration without getting up.

By the time they settled in bed with Libbie tucked in between them, Allan knew he'd do whatever it took to keep her safe. He stared at her peaceful, albeit pain-filled face, and wished he could banish the bad from her world.

He caught Ben's gaze across her visage, sharing a long, silent look before nodding to each other and trying to fall asleep.

Chapter Seventeen.

The three of them went to Many Blessings for the private New Year's Eve party Mandaline and Sachi were throwing for their closest friends. Fortunately, the cold front had moved on, allowing Libbie some respite from the pain she'd suffered through Christmas week.

Libbie knew some of the people there, and others she'd never met before. Of particular interest to her was watching Mandaline and her men, Ellis and Bradley. The three of them all wore matching wedding bands, although Libbie knew they weren't legally married.

Ken, who hadn't spent as much time around Mandaline as even Charles had, leaned in and spoke softly in Libbie's ear. "Are those the guys you were telling us about?"

"Yes."

It was still early in the evening when Mandaline made her way over to them with a tray of canapes an hour before dinner was scheduled.

Charles was the one to ask. "I noticed all three of you wear rings?"

Mandaline smiled. "We had a handfasting ceremony," she said. We're not married-married, but we've all got powers of attorney and that stuff. Since we didn't get a marriage license, we technically didn't break any laws." She winked. "By the way, I am a Notary, and I do perform marriages and handfastings, if you ever get to that point."

"Mandaline!" Libbie gasped, her face growing hot and red.

Her friend handed the tray off to Charles before hugging her. "Remember," Mandaline whispered in her ear. "Wish big, dream hard. It happened one time. So keep wishing and dreaming."

She took the tray back from Charles and kissed both men on the cheeks. "Regardless, you three have my blessings."

Ken watched her make a circuit of the cozily crowded storefront. At least twenty-five people were gathered for the evening. "She freaks me out sometimes. In a good way, but still." He sipped his gla.s.s of spiked cider.

"You still not a believer?" Libbie teased.

Charles chimed in. "I'm not. But I won't deny she's good at reading people. I'm glad she uses her superpowers for good and not evil."

Libbie had fun, glad she could enjoy the holiday in a way she hadn't been able to enjoy Christmas. Someone, whether her men or Grover she didn't know, had ratted her out to Dr. Smith. He showed up bright and early the day after Christmas for his cruller order and to ask when she was going to let him prescribe her something stronger for her pain.

She still hadn't made the appointment.

After dinner, and as the clock drew closer to midnight, Libbie snuggled on one of the comfy sofas in the Many Blessings storefront with Charles and Ken, their hands in hers. At midnight, everyone cheered and the men leaned in and kissed her.

"Happy New Year," she told them. "And may we have many more together."

Both men smiled. "To many more," Ken and Charles echoed.

Back at home, they slowly undressed her in the bedroom, kissing every inch of her flesh as they bared it. She loved the tender, nurturing, sensual sides to them every bit as much as she did their h.o.r.n.y, rough, down-and-dirty sides.

Tonight, Charles took the lead, rolling her onto her side with her cradled against him as he carefully entered her. He took his time, slowly making love to her while Ken lay behind her and brushed kisses across the nape of her neck that made her shiver with pleasure.

Then Ken draped an arm over her waist until his hand nestled between her legs. With Charles' c.o.c.k slowly stroking inside her, and Ken's fingers stroking her c.l.i.t, she quickly came like that.

Charles swallowed her soft cries with his mouth, his hips moving faster until his release joined hers.

Could I be any more in love with them?

But she stopped herself short of saying it out loud. She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She didn't need to hear them say they loved her, because their every action spoke of it. But she wouldn't say it to them until she knew how they felt. If she never said it, on the off chance they broke her heart, she'd feel like less of a gullible a.s.shole.

And maybe she'd be able to talk herself out of admitting she loved them.

But if she said it, that made it real.

When she caught her breath, the men carefully turned her over. Ken kissed her as he made love to her, this time Charles the one to strum her c.l.i.t while Ken's shaft slowly f.u.c.ked her p.u.s.s.y.

He didn't take as long to climax as Charles had, but Charles still managed to make her come with him.

As she lay there in their arms, drifting to sleep between them, she heard them whisper, "Happy New Year, baby," one in each ear.

"Happy New Year."

January saw several brutal cold fronts blast through Brooksville, severe by local standards. The weather forecasters said it was the coldest January on record in over seventy-five years.

Allan, who spent more time in the bakery than Ben, found himself forcing Libbie to slow down and not overtax herself. He made her spend a lot of time taking it easy, soaking in the hot tub, and being cared for by her men when she could barely get out of bed on her worst days.

Then it eased up a little in the beginning of February, allowing Libbie a chance to recover some energy and emerge from her coc.o.o.n of pain to the point she almost felt normal by the Monday of Valentine's Day. Allan looked forward to getting Libbie all to himself for part of the day. Ben had to go on one of his Monday errands, but he promised to be back by four so they could spend the evening celebrating together.

The Monday errands were good cover excuses for the scheduled conference calls they had to make regarding the trial. Ben would be driving south to St. Pete for today's calls.

Allan still thought Ben was being overly cautious, but since they'd so far successfully remained hidden, he wouldn't fight him on it.

They both gave her beautiful Valentine's Day cards, which made her cry the good kind of tears.

After they opened her cards to them, Ben spoke up. "Listen, there's a part two to all of this, but it's going to wait until tonight, after I get back. Okay?"

"Okay." She glanced at Allan. "I suspect he'll take good care of me."

"I know he will," Ben said, "or I'll kick his a.s.s."

After a round of good-bye kisses, Libbie wrapped her arms around Allan. "I want to go up to Webster."

"To what?"

"Webster. It's a flea market. It's really famous. It's only open on Mondays. It's a farmer's market and livestock market, too."

"I'm sooo not buying you a pony."

She laughed. "You're silly."

"Why is it only open on Mondays?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Don't you have farmer's markets in Nebraska?"

Allan caught himself before asking what she was talking about. Nebraska hadn't come up in conversation, casually or otherwise, in several weeks. "Yeah, but flea markets and stuff are usually weekend events."

"Can we go? Please?"

"Of course we can. I'm not letting you drive all that way alone."

"It's not that far. It's just one exit up from 50."

"Oh. Well, still, I'll drive you." He kissed her. "And I'll be your gallant pack animal."

She draped her arms around his neck. "Well, Mr. Gallant, we need to get moving. They opened over two hours ago."

They had flea markets in Miami, but nothing the likes of what he saw when they made their way to the Webster flea market. Admittedly, his experience was more urban than rural, but he felt like a Miami native transplanted to Nebraska instead of just a few hundred miles north in his own home state.

He dutifully followed Libbie around the flea market, constantly observing her to make sure she wasn't getting too cold in the chilly breeze, or overexerting herself. He wouldn't let her carry any of her purchases, which included a few books, some fresh produce, and a gla.s.s, antique fishing net buoy that caught her eye for some reason.

It was after he'd sensed she was starting to wear down that he gently suggested they call it a morning.

When she didn't argue with him, he knew his instincts had been spot-on. "Okay. Back to the car. You feel like lunch?"

"Lunch I could definitely do."

Libbie gave him directions, taking them back the long way south down Highway 471 so she could show off more of her home state, including parts of the Richloam Wildlife Management Area, to her Cornhusker. "So how are you liking Florida winters so far?"

He smiled. "They're definitely not Nebraska winters. Thank G.o.d."

She never failed to giggle when he said something along those lines. It had become something of a running joke to them, to quote The Big Bang Theory several times throughout the course of their day.

She loved it.

They stopped at a small cafe not too far south of Webster for lunch.

"Ooh, they have Cuban sandwiches." He closed his menu with a flourish. "I know what I'm having."

"That sounds good. Make it two."

"And I'm buying. No arguments," he said when she'd opened her mouth to do just that.

She smiled. "All right."

"We took your car and used your gas. It's only fair I buy you lunch."

"Hey, I'm still up to my a.s.s in debt to you two for the hot tub."

He caught her hand in his and feathered his fingers across her knuckles. "And you know d.a.m.n well that was a gift, so knock it off or I'll spank you."

It was his arched eyebrow that set her off on a giggle fit. Charles had to order for her, because she was still giggling when the waitress stopped back to take their orders.

When the waitress left their orders a few minutes later, Charles stared at his sandwich in disgust.

"What's wrong?" Libbie asked.

He pulled the pressed sandwich apart and picked up the top bun to show her. "It's not a Cuban sandwich."

She frowned. "Huh?" While she admitted the bread wasn't technically Cuban bread, it contained the right ingredients-mustard, ham, roast pork, swiss cheese, and pickles. And it was hot and pressed.

He pointed at the bun. "You're a baker. You of all people should know this isn't real Cuban bread."

She eyed him cautiously. "Oookay. Yeah, you're right, it's not." Traditional Cuban bread wasn't something she made in her bakery because there wasn't a great demand for it in their area. "But how would someone from Nebraska know that?"

She wasn't sure, but thought a guilty look might have flashed across his face for a moment. "I...I went to visit a cousin of mine in Miami one year at Spring Break. He educated me on what a real Cuban sandwich is." He rea.s.sembled the sandwich and picked it up, taking a bite. "I mean, it's okay," he managed around a mouthful of bread, "but it's not a real one."