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Macy's POV
A few days after Bert caught us in the bedroom, we had a Wish job set up for a 70th anniversary. The people in attendance, however, were so old and fragile, and they barely ate. We made sure to go out every 20 minutes with some meatballs of cheese puffs, but other than that, we just hung out in the kitchen the entire time.
Kristy was laughing about something Delia said. "It was so embarrassing!" She exclaimed.
"You want to talk embarrassing?" Bert asked. "Well, I caught Wes and Macy…"
I didn't give him the chance to finish, my hand slapped over his mouth, covering it completely. "Don't you dare finish that sentence," I growled in to his ear.
I noticed that everyone was looking at me, all a little scared at my outburst, but Wes looked amused. "Alright, before Macy kills someone," Delia said. "Let's get started on some crab cakes. Kristy and Monica, you are going to serve some wine. Monica… Please, please be careful. Wes, these people won't be drinking any beer, so you are off bar tender duty. You and Macy can start making the crab cakes, and Bert… You can go, um," She looked around for a second, before finding a stack of napkins, and shoving them in his hands, "Give people napkins. Go!" She pushed him out the door, then looked between me and Wes.
"What?" I asked.
"Look, I know that Bert walked in on you two having sex." She said, bluntly. I was taken aback at how straight forward she was about it. "And you two are engaged, and adults, you can do whatever you want. But, you guys are using protection, right? Because I don't want you two to get in over your heads. Just, be careful, okay?" She said. "Safe." She emphasized.
"Delia,"Wes started. "You don't have to worry about that."
With that, she gave us our instructions, and went to go supervise the others.
"Oh my God."Wes said, as we started cutting out crab cakes.
"What?" I asked. I looked at my pile of cut outs. It wasn't as dramatically larger as the shrimp pile had been.
"Macy, we didn't use protection. What if…"
"I'm not pregnant." I said, indifferently.
"How do you know?" He asked.
"How do you think?" I asked. His eyes widened.
"Oh." He said, and looked back to his crab puff pile. We worked in silence for a bit, until I heard him gasp and swear loudly. "I just cut myself."
"Oh, God! Wes! Here, let me see." I reached his arm, but he pulled away.
"No way!" He said playfully and looked down at the cut on his hand, "Blood." He cringed.
"Oh, come on Wes! It's hardly bleeding! And it's not like I'm going to hurt you. Just let me see." I grabbed his arm too quickly for him to pull back this time. "Alright, come on." I led him to the bathroom where I patted a spot on the counter. He was smiling at my learned professionalism…until he saw the bottle she was holding.
"Ah! No, I hate that stuff, Mace! Just stick a Band Aid on it and call it good, okay?" He twisted his torso to keep his injured hand away from the peroxide.
I laughed, "You have a tattoo, but you're afraid of peroxide?" I smiled at him, but continued to pour some of the liquid onto a cotton swab.
"Ugh! Stop that! I'm not afraid of the stuff; I just don't like what it leads to!"I quirked an eyebrow and he answered my unspoken question, "Pain, stinging, ouchiness!"
"Ouchiness' is not a word. And I'm sure you can handle a little stinging." I reached out expectantly at his hand with the cotton swab.
He sighed. He could tell he wasn't winning this one. "Fine, but you have to kiss it better…" He batted his eyes and pouted his lips.
I giggled. He loved making me giggle. "Wes, that is the most ridiculous face I've ever seen." He stuck his bottom lip out more and I sighed. "Fine…"
He smiled and stuck out his arm. "Fix me up, Dr. Macy!"
I slowly patted the scratched with the swab, "Now you sound like Lucy." I looked up at him and smiled before putting the Band Aid on the scratch.
He chuckled and I started cleaning up. I was heading for the door when he cleared his throat and held out his arm to her. "Kiss. Make better. Now."
I rolled my eyes, "Since you asked so nicely…" I leaned down slightly and placed a kiss on the spot, leaving a barely noticeable lipstick stain on it. "Now come one," I pecked at his lips and grabbed his hand. "We're going to be late getting the oven started."
He groaned and jumped off the counter, letting me lead him out the door. When we got to the kitchen, however, I stopped and turned to face him. I was trying very hard to suppress laughter and scrunched his eyebrows.
"I should have known you're afraid of peroxide," I leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist before starting to walk again, "You're afraid of clowns, for God's sake!"
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