Chapter 4

After returning from their trip to Hawaii, Brock and Reba struggle with the choices they must make, as well as the consequences for their actions. Read to discover how this will play out for themselves, as well as the family.

[R] Enjoy and read on!

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Reba turned the dial to the right, causing the pot of pasta to steam higher. "Brock, you didn't have it hot enough," she remarked as she turned to face him, hands on her hips. "When you said you were going to make this meal, I thought you meant you were going to make this meal." She glared at him before turning back around to check on the vegetables.

"I wanted to," Brock bit the inside of his lip. "But then I realized I didn't know how to make anything."

"It took you this long to realize that?" Reba raised an eyebrow as she lifted the spoon to smell of her concoction. "Mmm," she inhaled the sweet smelling sauce. "Here, you be the guinea pig." She thrust the spoon to him, urging him to take the first taste.

Brock obliged willingly and took a sip of the sauce. It was delicious, the sweet and sour flavors mixed together beautifully. "Can I have another?"

Reba chuckled and shook her head. "We have to have some left for the family you know."

"One more spoon won't hurt," he said walking around the island counter to her side. He leaned in closely to the pan of sauce and attempted to spoon out some more, but Reba tore the dish away from him and placed it on the other side of the counter. "Oh no you don't," she covered the sauce with her body, protecting it from a hungry Brock. Suddenly, she felt two strong arms wrap around her waist and his hands pressed into her sides, resulting in an involuntary laughter. She couldn't contain herself as the pain ached through her abdomen and forced laughter burst throughout her until she was gasping for air and gripping Brock's forearm tightly. "Brock, Brock," she breathed heavily, turning to face him and trying to wriggle free.

Brock gave a devilish smile but ceased his tickling, seeing as her face was beet red. He laughed at her trying to regain her composure with difficulty. She was so beautiful, it had been a long time since he saw her laugh that hard. Perhaps he missed her much much more than he even realized. Maybe it was the little things that he wasn't able to forget. Over the years of their divorce, he'd see or hear something that reminded him of her. Something she used to say, something she used to sing, everything she did. Every little thing. Unable to help himself any longer, he leaned in closely until it seemed as if every breath she lost, he caught. Their lips were centimeters apart and their eyes locked in a deep gaze.

Reba's mind was blank. She couldn't stop herself or even think for that matter. So when Brock closed the gap and pressed his lips against hers, she instantaneously kissed him back. His lips tasted of that sweet and sour sauce and her tongue breached her lips, ready to dive into his mouth.

Brock opened his mouth just enough for Reba's tongue to spill in. Once it did, Brock gaped his mouth and twisted his tongue with hers. God, she was like a drug. He couldn't last minutes nowadays without thinking about her, needing her, craving her. It was like they had rediscovered feelings they once shared but thought they'd lost forever. He felt her fingers cling to his biceps and pull him in closer. He moved her backwards until her body was pressed up against the counter. Their mouths parted and he moved his kisses to her neck, where he sucked and bit teasingly on her pulse point. Reba's head rolled back and she closed her eyes, savoring every movement Brock made. His hands moved for her shirt and just as he unbuttoned the first button, he heard something sizzling and popping behind him. He halted abruptly and turned around to see the pot had boiled over and steaming water was running down the stove, counter, and onto the floor.

"Shit, shit, shit," Reba pushed him out of the way and scurried to the stove where she turned the dial all the way down and moved the pot off of the eye. She turned to Brock and smacked him upside the head. "What is wrong with you!?"

Brock rubbed the spot she had hit and and used his other hand to throw in the air. "What did I do!?"

"You made me ruin the pasta!" Reba exclaimed as she hurried to dab the puddles of water on the floor.

"I didn't make you do anything," Brock replied, wiggling his eyebrow in a playful manner. He loved messing with her, it was so much fun to see her get heated. The only downfall was getting hit in the head.

Reba rolled her eyes as she threw the sodden paper towel away in the trashcan. "Oh shut up," she said, although he did have a point, not that she'd ever admit it. She huffed at the pot of pasta. What were they going to do now?

Brock watched her for a minute. "Reba, it's not ruined, just a little soft. It's not a big deal. We can just drown it in sauce and they'll never know it was overcooked." Brock poked at the food with the spoon. "Just add some salt and that's that." He shrugged and moved past her to get the salt.

It was passed to Reba and she shook a good amount in. "I'll just package all of this up so it'll be ready for tomorrow night. At least it's out of the way."

Brock nodded and helped put everything into separate containers, then he tucked them away in the refrigerator.

Reba couldn't help but think about the coming day. How was she supposed to prepare for the family meeting? She didn't know what she should say. There was nothing to say. She and Brock were in the wrong, there was no excuse. 'It was in the heat of the moment?' Reba scoffed at the ridiculous idea of using that excuse. She sounded like Cheyenne during her high school years.

Brock watched Reba's eyebrows furrow and relax in a pattern. She was in deep thought, he could tell. He leaned over to touch her shoulder lightly, breaking her train of thought.

Reba looked up questioningly into Brock's eyes. She knew he could tell she was thinking awful hard on something. "What are we going to say?" She asked lightly, though it was a serious question.

Brock gave her a small smile and silently guided her over to the living room. "Sit," he motioned to the couch cushion and after she took a seat, he sat down next to her. A silence fell between them, though it was not unsettling. He placed his hand over hers and said:

"Reba, I don't think anything we say is going to be the right thing to say. What we need to tell them is the truth-leaving out some specific details of course." He smirked and he noticed a tint of red take place on her cheeks. "It'll be okay in the end. Maybe not in the beginning, but things will start to fall back in place after a while."

Reba placed her hand over his that lay atop her other one. His hand felt warm against her chilled ones. She squeezed it with the little strength she felt she had. Her eyes dropped to their hands when he didn't speak again. "Thank you Brock," she whispered.

"So what do you want to do with the remainder of our night?" He didn't say it in a suggestive tone, knowing this wasn't the time to make such approaches.

"I'm actually kind of getting tired," Reba noted, yawning into the nook of her arm.

Brock nodded and got up, helping her up once he was standing erect. "I think I'm going to change into my pajamas and probably lay down."

That sounded appealing to Reba too. "I think I'll do the same." She stepped back into the kitchen, made a glass of red wine, and flipped the light switch before going back into the living room. Brock had already ascended the stairs and disappeared down the hallway. Reba made her way upstairs, carefully balancing the wine glass between her index and middle finger. She tiptoed into her bedroom silently, shutting and locking her door behind her.

She changed into her satin pajamas quickly and decided to not cleanse her face just yet.

Her wine on her bedside table looked oh so welcoming. She cracked the bedroom door open, then climbed onto the bed and picked up her book in one hand and her wine glass in the other. The yellow lambency of the lamp created a soothing dim light to the room. Reba sloshed the alcohol around and stared at it a moment before taking a small sip. It was enticing, and she took another.

Brock tiptoed by Reba's door and peeked inside to see Reba cracking open a book and taking small, delicate sips of her red wine. It looked like a painting-like a beautiful picture with dark colors surrounding the centerpiece that lit up the room-Reba. And suddenly, he missed being beside her at night while she read and drank her wine, or hot tea, whichever suited her mood at the time being. Yes, he would be trying to sleep and yes, he would gripe at the light, but now that he thought about it, he loved that ritual they unconsciously shared almost every night. But most of all, he just missed being by her side at night.

Without thinking through his actions clearly, he pushed the door open and awkwardly stood in the doorway.

Merry Christmas! †

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 coming soon.