I’d had more than enough of guns on our wedding day. Though she worked for SFPD, she was not actually a police officer and did not carry a gun. “In more ways than one.”Īloha Newman was John’s driver. “ Hell,” John exclaimed, hastily tucking his shirt in and zipping up his trousers. That led to another longer kiss, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the quartz counter with my jeans unzipped, the French toast was burning, and the doorbell was ringing. “I’m going to miss you today,” he murmured. John looked unconvinced, but he poured a generous helping of cream and sugar into my coffee, brought it to me with a kiss. Presumably it’s going to be the same for you.” I’m not going to be able to be much help. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do this week. And then we’d bought a few new pieces too–like the Victorian black and bronze bed in the master bedroom. Combining our separate households meant John and I had bestowed a lot of worldly goods on each other. It was pretty much the same situation in every room of the house. He nodded at the wall of cardboard boxes filling half the kitchen. “Of course.” His expression was doubtful. “You’re still okay with hosting this cocktail party on Wednesday?” But it is a good way to figure out if you want to spend more time together, and needless to say, I had figured out I wanted to spend as much time as possible with John. And, yeah, it’s also true that a luxury vacation in a romantic foreign country is probably not the best way to get to know someone you’ve only known a short time-although it certainly works that way in Hallmark movies. I mean, yes, they’re artificial in that getting to spend two weeks doing whatever pleasurable thing you feel like doing is not real life.
As a side note, I am very much in favor of honeymoons. John and I had arrived home the night before from Scotland, where we had been on our honeymoon for the past two weeks. “… new report, you need to make just over $343,000 in order to afford a median-priced home in San Francisco,” the bespectacled and solemn news reporter on the TV across the kitchen informed us.
I was fixing French toast, which, for the record, is not French, and the coffee was just about ready. Oh, and the scene was the breakfast table at our house on Greenwich Street in San Francisco. It was one witch, me, and John, my husband, SFPD’s new Police Commissioner.
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