Marrying a Boxer | H.S.

Chapter 85

Decorating a nursery is hard. Especially if your husband refuses to read the instructions when building the crib, dresser, and shelves you ordered.

A week ago, Harry and I went to get the paint and tools needed. Neither of us had any idea of what was needed, but thankfully Marcus told us the basics. It also helped that Harry watched about 100 videos on how to paint walls. We decided on a very light pink for the walls and we also ordered some peony decals to decorate. We had some people come to change the beige colored carpet, for a white one, instantly making the room look brighter and happier.

Painting the walls was not the problem, though. The problem is Harry sitting on the floor, surrounded by different sized squares of wood and screws, running his fingers through his hair ten times per minute, and letting out frustrated sighs.

"Harry, the instructions are right here," I say, leaning against the doorframe. He won't let me help him build anything. He says I shouldn't exert myself like that. I've also told him about getting an interior decorator even though I already knew he would say no.

"I don't need them," he mumbles through clenched teeth. I roll my eyes and walk towards him with the instructions in my hand. He tries to assemble two pieces, but they don't look right and the screw doesn't fully go in.

"You're doing it wrong," I tell him.

"No, I'm not," he grunts.

"Yes, you are, look," I point to the images on the instructions. "Those two don't go together. Maybe if you read the instructions you would know."

He snatches the paper from my hand, huffing. "You can be really fucking annoying, you know that?" He pouts.

I throw my head back, laughing. "And you can be a stubborn asshole who likes to make everything more complicated than it has to be."

"Go sit in your chair, young lady!" he points to the glider chair in the corner.

I shake my head and make my way to the chair. He holds the instructions in both hands, reading attentively with creased eyebrows and tight lips. His eyes dart between the pages and the pieces around him and he starts grouping the pieces that are the same, short screws with short screws, rectangular panels with rectangular panels, and the sort.

Once he has everything organized, he starts reading the instructions again, only this time he follows every step, slowly. He's concentrating hard on everything he's doing and whenever he assembles two pieces or screws something on correctly, I see the corners of his mouth quirk up just a little.

Slowly but surely, he finishes assembling the large dresser. When he screws in the last crystal knob, he lets out a deep breath that puffs his cheeks, wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, and steps back, looking over his accomplishment. He looks over to me and smiles widely, his eyes filled with pride.

"It's finished," he says. I get up from the chair and walk up to him, wrapping my arms around his waist as I look at the dresser, feeling proud of him because I know he's never had to build anything like this before, and although it looked easy, it was anything but.

"It looks great, Curly," I compliment. "I told you the instructions would help."

"Shut up," he chuckles, dropping the screwdriver and wrapping his arms around my round self. "I never thought I would build a dresser," he starts. "I know it's not a huge accomplishment but I'm very proud of myself."

I smile up at him, tightening my arms around him. "I'm really proud of you too, Curly."

"You know," he starts, guiding me back to the chair I was sitting on. I sit again and he pulls up a fluffy ottoman, sitting in front of me. "I never thought I would become a dad. I never thought I would know what it feels like to be this incredibly happy. After Leila's death, I spent years being angry. I would spend the days at the gym, practicing and trying to become the best boxer. My anger would drive me. I would go to bars and parties, drink too much, mess around a lot... I would just do things I'm not proud of. I just never thought I would be happy again. I thought I didn't deserve it. I blamed myself for what happened to Leila. You know she made me very happy and when I lost her I thought I would never feel that again. You changed that. You've given me that happiness back and multiplied. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for making me the happiest man alive. I just hope I can be a good dad and make our little girl happy." He fiddles with his fingers, looking down at his hands. "What if I'm not a good dad, Scarlet?"