by J. M. Maurer
He nods and pulls me into a tight embrace. With my ear at his chest, I can hear his heart clipping away at a hefty pace. When I hold him back, he curls his fingers into my skin. It’s just forceful enough that if I hadn’t felt him do this once before I’d most certainly have let out a moan of pleasure.
“I don’t want to talk sports tonight. I want you to tell me about my baby.” He scoots back and takes my face in his hands, letting his glossy eyes pierce mine. “Please, Addy. Tell me everything. I feel like I’ve missed the most important six months of my life. Six precious months I’ll never get back.”
His weepy eyes break my heart. It’s not what I expected I’d see from him. After all, from what little I’ve read about him, he’s got a list of accomplishments stretching from the banks of the Ohio River all the way to Cooperstown, New York, where multiple publications report the Baseball Hall of Fame will one day house his name. My heart flutters, thinking about the fact that Ben has a sensitive side. But does he really want to be in our baby’s life? How could he? With such an arm, how could anything outside of baseball even matter to him?
I draw in a breath and prep for an evening I know will most likely end in disappointment. Ben’s a baseball player. He’s out of my league. And I won’t do anything to hinder the progress of his exceptionally remarkable career.
After all, I’m just a small-town girl. One who happened to have gotten herself knocked up by none other than MLB’s pitching sensation, Bentley Aaron Peterson.
Chapter Eight
Ben
For being the daughter of a former governor, her apartment isn’t what I thought I’d be walking into.
I follow close behind her and start counting the number of square tiles missing from her kitchen floor. “Thanks for letting me in, Addy.”
It’s all I say for now. I’m too afraid to press too soon with questions I can’t wait to get answered. For now, I opt to refrain from commenting on her place of residence and begin a mental catalog of all the issues I notice. Addison doesn’t seem fazed. It’s as if she’s used to the dripping faucet, the plastic covering she has over the broken kitchen window, and the light fixture that seems to be hanging in place by only the ground wire.
“The kabobs smell amazing. Thank you for bringing them. I take it Mrs. Tinley gave you my address?”
The upbeat tone in her voice makes me turn to meet her gaze. I nod, then watch as her full lips lift into a grin.
Peeking up at me through her lashes, she moves the kabobs to an oval plate, pours the lemonade into two glasses, and has everything ready before I’ve checked out the rest of her place. “I’ll have to have a word with Mrs. Tinley. She shouldn’t be giving out a single lady’s address to a stranger.”
“Then I’ll make it my job to see to it that it’s never a problem again.”
A beautiful laugh escapes her throat, the sound taking more of the edge off my earlier sadness. She pulls out one of two chairs at her kitchen table, which is butted up against a wall, and gestures for me to take a seat. “And how do you plan on going about that?”
I settle into the sturdy oak chair and watch as the curves of her body move when she squeezes the home to my baby in between the chair and the table across from me. The small slab of rectangular wood makes it easy for me to slide my hand over hers. I give it a squeeze and plan on holding on as long as she’ll let me.
“Simple.” I move you out of this apartment and make you my wife.
That would do it. But as stupidly as I acted this morning, I know better than to open up to her right away.
She cocks her head, locking her gaze on mine. Right now, I’d give anything to blow kisses along the stretched curve of her slim neck, right where the cascading locks of warm brown hair tickle the skin on her shoulder.
Wanting it a little too much for the moment, I work to reign in my thoughts. Although I loved seeing her in it, she’s dumped the dress from earlier. Replaced it with black leggings and a threadbare heather-gray maternity top. It highlights her full features far more than I ever want anyone seeing.
Despite my attempts to tame my desires, heat moves through me like a raging fire. Smoke signals lift straight to my brain filled with some sort of potion, making me want to reach up and tug the drawstring bow at the base of her top. But I don’t dare move my hand from hers. As it is, I’m enjoying an influx of unfamiliar sensations; I’ve never felt turned on like this before.
With each swipe of her thumb back and forth along my hand, I sit quietly, locked in on her beautiful face and the way her blue eyes take me in. I’m not sure she’s aware of her actions, or that her touch is driving me wild. But it is, and more than I thought was possible.
“Ben.” Addison’s soft tone snares my attention. “You okay? I feel like I lost you for a moment.”
I blink and then toss her a grin, secretly absorbing a moment of sadness as she pulls her hand away. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.” I pause a moment, working my way back to our conversation. “The square’s pretty packed with people. I was thinking I’d climb up on top of one of the buildings and tell everyone you’re off limits. Surely that’d keep strangers away.”
“I wouldn’t know. Men don’t usually knock on my door.” She drops her gaze and moves a couple of skewers to her plate, the gentle curl of her lips slipping into a frown. “Look. I know this isn’t how you planned to spend your time away. And I’m sure this has come as quite a surprise to you. But I’ve had a considerable amount of time more than you’ve had to process it all. Believe me when I say I don’t expect a thing from you. Except maybe for you to eat your share of grilled chicken. I don’t want you leaving here thinking there are a thousand and one pigs in this town.”
She winks. My head spins. I want her in my arms. Where I can tell her over and over how beautiful I think she is, that I’d never think she ate like a pig, and how I came back to Willow Run for no other reason than to find her.
In thought of it all, I squirm in my seat and grant myself a moment to admire Addy’s fingers. They look delicate. And girlie. But I know different, and watch as she places a couple skewers onto my plate. Her gentle movements, and the fact that she’s putting food on my plate before serving herself, heighten my body’s craving to be touched by her.
“Why do you think I came back here?” I ask, slow to lift my gaze from her pale pink nails and return it to her face.
“Clearly you heard about Mrs. Tinley’s noodles.” She smiles and divvies out a tomato and mozzarella pasta salad she already had chilling in her fridge. “Perhaps you’re like me and craving some homemade ice cream and funnel cakes. I’d say a handsome man like you would make for a perfect parade marshal, but I know that’s not why you’re here.” She shrugs, then concentrates while running a fork down a skewer, freeing the peppers, pineapple, and chicken on her plate until she has them in a pile. “I don’t know. Why are you here?”
The look on her face tells me she wants to know, but maybe she’s scared of what I might say. “Well, I didn’t come back to wear a hole in the couch and watch TV.”
“I wouldn’t know what that’s like either.” Her matter-of-fact response blows me back a bit.
“Oh, come on. When was the last time you binge watched something?”
“I don’t recall. I haven’t had a TV since I moved in here two years ago.”
In disbelief, I sit back in my chair. Why do you not have a TV? Though it could explain why she doesn’t know anything about me. Maybe she’s not into baseball.
I decide to initiate a Q and A session, wanting to learn everything I can about her. “So no television. What do you do with all your free time?”
From our short time together last spring, and from what little Mrs. Tinley has mentioned, I know she’s an outdoorsy type of girl, which suits me just fine. I’ve never pictured myself with a gal who loves hairspray and facial products.
Addison isn’t one of those women. I suspect the soft ringlets in her hair form when she lets it air dry, and I’d place a bet she
doesn’t even own a blow dryer, much less a tube of lipstick. Fine by me. I don’t particularly enjoy the waxy taste that’s an inevitable byproduct of sucking face. Not that I’d ever categorize kissing Addison that way. All kisses aren’t the same. But with Addison, the few times I kissed her felt like everything.
“This town keeps me on my toes.” She hands me a napkin, which I accept with thanks. “It’s a good thing, since I’d probably look like a cow by now if I didn’t have to walk my butt all over the place.”
“You mentioned you walk a lot. When I parked out front, I didn’t see a car.” I take a bite, inwardly applauding myself for not overcooking the chicken.
“I loaned my car to my best friend, Rachel, a while back. She totaled it. It was my mother’s car. I just haven’t gotten around to getting a replacement.”
How does a pregnant woman not have a car? I drop the thought as Addison settles in against the slats on the back of her chair. She sucks in a sip of lemonade and glides her right hand in circles over her belly. Curious, I can’t help but wonder why she does it.
“Do you hurt?” I squeeze my brows together, hoping she isn’t in any kind of pain.
She looks down and pats herself a couple of times, then peers up at me while reaching out with her hand. It’s like she wants me to take it. So I waste no time slipping into the crevice that fits mine like the other piece to my puzzle. Surprising me, she gives my hand a gentle tug.
“Take a knee,” she orders, the tone in her voice the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard speak those three words.
I gladly comply, resting my knee on a section of missing flooring, and look up into her beautiful eyes. Already, I know I’ll do anything for this woman.
Her soft gaze brightens as she places my hands over her abdomen. “There’s often a lot of movement in there when I eat.” She holds her head forward, arching her brows through a steady gaze. “Feel that? That’s your baby, Ben.”
A well of moisture floods my eyes. But I’m a guy. Guys aren’t supposed to cry. I cry anyway, hoping she doesn’t think I’m some kind of a ridiculously pathetic dork.
I look down at her pooched-out belly and gently splay my fingers along every inch of it, just as I imagined I’d do when I first saw her hand holding it in this manner. Only my imagination wasn’t powerful enough to capture the feel of my offspring flexing his muscles and punching the woman of my dreams the way he is. I sniffle in equal parts joy and irritation; I’ve already missed so much time with Addison and my baby.
My gaze lifts to meet Addison’s smile, and I don’t dare move my hands from their spot. “It feels like he’s entered a boxing ring in there. He doesn’t hurt you, does he? If he does, I’ll gladly have a talk with the little man.”
Addison giggles, the sound sending heat to my groin. “First of all, we don’t know if it’s a he or a she. But no. As much as it feels like Mohammed Ali’s taken residence inside my uterus, you’re probably just feeling an elbow.”
I’m all over this bit of information like coach is when his ace pitcher can’t seem to hit his spots.
I peek down and move my hands to Addison’s sides, smoothing out the thin layer of cotton she’s got on. “Okay, little man. Don’t get mad at Daddy for calling you little. You’re always going to be my little guy. And if you’re a girl, I’ll make up for calling you a boy with a bright pink softball when we make our introductions and a convertible BMW when you graduate from college. But now listen, because I know a thing or two about this subject. You gotta stop throwing out your elbows. That’s not good.” I hear Addison giggle again from above me, and I’m thrilled she seems okay with the impromptu chat I’m having with the baby that’s pounding away like there’s a punching bag inflated inside her abdomen. “And I’m not cool with the thought of your mommy hurting. So cut it out for a bit. Okay?”
“I appreciate the vote of going easy on Mommy, but these kicks and jabs are to be expected. It means we have a healthy baby.”
The thought didn’t cross my mind that we’d not have a bouncing bundle of joy. And as I realize I have so much to learn about babies, my pulse spikes and my own stomach churns with uncertainty. I run a hand through my hair, missing the feel of adjusting my hat, and find myself full of questions and wishing my parents were still around.
How do couples manage when they don’t have family nearby? Who do they ask questions of? Who do they get support from? Who do they then share the most amazing news with? There is no doubt in my mind that I won’t be letting Addison do this alone.
“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” I ask, reconnecting my hands with both Addison and my baby, my mind silently pleading with her to let me tag along.
She tosses a sideways glance at a piece of paper she’s got tacked up on her fridge and tells me it’s coming up sometime in late October. Apparently, I just missed her last one. A tinge of disappointment stabs at my heart.
Following her gaze, I scan past the four magnets holding her schedule for September and pause when I get to a black and white photo that’s cocked at the upper right corner, covering a small section of the calendar. It’s clearly the ultrasound photo. My heart skips several beats.
Addison starts to move, but I gently hold her in place. I don’t need to know the exact date at this moment. Something else hits me like a wild, up-and-in pitch that slams into the upper arm of a batter who’s caught off guard. It more than clips my thought process; it scares the crap out of me.
What if she never lets me touch her like this again?
I kiss the top of her belly and pray she’ll let me become a major part of her life. “Please let me go with you, Addison. I don’t care when it is. I’ll make it happen. I want to be there.”
For you.
For our baby.
From this day forward, I’m going to make damn certain there’s not an unmet need in either of your lives.
Soft fingers cup the side of my head, eventually aligning my sight onto watery eyes. A tear trickles down her rosy cheek as she peers back at me. Since I can’t stand to see her cry, I pull my hand off her belly and wipe her tear away.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as another tear trickles down her cheek.
She moves her hands to my face, letting her thumbs make those same back and forth movements across my beard. “There’s nothing wrong. I’d love to have you come with me. You’re welcome anytime, and I’ll make sure you have a schedule. But Ben, I mean it when I say I don’t expect anything from you.”
Under her touch with my sight on nothing but her, I see a pained expression deepen in her eyes. The emotion tugs at my heartstrings, making me wish I could read her thoughts. Why does she keep telling me she doesn’t expect anything from me?
I knocked her up.
She’s carrying my baby.
In my book, I owe her everything.
And I want to give it all to her. Because even though I didn’t know what was happening to me the day I sank inside her and unknowingly planted my seed, all those sleepless nights planning my return to Willow Run made me well aware of one beautiful thing.
I’m in love with Addison Hunt.
Now, how do I prove it to her?
Chapter Nine
Addison
He’s attached.
The instant he took my belly in his hands and started chatting away, I knew it. Wasn’t certain how to take it, so I tucked the emotions I felt aside as we spent the remainder of the evening getting to know each other better. I’m not sure there’s a single question left he could ask that I haven’t already answered. Though I can’t say the same for what I know about Ben Peterson.
He asked not to talk about baseball, so we tossed facts back and forth, discussed our families, or lack of them I should say, then moved to likes, dislikes, college days, and how I ended up being the town clerk. Apparently, I really can’t stay awake all night from merely being in Ben’s company, especially when my head is cradled safely in his comfy lap. I blame the feel of his fingers as they combed through my hair for
falling asleep with him on the couch.
He didn’t leave until I woke up on my own. I’m not sure how long I’d been asleep. I completely lost all track of time. And given the permanently engrained memories of the accident that took my parents’ lives, once Ben left, I worried as he drove back to the lake. Thankfully we finally exchanged numbers, because he texted me a sweet goodnight message once he’d made it back to the house.
Now he’s been back in Cincinnati for three weeks, texting me at a rate Rusty finds downright annoying. But I love it, understand it, and suspect it’s hard for him to be away. I reply as soon as I read his messages, thankful he’s taking the time out of his busy schedule not only to check in but also fill my day with laughter.
When he left after his week at the lake, I worried the short eighty-mile distance between us would tempt him into making frequent trips back just to be here. Thankfully he understood when I mentioned my fear of him driving back and forth. He obviously didn’t want to put me, or the baby, in any distress. Plus, he had some business he needed to take care of. So, texting and late-night phone calls have become the norm for us.
With my next baby check scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, I’m ticking off the hours until Ben walks through my door. Once he does, I know he’ll flash his sexy dimpled smile at me and take me into his arms. This will be my first OB appointment that I haven’t dragged Rachel along. Since I haven’t replaced my car, I’ve been using it as the perfect excuse, telling her she owes me her time for totaling my car. Truth is, I just don’t like going to my doctor’s appointments alone. Now I couldn’t be happier knowing Ben is coming along.
To pass the time until Ben shows up, I open my laptop and turn it on. With hopeful intentions, I scroll through a simple search to enlighten myself about the game played with a bat and a ball. This way, I’ll at least have an inkling of what Ben’s talking about when he does decide to talk baseball. But as my gaze lands on an article mentioning Ben’s parents, I go off task, click, and read it.
