by Clara Stone
She looks up through her lashes, and a slow smile appears. “Oh?”
I nod. “Yup.”
“I see modesty isn’t your forte.”
I grin, watching her.
“I’m serious. I know the perfect way to take advantage of our situation.”
“And so honest. Do pray tell, golden boy,” she goads, clearly amused by the flirting.
And this is flirting to the max. I don’t think I’ve ever gone to the lengths I’m going with Blake, just for another kiss. And boy, do I want to kiss her.
I lean in close, and she doesn’t pull back. I move the escaped pieces of hair out of her face with my index finger and tuck them behind her ear before I connect my eyes with hers. “Simple,” I whisper, tilting my head so that our lips are mere breaths away and in the perfect position to fit together. I glance down at her lips, then back to her eyes, which are half-closed, the way I imagine she’d look when she just wakes up. “Whenever Hope’s around, I kiss you.”
I expect her to push back, tell me to shove it. I’m not ready to hear her agreement. “You’re on, golden boy.”
I press my lips together, holding back a smile. But on the inside, I’m partying like it’s the middle of Mardi Gras. “We could start now, as a warm up.”
She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, and her body shakes a little. The next second, she pulls away, laughing out loud. She covers her mouth with her hand, stifling her melodic humor.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Laugh all you like, firecracker. But you’re going to wish we had more practice when we do kiss in front of her.”
“Ahh-huh,” she says, picking up her sandwich and taking a bite. Then another and another, until she devours the entire thing. Once she swallows the last bit, she gathers the garbage and gets up. I follow behind her as she walks toward the trash can. As she dumps the remnants of her food, I try to plot ways to extend the night.
“How about a walk?” I ask.
She shrugs. I hold out my hand, and she stares at it. “If we’re going to make this believable around Hope, we’re going to have to be convincing as a couple,” I explain. Really, I’m just dying to touch her again. With a shit-eating grin, I up my charm a little. “Practice makes perfect, after all.”
This is it. This is the time she’s going to smack me upside the head and remind me that I’m supposed to tell Hope she’s been pranked, not take advantage and continue the joke. But, yet again, she surprises me, sliding her hand into mine instead.
As we get closer and closer to the edge of the water, I pull her to me, throwing my arm over her shoulder. We walk like that—her snuggled into me, me enjoying the feel of her in my arms—not saying a word for a long time.
“That was a smooth move,” she says, her head turned up toward me, a knowing smile on her face. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to have such soft, girly hands.”
I gasp in mock horror at her words, pulling my arm from around her shoulders. “I assure you, Blake, my hands are very manly.” When I’m around her, I can’t seem to do anything but travel down the path of idiocy. Why stop now? “See these?” I ask, my palm close to her face. I point to the calluses. “These are anything but girly. And this cut?” I point to the back of my forearm. “I got it while playing Lacrosse.”
She’s laughing. Not just a small laugh, but a full-on, head thrown back, mouth wide open kind of laugh. I try to sound pissed, but I can’t help it. She brings out the kid in me, and I want to let go.
“You keep laughing like that, I might have to tickle you with my manly hands,” I tease her.
She bursts into another round of giggles. So I do the only logical thing I can do. I take a step toward her. She doesn’t see me initially. But when her eyes land on me, and she sees just how close I am, the laughter dies on her lips. My gaze immediately drops to her mouth, and then her exposed throat. She swallows, and an image of running my finger, then my mouth, down the column of her neck makes me shiver. I let out a breath, a long and heavy exhale.
She takes a step back, and then another, and another. I match her stride for stride, not wanting to keep my distance for a fucking moment longer. From the way she looks at me and the flush in her cheeks, I know she’s feeling this charge between us.
Just as she turns around, I grab her wrist and swing her back toward me. She stops a hair’s breadth away from touching me. I look into her eyes and see the same desire I feel inside me swirling in their chocolate depths. I want to kiss her. I need to kiss her. But I don’t know if I will.
“Stay still.” I don’t even know if she’ll listen, but I say it anyway. When her entire body goes rigid, I know she’s doing as I asked. Happy with this turn of events, I let go of her hand. It falls to her side, limply.
Her eyebrows knit together, but otherwise, she stays where she is. My hands, body, hell, everything in me vibrates with anticipation. How will she react? Will she finally tell me off?
With a feather-light touch, I trace my fingers up her arm, starting at her palm. Slowly, ever so slowly, I make it up her forearm to her bicep, and then to the curve of her shoulder. She inhales, and her eyes flutter closed. I take a step toward her, wanting to wrap myself around her like an octopus. Instead, I continue my exploration of her smooth skin, over the curve of her shoulder and toward her jaw. I cup her face, and she leans into it. I don’t know why, but I press my forehead against hers. A shiver shudders over my skin.
“Now do you believe me?” I push back from her so I can see her reaction.
She looks dazed, and her head tilts to the side, exposing her neck further. I pull my hand away from her cheek and hold it in front of her face again.
“These hands are smooth as a baby’s butt, and manly enough to make your toes curl. Don’t you agree?”
All she does is nod, and I grin like an idiot.
I’M TAKING THE stairs back to the maternity ward when my phone buzzes—an email. I pull open the door and halt when I realize it’s from Blake. I don’t think twice; I run toward her room. When I whiz past the nurses station, one of them says something, but I don’t comprehend. Blood beats in my ears, and my head swims.
Is she okay? Please don’t tell me I left her alone when she needed me most, or that . . . I swallow the other thoughts that start to constrict my breathing. Pleasepleaseplease be okay, firecracker!
I come to a stop in front of her room. It’s quiet. No doctors or nurses rushing in and out, no people yelling over each other. It’s just quiet. Still.
I gently push the door open and peek in. Lorelai looks up from the book in her hand and smiles. She places the paperback on the bench next to her and pushes down on the footrest of the recliner, standing. “Back so soon?”
I nod and turn my attention to Blake. She lays on the bed, asleep, just as I left her forty minutes ago, her eyebrows pinched together like she’s in pain. I walk over to her and hold her hand. She squeezes it tightly and lets go of a deep breath. I kiss her forehead and wipe away the stray hair. “Was she up a few minutes ago, by any chance?” I ask, pulling a chair closer to her bed.
“Yeah. Just for a little while. We talked for a bit before she felt tired and went back to sleep.” Lorelai comes to stand next to me and places a hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay, Hudson? You look a little frazzled.”
“I’m fine,” I say, and then add, “I got an email from her a few seconds ago, and I feared the worst. I couldn’t get here fast enough.”
She smiles. “If you’re asking if she emailed you, then no, she didn’t.” She squeezes my shoulder, letting it go. “My daughter is a lucky woman. And so is my granddaughter, having a man like you for a father.” She taps my cheek gently. “I’ll go see if I can find out how to make her more comfortable.” With that, she leaves the room, her heels clicking against the tile floor.
“I love you, Mrs. Lovelly,” I say, kissing Blake’s forehead again.
It’s been six hours since we came to the hospital, and our Plus One still hasn’t made his or her appearance.
<
br /> I pull out my phone and go straight to the email that nearly killed me a few seconds ago.
Dear Mr. Lovelly,
I love waking up to you, your warm breath over my neck and your arm around my waist, protecting me from the world, pulling me in like I’m the anchor that keeps you grounded. I love being your partner in crime, your best friend, your wife. But there’s something I know I’m going to love even more, Hudson. And that’s being the mother to our child. Our CHILD.
I don’t tell you often enough just how lucky I am to have you in my life, my first in every major milestone. And now, today, we are about to step into the next phase of our life. I know it will be difficult sometimes, but I also know we wouldn’t want it to be any other way. Our little girl—yes, we are having a girl, Mr. Lovelly. I don’t need a sonogram to tell me that—will become our joy, our pride, our everything. I hope she gets your beautiful eyes, your sense of empathy, and your perfect smile. However, I call dibs on her personality. :)
I love you, Hudson. And starting today (I don’t know if our beautiful girl is here yet), we are a complete family. I want you to know that there’s no one I’d rather have knock me up.
I know our little girl will be loved as fiercely as we’ve loved each other.
Here’s to becoming the best damn—COOLEST—parents the world’s ever seen.
-Your firecracker
P.S. If you’re wondering when I sent this email, it was last week. I scheduled it to be delivered today. I had a feeling today would be the day she’d come into our lives. Was I right?
My heart beats fast as I read and reread my wife’s love letter. I smile, wide and uncaring. I don’t know how she can be so sure it’s a girl. But I love that she is.
How did I get so lucky? I stare down at her sleeping features and fall a little more in love. My soul mate. My life partner. Images of our first few days together come to mind, and I can’t help but smile. How our lives have changed since then. We spent those days talking, kissing, pretending to be in love. Only, there wasn’t much pretending. Not for me.
Every second, every minute with her has always been as real as being alive.
“I LOVE THESE blueberry pancakes, Hudson,” Heath says, chewing through another plateful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone his age put away as much food as he does. But give him blueberry anything—blueberry muffins, blueberry-syrup drenched pancakes, a freaking container of blueberries—and it’s like he’s in some sort of who-can-eat-the-most world championship. So of course I had to bring him and Harrington to the eleventh annual Pancake Festival in Morrison Park. They have the best blueberry pancakes.
The distinctive spray from the fountain of cherubs to the left of our picnic table sends a cool breeze wafting our way as I pat Heath’s back. “Careful not to choke on it, kiddo.”
“Yeah, Iceman,” Harrington goads, stuffing his face and earning a scowl from Heath.
“Well, if I’m Iceman, then . . . then . . .” His brows pinch together as he thinks real hard. I set my fork down and pat my mouth with a napkin, chuckling at his attempt to be like his brother.
“Then you’re shit,” Heath blurts, earning a scoff from Harrington.
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Heath! Where did you learn—”
“Punkass,” Harrington replies.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” Heath repeats, trying to outdo Harrington.
I don’t know if I should be mortified or . . . mortified that my two younger brothers cuss with ease. I’ve always tried to be careful around them, but I’m only human. And I’m not naive enough to think that I can protect either forever. “Where the heck did you learn to swear?”
Harrington rolls his eyes, shoving a huge piece of strawberry-syrup drizzled pancake into his mouth. He doesn’t swallow before he says, “Yeah, you little dipspit.” His words are garbled by the food in his mouth. “Where did you learn to swear? It can’t be from Hudson.” Food sprays everywhere.
“Harrington,” I warn. “Cut that shit out before I come over there and beat the crap out of you.”
He shakes his head, shoving one last piece of pancake into his mouth. “Whatever.” He dismisses my threat with a satisfied grin, pushing up to his feet. “I need another plate of pancakes.”
I chuckle. “Dude, that’s your third plate.”
He sticks his hand out, his fingers wiggling. “What are you, Mom?”
The air stills around us as the chatter quiets down for a moment. My jaw ticks.
“You know what?” Harrington swats the air before him, like he can erase what he just said. “Forget it. Will you give me some money or not?”
I thin my lips into a displeased line. I’m not happy with the way Harrington’s personality has done a one-eighty since Mom died. It’s like he’s a whole different person. He gets into trouble nearly every other week—fights, not doing homework, and most recently, smoking. His principal and I have gotten to know each other well these last three years, since my information is listed as his primary contact.
I often wonder if he acts out in an effort to get Dad’s attention.
Sighing, I pull out my wallet and hold up a five. He grabs it from my hand and runs off to buy more pancakes.
I exhale a heavy breath of frustration as I drape my arm over Heath’s shoulder. What am I going to do with Harrington? Whatever his problem is, I need to find a way to break through to him, and soon.
“Hi, boys,” Blake’s voice, like melted butter, comes from behind me.
Startled, I throw a glance over my shoulder, wondering if I imagined it. Nope. Not a chance. There she is, standing just behind Heath.
“Blake!” Heath pivots on his seat and throws his arms around her midsection, hugging her to him. “Blake Blake Blake,” he chants, like he can’t get enough of her or her name.
She laughs, wrapping her arms around Heath. “Hi-ya, little guy,” she coos, then looks at me with a smile so bright it shines like the moon on a starless night.
My insides shiver as I stand. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she says, her smile turning a little shy.
“What are you—”
“Are you here—”
We trip over each other in our rush to kill the awkward, making it worse in the process. Blake looks down quickly, biting her lip in embarrassment before we both laugh. Her cheeks burn rosy pink as she brings her eyes back up to meet mine.
“Ladies first.” I wave my hand.
She glances at Heath; he hopped off the bench and is now standing, his little arms wrapped around her, staring at her like she’s his fairy Godmother.
“Is Harrington here too?” she asks, smiling down at him.
I nod with a wave of my hand. “He’s off somewhere.”
“I’ll go get him,” Heath volunteers. Before I can utter a word, he’s off, running in the direction Harrington disappeared. I scowl.
Blake laughs, bringing my attention back to her.
I cock an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”
“You,” she says. “I mean, you and your brothers.” She runs her fingers through her hair, tugging at the ends of it. A white-and-orange plaid shirt is wrapped around her waist, revealing a plain white tee and somewhat hiding her shorts. Threads dangle from the cut-off denim, leaving her mile-long legs bare to show off her flawless skin. The brown ankle boots surprise me, though. They make her seem so . . . simple and relaxed. So unlike the girls I’m used to, with their ever present stilettos and overdone outfits.
“Sit?” I ask, scooting a little to my right and patting the bench.
She nods. “Just for a few minutes.” She slides into the space Heath occupied not too long ago, the one right next to me. Our thighs are nearly touching. I swallow and start counting backward in Latin.
Decem. Novem. Octo. Septem. Sex . . . I stop, a hot burn rising inside. No, no. Not sex. Six . . . . Six. Five. Four . . .
“Is Hope here?” she asks, pulling me back to reality.
I shake my head. “Nah. Pancakes aren’t her th
ing. That’s all Harrington. We’ve been coming to this since he was four. I started it when we found out we were getting another brother. To kind of make it more our time, you know? And it just sort of became tradition.”
“Yeah.” She tilts her head down.
“But since . . .” I stop myself before I start pouring out my life story. I should be talking about something much more uplifting. “Do you come here often?” I ask instead.
She shakes her head and points to her left. I trace the line of her finger and find Vicki and Ms. Voss turning in our direction with plates full of pancakes. “First time. But my mom insisted that Vicki and I get out. Sooo . . . here we are.”
I cast a look back to where Heath disappeared to. I try not to worry about him, but he’s my baby brother, and unlike Harrington, he has a soft heart and doesn’t see the world for what it is.
“Well,” she says, pushing up to her feet. I do the same. “I’ll let you go so you can find your brothers.”
“Why don’t you stay?” Because I’m not ready to let you leave yet.
She looks at me with questioning eyes, and I hurry to explain. “Umm . . . I know Heath will be devastated if he doesn’t find you when he gets back.” Yeah. That’s it. Totally for Heath.
“Well . . .” she says, throwing an apprehensive glance toward Ms. Voss and Vicki, heading our way. I’m not sure what she sees, but I almost grin when she turns back to me with a hesitant, slightly mortified look and nods. “Let me go tell my mom.”
“Okay.”
Her pace quickens as the distance between her mom and me grows smaller. Blake comes to a stop in front of them, blocking the path as she says something to her mom. A moment later, they all turn to look at me. Blake pulls her mom’s arm, like she’s telling her not to stare, but Ms. Voss doesn’t budge. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I shove them into my pockets.
Blake has a scowl on her face as her mom walks past her, heading toward me. Shit. Fuck. I look from right to left, to right again, before looking straight ahead. I want to move, but I seem to be stuck in place. I run my hand over my neck.
