“That’s totally what I meant.” But he’s grinning again, and I can’t decide if it’s because he doesn’t really care one way or the other if we stop or if he just doesn’t think we ever will.
Either way, it puts the responsibility of ending this on me. It’s a lot of pressure. Especially when he looks as delicious as he does today. All casual and guy-like in his faded jeans and Deadpool T-shirt, his blue eyes doing that gleaming thing he’s so good at.
“Well, anyway.” I drag my gaze away from him. “I should get going.” The walk toward the door feels like I have concrete blocks on my feet instead of shoes. It’s. So. Hard. To. Go.
Chase escorts my slow departure. “What are you up to for the rest of the day?”
“I don’t want to tell you.” I’ll tell him. I’m just stalling. Stalling leaving.
“Now you have to tell me.”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“I’ll find out. I’m a cop. I have ways.”
I’m pretty sure he’s talking about cop ways, but something in his tone makes me think about other ways he could find out. Ways like capturing my wrists above my head, raising up my dress, and massaging my clit until I’m ready to comply with anything he asks.
I force the naughty vision from my head and casually cross my arms over my now steepled nipples. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to make fun.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“I’m going to Babies R Us to register for baby stuff.”
He doesn’t laugh, but I think it’s because he’s too stunned. “Liv, you’re only six weeks pregnant.”
We’re at the front door now, and instead of opening it, I spin back toward him. “So?”
“You have thirty-four more weeks to go.”
I shrug. “I like to get things started early.”
“No one registers this early. No one.”
“You don’t know that,” I say defensively. Though, he’s right. According to the baby board I’ve joined, it’s really too early to do anything until after the first trimester. But I’m excited. And I like to plan.
Chase is chuckling now. “You haven’t even seen your OB yet.”
“Only because he couldn’t get me in yet.”
There’s a beat of silence. A beat when I know I should be leaving, and he knows I should be leaving, but somehow I’m not leaving.
“Have you even had time to research everything you need?” he asks eventually.
“I’ve been researching since before I even got pregnant. Duh.”
“Well.” God, his grin. I could drown in his grin. “You’ll want a feeding pillow.”
“Got it on the list.”
“And a decent carrier so you can wear your baby. There are a lot of different options and a lot of them are crap. I tried a bunch with Megan’s kids. My advice—don’t get the cheap ones.”
I imagine him wearing a carrier, a sleepy newborn pressed against his chest, and suddenly I can’t breathe. “Okay.”
“What about car seats? What brand are you getting? Do you know which one is safest?”
He has a lot of good questions, and I’m sure I could look up reviews online, but right now all I want is the one he wants. The one he thinks is best. “Do you have one you recommend?”
“There are a few that are better than others. It really depends what options there are.”
And there are a lot of options. I’m sure.
“I should probably just come with you,” he says, at the same time as I say, “Maybe you should just come with me.”
My belly flutters like I’m a teenager who’s just been asked out on a date. I’m pathetic, and I can’t even bring myself to care right now.
“Want me to drive or…?”
“I’ll drive,” I offer, opening the front door. “Then I can just drop you off on my way back home.”
He goes to grab his house key and makes sure he has his wallet. When he comes back he hesitates. “This is spending more time together. Is that going to be okay?”
And now my entire body tingles because whatever he thinks about our odds of keeping our hands off each other, he cares about how I feel.
“We already banged, so I’m sure it’s fine,” I say, heading out the door, beyond glad that he’s doing this with me.
“Right,” Chase says, on my heels. “Because there’s no way we’d end up banging twice in the same day.”
Yeah. I’m totally in trouble.
Chase walks around the display crib, examining it from every angle. He even bends down to look at the legs and the base. When he stands again, he’s frowning. “I don’t like this one.”
“Why? It’s cute. I like the scalloped woodwork.” I see nothing wrong with it myself. And it’s the one the store says is their bestseller. That has to say something.
“You can’t buy baby furniture just because it’s cute, Liv.” He points at the side where the mattress meets the front panel. “This is a regular-sized mattress in here and there’s a gap at the side. There should be no gap at all. This isn’t safe. I don’t like it.”
“Oh.” Now I’m frowning too. “I didn’t notice that.”
“Cribs are responsible for more deaths than any other nursery product. You have to be really careful about them.” He walks over to a less decorative crib behind the popular one. “This one has much better crafting. And it has a better standards rating on Consumer Reports. I looked it up while you were going gaga over the bedding with all the books.”
He’s referring to the Land of Stories bed set I’d found. “I wasn’t going gaga. It was just a cute idea.” It was patterned with children’s classic books like Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz. I added it to the registry, of course.
“Yeah, yeah, cute idea.” He nods again to the crib. “We should get this one.”
I purse my lips. “You mean I should get that one.”
“That’s what I said.”
It wasn’t, but I’m sure it was a slip-up. I’m grateful he caught the issue with the crib. It’s something I never would have thought of. I put the one he suggested on the registry, and we move to the next department.
Chase has been great going through the store with me. We’ve been here for almost an hour already, and he’s been patient and fully engaged, making sure we go down every aisle and look at every suggestion on the registry pamphlet the store provided us when we signed up.
Er, when I signed up.
“You added the feeding pillow to the list?” he asks as we turn down the nursing aisle.
“I told you I did.” I look down at the iPad though to make sure I really did. (I did.)
When I look up again, he’s holding up the two pumps from a double electric breast pump on display to his chest. “Please, please, please can we get these?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh my God. Are you twelve?” I don’t mention his second slip of the word “we.”
“This is like having a video game on your chest.” He pretends to shoot the pumps in my direction.
I snatch one out of his hand. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s like.”
“I’d never leave my house.” He’s examining the remaining pump, as if trying to figure out how he could make one of his own.
“You’d never leave the house if you had breasts, period.” I grab the second one from him and return it to the shelf.
He stands over my shoulder to look at the screen of the registry iPad. “Put it on the list. Put it on. Put. It. On.”
Shaking my head, I add it to the list.
The next aisle is dedicated to medicines and related baby needs. “I’m adding diaper cream, Purell, baby Tylenol and Mylicon drops,” I say, putting them into the system.
“Good, good.” Chase wanders ahead of me and stops at the Vaseline. “Petroleum Jelly? Put lots of that on there.”
I bite back a laugh. “It’s not for what you think it’s for.”
“It says multi-purpose, kitten.” He moves farther down the aisle.
“Add the Lanolin ointment too. Megan’s nipples were cracked and nasty. You’re going to want that.”
My head pops up from the screen. “Are you telling me my nipples are going to be nasty?”
“No, not your nipples, babe. Never. But they might hurt. So put the ointment down. Gel packs too that you can stick in the freezer.”
“‘Kay. Got it down.” We might be done with our sexual relationship, but it is nice to have someone looking out for my tits.
We split up at the travel systems, and I spend my time looking at the jogging strollers wondering if I should take up running just so I can get one of the slick carriages.
But that would actually involve running.
When I give up on that dream and return to Chase, he seems to have picked out what I need.
“This is the travel system I’d get,” he says, pointing to a sleek convertible stroller with an accompanying infant car seat. “Except…” He moves some boxes around, looking to see if there’s another option. “I guess you have to go with this one.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I’m not putting anything into the registry that isn’t one hundred percent the best.
“Nothing’s wrong with it. It just has two bases.” He won’t meet my eyes when he says it, as though it bothers him to tell me.
My forehead creases as I try to make out his point.
“For two different cars. So you can move the carrier back and forth.”
“Oh.” I won’t need that. And that kind of bothers me too. Like, my chest feels empty and tight all at once.
Which is dumb. I shouldn’t feel bad for being a single mom. I don’t feel bad. “Well, maybe I’ll have a babysitter or something who could use it.”
“Yeah, good thinking.”
We’re quiet for a bit after that. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but a heaviness has settled on me. An awareness that this thing we’re doing today isn’t really ours. It was fun and I’m so appreciative of his help, but this is going to be my baby and my baby alone. It’s not always going to be like this. He’s not always going to be beside me.
I don’t want to examine what I’m feeling too closely. I’m afraid of what I’ll find inside me. But one thing I do know—I wish I didn’t have as many feelings about that as I do.
“Can we get one of these in my size?”
I look over to see Chase holding up a onesie that reads Tit Faced.
“No. We cannot.” But it makes me laugh, and I need that right now. I want to hold on to the laughter.
“Fine.” He puts it back. “You definitely should put this one on the list, though.” He holds up another onesie that says I’m Proof that My Mommy Puts Out.
I’m laughing again. “If I put that on the registry, I guarantee you, Megan will be the one to buy it.”
“Ew. I do not like to think about Megan thinking about you putting out. With me.” He puts the onesie back on the rack.
“But she doesn’t know I put out with you.”
“But I do. And it’s weird.” He tucks an article of clothing under his arm. “We’re getting this for sure.”
“I’m not getting anything right now.” I might be registering early, but there’s bad luck and there’s bad luck. It’s bad luck to buy anything too early. I’m curious though. “What do you have?”
“I’m buying it, so don’t you worry about it.” Apparently Chase doesn’t believe in the bad luck karma.
And maybe I don’t really either. But I don’t want him buying anything for the baby. Now that would be weird.
I grab the onesie from him, sure it’s the Captain Adorable outfit that I already saw (and added to the registry). But it’s not. It’s a simple white onesie with black letters that say My Mom is Beautiful.
My chest knots, and I look up at Chase.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Someone needs to remind you when I’m not around.”
Then he’s thinking about that too. About how he’s not going to be involved.
I let him buy it for me. For us. For his baby.
And so I’ll remember when he’s not around.
Chase pulls into his driveway and turns off my car. “Here are your keys, Grandma.”
I giggle. He’s referring to how cautiously I drove when I was behind the wheel. “That’s why I let you drive this time. I couldn’t take you watching my every move.”
“I wasn’t watching your every move,” he says, but he can’t look at me because he knows he’s lying.
“‘The speed limit’s forty-five here. You can move a little faster,’” I say in my best Chase impression. “You wouldn’t have told me that if you hadn’t known I was only going forty-three. You were totally watching the speedometer.”
“I was being helpful.” His grin is wide, and I know my own smile matches his.
I shift to face him, pulling my knees up under me in the passenger seat. “I knew the speed limit. Officer.”
“Then why weren’t you going faster?”
“Because I was afraid you’d tell me I was speeding.” I giggle again. I feel like I’ve been laughing all day. It’s noticeably nice. Like, it makes me notice how much I don’t laugh in general.
He twists in his seat, as much as his large frame can against the steering wheel in my small car, anyway. “Let me tell you a secret.” He lowers his voice and bends near. “I speed. All the time.”
I lean in closer and lower my voice to match his. “I know. I was watching.”
He chuckles softly, a light rumble against his throat. His smile fades as he reaches out to sweep a tendril of hair off my face. I slant toward him, wanting his skin against mine.
He moves with me, turning his hand so his palm can cup my face.
“Livia…” he says, letting the end sounds of my name trail off and up, like a prayer, and my chest expands because I swear I know the meaning of that prayer. I’ve prayed it myself in my own way, though never quite like this. Never so fully realized in its intention.
I close my eyes briefly, absorbing his touch and his warmth and his everything. When I open them again, he’s looking at me in this way that isn’t quite lustful or wanton but is just as intense.
I’ve seen it before, but it’s only now I think I might understand what it is because I feel it too. This acute desire for more. Not more sex—though definitely more of that too—but for more of other things. More of this. More time. More life together.
I want to tell him.
The words are trapped, just inside my mouth. I don’t want this to end.
I don’t want this to end.
And I think maybe he doesn’t want this to end either. And if I tell him, if I let myself be brave enough, I’m almost sure he’ll say all the things I want him to say. Things I haven’t even yet allowed myself to realize I want him to say. Be mine. I’ll stay. I’m your guy.
It makes my heart race just thinking about it. It makes me happy too, and I’m suddenly bursting to tell him. “Chase?” I pause, not because I’m hesitant, but because I want his full attention before I go on. In the space, I practice the words again in my head. I don’t want this to end. Please don’t let this end.
“Yes, kitten? I’m listening,” he says reassuringly, as if he knows what I’m about to say. That I’m about to change everything.
And then his phone rings.
He groans in frustration. “I’m sorry, babe. Gotta get this. It’s work.”
I’m used to this. He’s had to answer calls before when we’ve been together, even had to leave two or three times to go work a serious accident. It’s the life of a cop, he’s told me. They always have to be prepared. Always have to be on standby. It’s usually no big deal.
But this time is different. I watch him as he talks on his cell. He doesn’t say much, mostly it’s, “Yeah.” And “Uh huh.” It’s not his words that give him away, but his expression. It’s gone hard and cold when just a moment ago he was open and warm. The crease at his brows sharpens, and though he’s not quite frowning, I c
an feel the edges of his lips wanting to curl down.
Then there’s an “Of course,” and he hangs up.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, the moment before nearly completely forgotten.
His head shakes dismissively. “Nothing. Something at work.” He pockets his phone, taking the opportunity to not look at me.
He’s trying to bottle it up. I can see it. He’s putting whatever this is behind a stony mask. Compartmentalizing. Hiding from me.
It’s a punch to the gut how much that hurts. The more that I want includes this—
all of this. All of him. The things that bother him, the things that sting. I want to crawl into his lap, grab his shoulders and shake it out of him.
I want him to look at me.
Reaching over, I rub my hand up and down his bicep. “What is it, Chase? You can tell me.”
He grips the steering wheel and pushes back, flexing his arm muscles, and I can tell he’s struggling.
“Please, honey. Tell me?”
“A guy on the force got killed today.” Finally, he glances over at me. His eyes are stormy. “Jason Eaker.”
“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.” I stroke his arm, wanting to comfort him the way he comforted me that first month when I got my period. I want to pull him into me and run my fingers through his hair, hug him to my chest and whisper that it will be okay.
But he’s not opening up to me that way. He’s barely here with me, barely looking at me. His body is stiff and he’s talking to me about facts while the rest of him is locked somewhere else, out of my reach. I want to get inside him, where his feelings are. Where his heart is.
“How did he die?” I ask, hoping that I can coax him into leaning on me.
He swallows. “It’s crazy really. Routine traffic stop.”
“A routine traffic stop?” My mouth suddenly goes dry. I’d expected that his fellow officer was killed while doing something dangerous like chasing after a bank robber or making a drug bust or bringing down a sex trafficker. “Jason Eaker was a traffic cop?”
“Yeah,” Chase says softly, not seeming to understand what I’m getting at. “I know him quite well.” He blinks then corrects himself. “I knew him well. Sarge said he had pulled someone over for a busted light, and while he was giving the ticket, a drunk driver came by, hit him, and took off.”
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