And that was a good thing, because after that day, his kisses were more of a regular occurrence. He never made a big deal about those kisses; often, he would drop a light caress almost absentmindedly on my lips as he passed me, or as I left for work in the morning, or when I came home at the end of the day.
But then there were those times when his kisses were anything but casual. When we were sitting on the sofa, watching TV, and I was snuggled into the crook of his arm . . . those kisses were hot and full of promise. I couldn't quite pinpoint when I’d stop sitting on my own end of the couch and had begun gravitating down to cuddle with him. But I couldn't deny that I craved his touch, that I craved his comfort.
And the kisses? Well, I couldn't exactly call them comforting. No, if anything, they made me want more and more. Noah made my blood race; he made my heart speed up and sputter. He never tried to push me any further than this seriously intense making out, the kind I’d indulged in as a teenager. I knew that deep down, we both wanted more, but as if by tacit agreement, neither of us pushed the other.
I wondered what would happen if I was the one who made the first move. If one day, when he was kissing me, I simply eased my hand down between us and covered the bulge in his…
"Alison?" Noah waved his hand in front of my face. "Are you okay, sweetheart? You look like you're zoning out there." His forehead creased. "You're not feeling contractions, are you?"
I shook my head. "No," I assured him. "Nothing like that. I was just… thinking."
"Ah." A knowing expression came over Noah's face. "Should I ask what you were thinking about?"
I lifted one eyebrow. "If I told you that I was deep in thought about the intricacies of translating Swedish to English, would you buy that?"
"Nope." Noah shook his head. "I wouldn't. I think that something else is on your mind. Just now, your cheeks went pink, and your lips parted just a little bit." His finger came out to rub gently on my lower lip. "And you got that look in your eye."
I tilted my head. "What look would that be?" I asked.
"That look that you get when I know you want me to kiss you." Noah sounded just the slightest bit smug.
"Oh, really?" I narrowed my eyes. "You think you know me so well, don't you?"
"I think I do." Noah traced the line of my cheekbone, and my eyes fell closed. I shivered as his touch wandered down my neck and over my collarbone. "Thing is, though, Alison… the thing is, you know me the same way. That's what makes all of this right."
"Is it right?" I whispered. "Are you sure about that?"
A frown touched Noah's eyes. "I think I am." He paused. "Are you saying you're not?
"I'm not saying that." I shook my head slightly. "I'm just saying that I'm still a little wary. Those pregnancy hormones I talked about way back before you moved in here – they're stronger than ever, you know."
"So what's my excuse?” Noah picked up my hand. “If it's the pregnancy hormones that make you crazy for me, why is it that I can't stop touching you? Why is it that when I'm not touching you, all I can think about is the next time I will touch you?"
I blew out a long breath. "Maybe it's because I'm the only woman you're seeing nowadays." I force myself to say all of the things that occurred to me when I lay in my bed in the dark of night, agonizing over every decision. "Maybe it's because I'm the mother of your child, and that's playing on your emotions." I was quiet for a second. "I'm not going to say it's because you feel sorry for me, because you promised me that wasn't the case."
"Good." Noah raised up just enough to press a quick, hard kiss to my lips. "Because that's the truth. I don't feel sorry for you. But I don't believe it’s those other things, either. When I think about the future . . ." He stared at me, his eyes searching mine. "What I see is how wonderful, how perfect everything could be for us. I've tried so hard to show you that you can trust me. I want you to believe that you can trust the way I feel for you, too. That you can trust howyoufeel about me. But I can't force you to trust me, Alison. That's something you've got to do on your own."
With a smile that seemed slightly tinged with sadness, he reached for the directions and scanned them. Murmuring to himself as he returned to the crib, he picked up two pieces and began attaching them to each other.
I wanted to tell Noah what he needed me to say. But I’d promised to be truthful, and I was still not sure what the right path was for us.
I hoped that I figured out those answers soon.
* * *
“And how do you feel about that, Alison?”
I sat on the chair across from my therapist, Brooke. It was our last scheduled appointment before the baby was born, and I realized that I was here hoping to find all the answers to the questions that still lingered in my mind.
What if I couldn’t handle labor?
How was I going to cope with motherhood?
What was going to happen with Noah and me after the baby was born?
I was impatient because I wanted Brooke to just tell me what I needed to know. Of course, I knew that wasn’t how the process worked; I’d been in therapy for long enough to be sure of it. But knowing didn’t stop me from wishing it were so.
“How did I feel about what Noah said?” I considered her question. “Oh, you know, the usual. Confused. Anxious. Worried.”
