“But that’s probably why my mom left, right?” She swipes her fingers across her eyes, leaving a streak of black mascara on her cheek. I reach out to rub it off with my thumb, and watch the tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to burst the dam. “She obviously didn’t have any maternal instincts. She didn’t bond with me. That’s why it was easy to leave. What if…”
The dam breaks.
Whatever we are to each other and whatever I’m supposed to do in this situation—I don’t care. I wrap her in my arms, tugging her tight against me. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head. The heavy rise and fall of her chest is absorbed by my body. And I wish I could soak up her pain as easily as my T-shirt soaks up her tears.
“You aren’t your mom. I don’t have a single doubt about how incredible of a mom you’re going to be because you’re the best person I’ve ever met. You stayed late today to help Shelby. If I had to guess, you also stopped by Mrs. Kozensky’s house to feed her cats on the way home again.”
She nods against my chest. “Told you she’s out of town all week.”
“You’re thoughtful and caring, Cassidy. Plus smart, funny, a bit of a hard-ass—when required. All traits every good mom has.” I let my lips discreetly touch the top of her hair again. It’s the closest to an intimate kiss I’m willing to risk. But, goddamn, would I love to grab her jaw and force her to look at me, then kiss her until she forgets all about this—until she forgets everything except us.
“But…”
“No buts. Even if it takes a little while to figure out, you’re going to connect with Little Spud. It’ll be so different than having a strange five-year-old attack you. She’s gonna beours.”
It hits me at the strangest times. That we’re having a baby together. That a piece of me and a piece of her are forever intertwined, attached in the most meaningful way possible.
“Cassidy, if I had to pick somebody to have a baby with, I’d choose you every damn time.”
“I’d choose you, too,” she mutters softly. Quiet enough I think she didn’t mean for me to hear.
“But I also know what you’re feeling… You think I never worry about what kind of dad I’ll be? I’m terrified of becoming anything like him. We both came from crappy situations. Doesn’t mean we’re doomed, though. Least I hope not…”
She sniffles. “You’re not going to be like your dad, either. I know you aren’t.”
“I’m gonna bust my ass to make sure I’m the complete opposite. You wanna join me in that?”
“Deal.” It’s small, but the smile is genuine. Her eyes are blue-green and shining, a perfect replica of the glassy water on the lake above the ranch—I’d love to take her there one day.
I want to show her the lake, and everywhere else, too. Side by side, hand in hand. I love her. I’m madly in love with Cassidy Bowman. And I think—fuck, I hope I’m right on this—that she might be starting to feel the same way.
16
Cassidy
24 weeks (baby is the size of a package of Oreos)
Istare from the front door as Chase wrestles something plush, grey, and adult-human-sized from the front seat of his truck. “What the fuck is that?”
“Shouldn’t have taken it outta the fucking vacuum sealed package before coming here,” he shouts. He tosses the giant object over his shoulder in a firefighter carry position and strolls up to the house. “It’s for you.”
He throws it down on the couch, and that’s when I realize. It’s a massive U-shaped pregnancy pillow.
“Are you saying you’re already sick of being my pillow?” I wrap my arms around his waist. He holds the back of my head, fingers woven in my hair, and pulls me tighter into the embrace.
“Never. But it’s supposedly a ‘must-have’, according to Kate.”
“I’ll have to send her a thank you text.” I step back and watch as his eyes flick to my lips before slowly meandering back up to meet my gaze. “You know you don’t need to buy me presents, though.”
“Yeah, well…” He shrugs. “You need to be comfortable. And I know you like presents.”
“You know me too well.”
Since the anatomy scan, he’s been here almost every night. We eat dinner and watch TV. On nights I work late, he’s waiting with snacks when I get home. When one person yawns, that’s the cue. The sign to head into my room, strip, and fuck, promising each other it’ll be the last time. We fall asleep and, in the morning, he leaves for work. Rinse. Repeat.
I know we’re playing with fire. But,fuck, we burn so good.
There’s a long pause, where I’m staring at him staring at me. I’m pretty certain he wants to kiss me. I’m also pretty certain I want to kiss him. But kissing is too intimate for whatever we are. We don’t talk about what happens in my bed under the dark cloak of night. That’s different. That’s fucking.
