He turns the leather band over in his hands, stopping to run his thumb along the tooling, which looks like barbed wire, running the length of the bracelet. “Youmadethis?”
“I taught myself leather working after high school when everyone was off at college and I was trapped here. It’s a fun hobby.” I shrug, trying to brush off the expression he’s giving me right now. The soft eyes,creases between his eyebrows, and a genuine smile. It’s filling my chest like a helium balloon and, if I’m not careful, I might float away on that smile.
“Cass, this is super fucking cool. I can’t believe you made… actually, Icanbelieve it. Is there anything you aren’t good at?”
“Did you repress memories of the lasagna I tried to make a couple of days ago? Cooking is not my strong suit.”
“Hey, I ate it and I’m still alive. Could’ve been worse.” He laughs, already replacing the metal bracelet with mine. “Good thing I’m here, or our baby would be surviving on Flamin’ Hot Cheetos,root beer,and French fries. Seriously, though. This is amazing.”
“Thanks.” I fumble with fastening the clasp for him. “I should find photos of the heels I made for Blair when she graduated nursing school. Those were super cool.”
“You could sell these. Do you sell them?”
“Nah. I’ve briefly considered it before, but I don’t know…” I fiddle with a strand of hair, unable to make eye contact. “It’s time consuming, and I probably should get some more practice first. It’s just a little hobby.”
“Fuck that. Don’t sell yourself short. I’d pay for this. If you made belts, I know at least twenty ranch hands who would buy them from you. You said before that you didn’t have athing, but maybe this is it. With how smart you are, I bet you could make a great business out of this.”
“Yeah, if I had the time, maybe. And I’m going to have even less time with a baby to take care of. Besides, I packed up all my supplies because my office will have to be a nursery.” The way he’s watching me anxiously fidget is only making me more flustered. I can’t bear to meet his eyes. “Thank you, though. I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.” He takes his time spinning it around his wrist. “And I was serious about being here every day. You’re gonna be so fucking sick of me, I bet you’ll be stoked to have a hobby that gives you a break.”
“Youarebest in small doses…”
He leans in. “Mmm, that’s not what you say when I’m inside you.”
“Okay, see. Now you’ve officially overstayed your welcome.” I shove him playfully in the side, and he wraps himself around me. His tattooed arm drapes across my stomach, and his leg encircles my ankles. He’s got me pinned—not that I had any intention of moving, anyway.
“You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.” He nuzzles into my hair.
“Great.How did I get so lucky?”
I told myself I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t fall for him. But suddenly we’re talking until midnight, and I’m laughing in his arms. Our bodies knit together like every limb, muscle, and ligament were created to be interwoven. I’m the happiest I’ve felt in years. And I’m so wonderfully, irrevocably screwed.
17
Cassidy
26 weeks (baby is the size of a large soft pretzel)
Cold, icy, muddy slush splashes up the sides of my boots when I jump out of Chase’s truck, drenching my socks and cascading a string of expletives from my mouth. I kick myself for not listening to his suggestion to wait in the truck while he grabs a couple last minute items for dinner.
“You good?” Chase calls from the other side of the truck.
“Soaking fucking wet.”
“Fuck, Cass.Okay.Should we skip grocery shopping or…” He appears at the back of his truck with a shit-eating grin. “You know those are my three favourite words, right?”
“Not like that, asshole. You parked right in a giant puddle and my boots are full of water.” I trudge toward him, feeling the sloshing and the squelch of wet socks under my feet with each step.
“Well, that’s less fun than what I was picturing. Still, though. We can get back in the truck and strip ya down?” He gestures toward the pickup with his head, the stupid smirk never leaving his lips.
With a laugh, I smack his arm. “Nice try, but only my socks are wet. That’s the most I’m taking off.”
“Worth a shot. This entire parking lot is like a giant root beer slushy. Where did you expect me to park?” He starts across the crowded parking lot toward the store. “Come on, soggy socks. We should probably get you a snack in here, eh? Don’t think you’ll make it home without eating something.”
We trudge through the root beer slush—which is a pretty accurate description for the grimy parking lot. It dumped snow the whole drive to Sheridan for my doctor’s appointment and plow trucks littered the roadways with sand to provide traction. Then the temperature promptly rose just enough to transform the foot of powder into a soupy, muddy mess.
“No snacks, unless it’s carrot sticks or some shit. I’m tired of Dr. Dickhead’s judgmental sigh. And I’m really sick of his comments on my weight every time.” I grab hold of Chase’s arm to hop over a flowing stream in the centre of the road. The grocery store door opens with a blast of warm, dry air, and Chase’s hand falls to my lower back to guide me in ahead of him. Even though Sheridan isn’t far from Wells Canyon, and there’s always a good chance of running into people we know, it’s nice to pretend we’re different people here. To interact the way we typically do in the privacy of my house. It’s blurring the lines between us, but I can’t bring myself to stop it.
