Regina shakes her head. "That look rarely means anything good."
"It will be great. Trust me." I grab her hand and pull her away from the cart—it was empty anyway. With Hudson right behind us, I lead our small line to the other side of the store.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spencer’s headlights flash over my large front window as he pulls into the driveway. I drop the curtain before the glare catches on my face. Frankie barks, probably startled by the first bit of movement I've done for the last hour.
"Yes, yes, your daddy is home." I step away from the large bay window I’ve used as a perch tonight. Frankie doesn't follow until I stop and slap my knee twice. "Well, come on. We can't let him know how crazy we are."
Hudson refused to leave until Spencer gave him the okay, and he called me ridiculous for spending our evening waiting for Spencer’s return. But he was sitting here watching me watch a window, so which one of us is worse?
As a woman concerned about her guy going out to fight some unknown criminal element, I think I had every right to spend three hours staring out my front window, waiting for him to return.
It's perfectly normal in my opinion.
Expected even.
But I'm not sure how the big, strong, tough guy I was waiting up for would feel about it. Some men these days have a problem not being seen as macho. I’ve witnessed more than one new dad pass out while watching the delivery process, but no one will admit it. If they’re not falling on the floor, then they turn into big, blubbering messes the first time they get to hold their newborn child. I’ve spent more time reassuring men it’s okay to cry than I have comforting women post-delivery.
And while Spencer has shown me his romantic side more than once in the last few weeks, he also spent over six minutes struggling to open a pickle jar yesterday. He refused to use the specialized gripper I purchased for just that need. While fighting with it, he also had a lot of thoughts on whether or not he was the type of man who needed help opening a jar.
Since he's been in active combat as a SEAL, I don’t see him as someone to pass out from a bit of blood. But the criers come in all shapes and sizes.
He's probably a crier.
A car door shuts, and I slap my leg two more times to get Frankie moving faster. "Let's go, let's go."
She runs and jumps on the bed at the same time I pull the covers over my lap, the box springs squeaking. I grab a book off my nightstand and open it to a random page. A receipt from the hardware store that I’d been using as a bookmark falls to the bed. I quickly stuff it between two pages in the back. It's been so long since I've been home and able to read I’ll have to start this book over again, anyway.
The front door opens and closes quietly. Spencer’s obviously trying to not wake me up. I made Hudson lie and say I was in bed.
I fluff the surrounding covers. They need to look the right amount of ruffled, not like I arranged them this way, even though that's exactly what I'm doing.
A shadow falls across the floor from my bedroom door. Frankie stands and growls, acting as the world's worst guard dog. Not only does she not recognize her owner, but she let him get this far into the house.
"Oh, you're back. Hudson said it would be late." I look up from my book and silently appraise Spencer without giving away what I'm doing. Years of work as a nurse help me give him a quick once-over. There are no open wounds or large bandages poking out of his clothes. He still has all his arms and legs and doesn't appear to be limping. He passes.
Spencer leans against the doorjamb. "It's after midnight. Were you waiting up for me?"
"Of course not. Frankie and I were doing some late-night reading."
Spencer smiles. "Is that so?"
"Yup." I close the book and set it on top of my lap.
"That's funny because I could've sworn I saw you and Frankie sitting in front of the window when I pulled up. Plus, the book you’re reading is upside down."
"What? It is n…" Dammit, he's right. From the way the book is laying on my lap, it was definitely upside down. "Oh, all right. I was waiting up for you."
Spencer chuckles, walking a few feet into the room.
"You don't have to be so smug about it. Frankie was worried."
He sits on the edge of the bed, displacing all my nicely fluffed covers. "I've never had anyone wait up for me before. I kind of like it."
"Are you trying to tell me you never left your mother pacing the living room at night?"
Spencer shakes his head. “I was the last of five kids. By the time I got around to staying out late at night, she’d seen it all.”
