My eyes water, and I quickly dab the tear threatening to escape at the corner of my eye. “You made this? Abby, this is . . . beautiful.” I turn to her, brows furrowed. “But I only just told you about the ultrasound a couple of weeks ago. How could you have made this so quickly?”
She gives me a hesitant smile. “You’d mentioned you thought it was a girl well before the ultrasound.” She shrugs. “I trusted your intuition and started making this weeks ago.”
Placing the jumper on my lap, I wrap my arms around her, feeling her stiffen for a moment before she yields to my embrace. “Thank you. This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”
She pats my back, letting me hug her. “I’m glad you like it.”
I wipe my cheek and marvel at the little outfit in my hands.
I’m almost twenty-two weeks along.Twenty-two. And though I can still hardly believe our little bean is now the size of a sweet potato, I can finally feel her moving inside me. They started off as tiny flutters but have recently turned into little kicks that Patton swears are directed at him because they always commence whenever he’s around. It’s as if she can’t wait to leap into his arms.
Life has shifted so quickly over the past couple of months, I can hardly keep up. Patton and Bob moved into my house soon after we got back from Cabo, and I can honestly say it has never been as warm or chaotic.
Just this week alone, I’ve found my underwear and camisole hidden under Bob’s bed. Besides the barely-functional dildo and my old bra, our four-legged klepto is basically operating a drool-soaked lingerie store in our house. I’m not going to lie,it’s a little unnerving that both Beaver and Bob have shoplifting tendencies.
Oh, and my previously straightened throw pillows? Those are a thing of the past, since Bob has made it his life’s mission to dig under them like he’s hunting for gold.
I’ve also learned a few more things about my ex-husband during this time. Like that he has very strong opinions about whether the baby needs blackout curtains or sheer ones in her room, or whether I should be “allowed” to take showers unattended.
So, aside from assembling cribs and researching the safest rocking chairs on the planet—all while finishing additional scenes for his film, officially namedThe Winning Pitch—Patton has basically transformed into a very attractive helicopter husband. He’s made it impossible for me to do almost anything alone, insisting that someone be around me twenty-four/seven. It’s equal parts ridiculous and annoying, but also kind of sweet, and I have to remind myself that this is exactly what I asked for, what I wanted all those years ago.
And this time, he’s here for all of it. He’s here for me.
As soon as he moved in, Patton’s team descended on my house like a team of covert operatives, wiring it with a state-of-the-art security system that probably outshines the Pentagon’s. They claimed it was “non-negotiable,” given who Patton is and how even more important our privacy is now.
I grumbled about the intrusion at first, but I’ve come to understand its importance. We live in a gated community and stay low-key, but given how crazy fans can be, it’s never a bad idea to be extra careful. Let’s face it, some of them make Bob’s underwear obsession seem normal.
But despite all the hovering and treating me like I’m made out of glass, I have to admit this chaotic little life we’re building might be the perfect one for me. I’m completely gone for theman who assembled our baby’s crib at two in the morning, argues about curtains, and protects me like he’s my personal bodyguard. We’re also having a baby together. So, if I’m not the luckiest woman alive, I don’t know who is.
I’m folding the baby’s first outfit back inside the tissue paper when I realize Hector has left the room, leaving me and Abby alone. Taking the opportunity to ask her what’s been weighing on my mind for some time, I turn to look at the woman whose hands are once again busy with her needles.
“Hey, Abby?” I clear my throat. “I was wondering if you ever found the thing you were looking for? You know, the reason you said you moved here?”
She sets down her needles, her tired green eyes examining her hands. For a moment I don’t think she’ll answer, but then, like she has a few times before, she surprises me.
“Yes and no.” She takes in a soft breath. “There’s this restaurant downtown. I found what I was looking for there, but I couldn’t find the courage to go in and ask for it.”
My brows knit. “What you’re looking for is inside a restaurant?”
She nods. “It was, yes.”
I study her face, trying to read between the lines.
“Is it like . . . a dish or dessert or something?”
She shakes her head. “No. Not a dessert. Forgiveness.”
I moan, my eyes rolling to the back of my head, feeling myself sink deeper into the sofa. “Oh, God. That feels so good.”
“That’s it, baby. Relax for me,” Patton murmurs, his voice low and approving. His thumb presses into the exact place I need him.
The arch of my foot, that is.
I crack one eye open, smiling when I see the smug look on his face as he massages my swollen feet like he’s a trained masseuse. He might as well be because the man’s hands are currently performing magic.
“You know, if you keep this up, we might just make baby number two before this one’s even out.”
He smirks. “Can I have that in writing?”
