“We’ll probably find out if the baby cooperates. Nix wants to know, and it’s his first baby and all,” Sage said.
“I can’t remember, did you find out for Daphne?”
“Yeah, I did. Everything was so uncertain, I needed to find out as much as I could about everything I could to feel a little more prepared.” Sage smiled wistfully. “This time, I could wait until the baby is born before finding out, but I want to do whatever Nix wants.”
“Makes sense.” I got the impression Noah would do whatever I wanted.
“So,” Sage started, biting her lower lip as if she was holding in an awkward question.
“Spit it out.” I sighed.
“Is it going to matter what the DNA results say?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He says it doesn’t matter, but I want to make sure he has the answer before he commits to that decision.”
“Will it matter to you, though?” Sage clarified her question.
I was taken back to last night, and the look in Noah’s eyes when he said: Regardless of what that test says, I consider that baby mine, as much as I consider you mine.
“No, it wouldn’t matter,” I said lowly, keeping my voice at a near-whisper.
If Noah wasn’t biologically the father, but still wanted to be a part of our lives, I would let him. I was scared that if the DNA results proved he wasn’t the biological father, that it would change his desire to be a part of this. I knew I was clinging to that fear, but I didn’t know how not to.
“Well, if it doesn’t matter, I think you have to let go of that fear that’s holding you back,” Sage said wisely. “I know, it’s easier said than done, but stop hiding behind walls and let him in. He wants to be there, Nell. It’s obvious.”
“I know, you’re right,” I whispered, thinking about all the ways Noah had proved that over the last few weeks.
After getting off the phone with Sage, I put on my bra and followed my nose to the kitchen. Noah was setting two plates down on the island. They were overflowing with eggs, bacon, and toast.
“Morning, I was just about to wake you. I hope you’re hungry,” he said, smiling as he took me in. I
’d washed my makeup off the night before and had done my best to run my fingers through my hair to comb some of the tangles out. I by no means felt beautiful, but Noah looked at me like I was.
“I could eat,” I said, trying to ignore everything I was feeling. It was confusing, conflicting. I expected to feel vulnerable, that the intimacy level of being with him without my mask in place—my makeup, my clothes—would send me wanting to run.
But I didn’t feel all that vulnerable. Somehow, I felt almost at ease. I was aware of his eyes on me, aware of his every move, aware of the sexual tension sparking between us, but I didn’t want to run.
“God, you’re a fucking vision, Nell.” Noah shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Seeing you in my clothes; it does something to me.” His voice had deepened, his gaze smouldering, making his need apparent.
“Oh stop,” I flushed, pulling out a chair at the island and sitting in front of one of the plates.
“Coffee? I, uh, unfortunately don’t have any tea.” He scratched at the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
“It’s okay, I’m still trying to limit my caffeine intake,” I answered.
“Orange juice it is,” Noah said with a nod, turning around to grab a glass from the cupboard. He filled it with juice from the refrigerator and set it beside my plate, then grabbed his cup of coffee and walked over to sit beside me. “How’d you sleep last night?”
“Good,” I lied, not wanting to admit I tossed and turned all night thinking about him. About how he’d felt moving inside me. It was very difficult not to think about that, especially when I was staring right at the place it happened.
“I’m glad to hear that. I slept like shit. Kept thinking about how close you were, yet how far away.” He winked, picking up his fork and scooping some eggs up.
I hid my smile behind a glass of juice. I glanced out the sliding door and nearly choked on the juice. I coughed, and Noah patted my back to help.
“Looks like we got even more snow than they called for,” I said when I could finally speak again. The snow was piled almost halfway up the glass of the sliding door, and heavy, fat snowflakes were still coming down. Sage was right, I was snowed in with Noah still.
“Yeah, we got about twenty-five centimetres last night. I’ll need to head out and do some shoveling after breakfast.”
“I can help,” I offered. Noah shot me a look. “What, I’m pregnant, not incapable.”
