Beau was halfway across the room with Clara in his arms by the time his words registered.
I propped myself up on my elbows, watching Beau place Clara on the sink.
“You do not have to make me breakfast in bed,” I told Beau, watching him get his toothbrush before handing Clara the toothpaste to squirt on it.
A small, everyday occurrence that felt precious and intimate to witness, especially from his bed.
Beau’s eyes darted to me as he took hold of the toothbrush.
My breathing quickened. The way he looked at me right then was world ending. He didn’t just want me, he knew me. Every inch of my body was his.
“We don’t have to,” he agreed. “But we want to.” Then he put his toothbrush in his mouth.
I could’ve argued with him, certainly, even if he had the toothbrush in his mouth. But he saidwe.Him and Clara. And she was sitting happily, swinging her legs, chattering away, grinning at me. Like she wasn’t at all shocked that I was in her father’s bed.
I wanted to get up. Terribly. It felt indulgent and almost fraudulent to be lying there, watching those two perfect humans go about their morning. Like they were mine.
But then maybe they were.
Maybe I’d just gotten everything I had ever dreamed of.
“It’s too early,” Cole whined as a greeting to my phone call.
“I’m in Beau’s bedroom,” I whispered. Clara had come running in with my phone and a book, relaying an order from her father to stay where I was. She came back again about five minutes later, holding a cup of coffee, sticking out her tongue in concentration so as not to spill any.
I’d invited her into bed with me, but she’d refused, telling me very seriously that she was the soup chef. I assumed that meant sous chef.
So I was alone. In Beau’s bedroom. The urge to snoop was overwhelming. I’d used the bathroom, taking note of how clean it was. Not so much as a fingerprint on the mirror, the double sinks almost sparkling. Towels folded neatly. A couple of men’s products on the counter.
The shower held rudimentary body care products. It was a nice bathroom, nothing fancy, but clean.
His room was the same. The walls were white, brighter than I expected, decorated with nothing but a few pictures of Clara. On his dresser were a couple more products, also lined up perfectly. A framed photo of a younger-looking Beau, cradling a tiny bundle with the biggest smile on his face.
My finger trailed over the lines of his face, so foreign, seeing him smile like that. No shadows behind his eyes. Only pure joy.
I thought about his words from the night before, about him not caring if I got pregnant by accident. Then I let myself think about another baby in Beau’s arms. Ours. Clara’s sister or brother.
I did eventually want children. But I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not even with Beau. But one day, I wanted Beau to hold our baby. I wanted to give Clara a sibling.
Not knowing what else to do, I’d gotten back into bed and called my best friend.
“Tell me everything,” he demanded, suddenly sounding wide awake.
I grinned, phone to my ear, telling him everything.
Well, not everything. I did kiss and tell, but I hoarded most of the more explicit details, keeping them for myself. Cole would not be shocked at them; he’d relish in them. But they were mine.
“I’m happy for you, Han,” he murmured quietly. “Even if it means I won’t have a new roommate with medical knowledge.”
I barked out a laugh. “I won’t be able to write prescriptions for a while,” I reminded him. I did eventually want to become a practitioner but that was more study and a lot more money than what I could afford. Keep my goals attainable, sensible. That was the plan. Now I was in Beau Shaw’s bed with him and Clara making me breakfast. Three months ago, I wouldn’t have called that an attainable goal. I would’ve called that a dream. A fool’s hope. But here we were.
“Boo,” he muttered. “But seriously, Han. You deserve this. And that family is so lucky to have you.” Cole’s voice was thick with emotion, causing my throat to tighten. “Plus, if Beau hurts you, I’ll have him kneecapped. I won’t do it myself because … yuck, blood. But I’ll pay someone.”
I smiled, happy that I wasn’t going to be crying that morning. “I expect nothing less.”
The sound of Clara’s voice got closer along with the clatter of plates. “Got to go,” I said. “I’m being served breakfast in bed.”
“As you fucking should,” Cole chuckled. “Love you.”
