“I’m sorry again about that. I know it’s not much of a consolation, but I don’t think any of them meant it personally. They would have vetted any woman I brought home after thirty-plus years of being single,” he reassures me, squeezing my hand.
“They weren’t wrong, though,” I mumble.
“Yes, they were,” he insists. “And I’ll prove it to you, as soon as you’re ready.”
“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously.
“I promised to keep my long-term plans on the back burner fornow, but I am all set to crank the heat up as high as you can handle it. All I need is a green light.”
My lips twitch with amusement at the same time my stomach flutters with anticipation. “I’m starting to rethink my decision to use the L-word. You’re letting it go to your head.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth for a kiss, ignoring my protest. “Admitting you were wrong will be the hardest part. After that, I’ll make sure you never regret saying yes.”
“I’m much more worried you’ll be the one with the regrets,” I mutter.
“That could never happen,” he declares.
“And what about five or ten or even twenty years down the road, when you have to deliver the millionth baby that isn’t yours?” I retort. “Are you sure you won’t care what your family says then?”
“If I can’t have children with you, then I’m not meant to have them,” he says simply. “But I’m not worrying about something we haven’t even tried.”
I roll my eyes. “And we can’t try until it’s too late.”
“Too late for what? Should I be looking into a prenup in case our wedding night isn’t up to your standards?”
I groan and tug my hand back. “We’re not even supposed to be talking about getting married.”
“You brought it up first this time,” he points out smugly. “But since we’re on the subject, you should know that if and when I ask you to marry me, it’ll be because I want to spend the rest of my life with you and not simply because I expect you to have my children.”
I scoff. “This from the same guy who claims he wants marriage and family more than anything.”
“And you haven’t been pretending you don’t want those things just as badly as I do because you’re afraid of getting let down again?”
“No,” I pout, because we both know he’s at least partially right.
His brow lifts. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not afraid of getting let down.”
“I love you, Claire,” he begins softly, taking my hand again. “Andif you can’t tell by now, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you. If babies don’t come easy, we’ll find another way.”
My chin still trembles at the thought of disappointing him. “You don’t understand how much it hurts to get your period month after month, to fail at something that comes so naturally to everyone else,” I tell him, my voice small.
“No,” he sighs. “I can’t imagine how that feels, and I can’t guarantee it won’t happen this time around. But I can promise you’ll never face anything alone again.”
“It’s too much. I can’t expect you to console me every time I let you down,” I whisper, surprised at myself for getting the words out. I cast a furtive glance his way and find him smiling.
“I would be the failure if I let you go on thinking that,” he replies gently. “The only way you could let me down is by not letting me in, and you’ve already exceeded my expectations. I know it took a lot of courage for you to share all that, but I’m grateful you did. And I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you for making me feel safe,” I say with a shrug, stifling a smile of my own.
“You know, I’m beginning to think I’ve finally cracked the code. You don’t seem to mind talking about your feelings as much after a few kisses and a dangerous line or two,” he teases, referring to the twenty minutes we spent making out on the couch before we came here.
I click my tongue, even though my cheeks heat at the reminder. “I’m not that simple. But if you ever need my social security number or my blood type, you should probably start by trying some of those things you whispered in my ear earlier this afternoon.”
“Thanks for the tip,” he says, a wide grin splitting his face. “Should I …”
“Only if you wantTanteVerna’s secret rum cake recipe,” I mutter. But I can’t stop myself from snickering, even as he leans in to press a kiss to my lips.
