And then I move past him and back to the bed. He goes to the bathroom and finishes getting ready. By the time he’s plugged his phone into the charger, I feel the heaviness in my eyes.
He scoots under the covers and faces me. His body heat warms the bed, something I’ve actually missed.
“You’re tired,” he says.
I nod. “The sleep is taking over me. Are you still pumped up with adrenaline?”
“Had a mild spike with that whole throwing-up situation, but I’ve calmed down. You sure you’re good with me sleeping here?”
I nod and yawn at the same time. “It’s nice. You make the bed all toasty and warm. Missed it while you were gone . . . and well not really talking to me.”
“Hey,” he says softly. “You were the one not talking to me.”
“I think we both weren’t talking.” I snuggle into my pillow. “But we’re talking now.”
“We are.” And then he reaches out and pushes a loose strand of my hair around my ear.
My eyes part just in time to connect with his. His finger drags across my cheek tenderly, and he says, “Good night, Penny.”
Almost breathlessly, I answer back, “Good night.”
And then he closes his eyes, leaving me with an elevated feeling as my pulse picks up.
What was with that touch? Did he mean to do that? Was it a loving touch or a pity touch because I threw up?
No. We’re here for the baby. Plain and simple.
Nothing else. My pregnancy brain needs to take a time-out and go to bed.
Everything will be just fine in the morning.
* * *
“Hey,”Eli says, poking his head in the bathroom where I’m carefully straightening my hair. Day off means I get to spend time doing something I wouldn’t normally do in the morning when I have to go to work.
“Hey, I didn’t think you’d be home so early from your morning skate.”
“We’re trying to rest our legs more.” He nods at me. “What are you doing?”
“Straightening my hair.” I give him a once-over. “Why are you wearing jeans?”
He chuckles. “What should I be wearing?”
“I don’t know, sweatpants? That’s what you normally wear. Are you going to go run some errands? Do professional hockey players even do errands? Pacey never talks about it, so I can’t be sure. Do you have an assistant who does everything for you?”
“I run my own errands. But that’s not why I’m wearing jeans.”
I glance down at them again and then nod in understanding. “Ah, a new pair, wearing them in around the house.”
He presses his hand to his forehead. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Why do you assume I’m doing everything other than what I actually want to do?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug while combing one of the final sections of my hair to straighten. “I ramble and talk a lot. You should know that by now.”
“I do.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m wearing jeans because I was hoping I could take you to lunch.”
