She peeks over one shoulder, giving me a genuine smile instead of the overwide ones she offers everyone else. “I was just putting out some of the stuff I found in the boxes in the basement.” She turns back to the line of picture frames she’s set up, adjusting one by a few degrees before climbing down the step stool she shouldn’t have been standing on in the first place.
“You should have come to get me.” I cross the room, collapsing the ladder I’m going to have to hide. “You could have fallen and gotten hurt.”
Just thinking about it makes me struggle to pull in air. With every passing day my fears about Mariah and her baby grow. I think of new ways one or both of them could get injured. If I'm not careful, it will consume me. And I don't have time to be consumed by fear.
Not when there is still so much to do.
For now, I prop the stool against the wall, looking up at her hard work. "That looks really nice." I don't remember buying anyof the items she’s put up there—probably didn't — but they look like things I would have picked out. Clean lines. Simple designs. The collection of art and antiques I’m sure my mother selected set a masculine, almost retro sort of tone.
"Yeah?" Mariah gives me another of her genuine smiles. "I'm glad. I want you to have something nice to look at while you're in here working like crazy."
I reach for her, stroking along one arm. "I thought that was why you made yourself a little reading corner."
I haven't done more than touch Mariah since the morning she woke up in my bed.
Well... Touched and kissed. But nothing more physical than that. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know exactly how to make it happen. Not without putting pressure on her. And I will never pressure her for anything. If she wants to go back to being simply my chef and roommate, then that's what will happen. I would find a way to deal with it. Whatever keeps her here. Close enough I can take care of her in whatever capacity she’ll allow it.
"You seem pretty distracted when I'm in here." She gives me a little poke in the stomach. "It's probably better if I stay in the family room."
“Whatever you think is best.” I disagree, but again, I'm trying to let her dictate anything that happens between us. Hopefully I can stay the course.
The alarm I set up a few days ago pings, letting us know someone's pulled into the driveway.
Mariah's brows pinch together as she turns to peer out the window. "Are you expecting someone?"
"I am, actually." I take her hand in mine, pulling her along as I go to the door. "And so are you."
Mariah's doctor's appointment isn't for a few more days, but we have a lot to accomplish over the coming months. And while I know she's still not fully ready to tackle what's headed our way, I am.
I open the door, greeting the architect my family has used for every project here on the property.
"Come on in, Jason." I close the door and motion for him to come into my office.
I follow behind, again bringing Mariah along. Once we're in, I direct him to one of the sitting chairs Mariah ordered and lead her to sit behind my desk. Perching on the corner next to where she sits, I get the ball rolling. "Jason is going to help us rework the upstairs floorplan so it will be more conducive to the situation we have coming."
Mariah looks from me to Jason, then back to me again. "The situation we have coming?"
I give her my full attention, explaining to her what I've asked Jason to accomplish. "Right now, it’s basically set up as two separate suites. And as you pointed out, we’re going to need a room for the baby." I smile at her shocked expression. "They won't be able to stay with you forever. Eventually kids need their own space."
My mind wants to jump forward in time. Wants to imagine what it will be like when Mariah's baby is running through the house, playing with toys, filling what has long been a silent structure with giggles and screams and chaos.
But that would be getting ahead of myself. First, I have to convince Mariah this is a good plan. That she should stay with me instead of looking for a place of her—their—own.
Mariah swallows, her throat working hard on the action. "You want us to stay here?"
"Of course I do." Uncertainty tries to creep in. Not over whether or not I want Mariah and the baby here—I absolutely do—but over whether she wants to be here.
Maybe this isn't the great plan I thought it was. It's possible she has zero interest in staying with me beyond childbirth, so I begin to plead my case. "It will be hard to do everything on your own, and I think it makes sense for you to stay here where you have a whole support system." I hesitate before throwing in whatcould either be my ace in the hole or send her running immediately. "And I'm sure my parents would love to be your on-call babysitters."
"I..." Mariah's eyes move over my face, like she can't believe what I'm suggesting.
But I don't know if it’s in a good way or a bad way, so I'm forced to ask, "What do you think? Do we let Jason show us what he's come up with and figure out a plan?" I take a deep breath, forcing myself to give her an out. "Or do you want to think about it a little more and look at all your options?"
Mariah rubs her lips together, the fear on her face cutting into me because I don't know what's causing it or how to fix it. After way too many silent seconds, she finally gives me the words I want to hear. "I want to stay."
Without thinking, I lean forward, too thrilled to know she’ll be here with me for the foreseeable future to think through what I'm doing. It's not until my lips are on hers in front of Jason, that I remember we have an audience.
An audience who is very close with my family.
