“Do you want kids one day?” The words startle me, even though they came from my throat. I pinch my lips together, trying to keep more inner thoughts from popping out.
“Yeah.” His lashes lift as he meets my gaze. “I’d love to be a dad.”
My mind betrays me. She makes a mockery of my sanity by producing images I didn’t know could exist.
Gavin touching my swollen belly. His strong hands assembling a crib. His whispered voice soothingournewborn. His broad shoulders with a baby carrier strapped to them.
And for some reason, that visionachesas it burrows its way into my heart.
“Do you?” His voice cuts through the daydream, and I immediately want it back.
I feel like I’m already mourning the loss of something that never existed.
My answer clogs in my throat, making my “Yes” sound like a squawk.
But he must understand me because he nods before motioning to the mug in my hands. “You gonna try that?”
I blink down at it, thankful for the subject change. “How many sips did you steal?” I tease, lifting an eyebrow.
“Zero.” A muscle in his jaw ticks as he tries to control a grin.
Shaking my head, I bring the mug to my lips. “Mm-hmm. Sure.”
His dark stare watches me closely as the chocolaty peppermint flavor washes over my tongue and down my throat. Just that little bit of liquid sends warmth throughout my entire body, and a hum of pleasure rumbles from my chest.
I don’t know what kind of sorcery he has put into this, but it’s even better than the one at Bear Creek Bakery.
Gavin clears his throat, dropping his attention back down to Noah. “How is it?”
“Perfect.” I swallow another sip as I pull my legs up to hug my knees.
Leaning his head back, he turns to face me, his dark, thoughtful gaze sliding lazily over my face. His eyes have always had this foxlike intensity to them.
That focused attention is almost predatory, like he’s studying me intently, tracking every detail, and it sets my entire body buzzing and my pulse pounding in my neck.
Grinning over my mug, I wonder, “Do you remember that Christmas I made everyone drawings of the animals they remind me of?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“And I made you a fox?”
One corner of his lips quirks up. “I believe your words were, ‘intelligent and cunning.’”
I snort a laugh. “Among other words, yes. Adaptable, independent, observant.”
He swallows as a blush coats his cheeks. “I remember.” His whiskey eyes drop to watch me take another sip of coffee. “And you chose a tiger for yourself.”
He remembers.
Surprise flutters through me. “Yeah. Strong-willed and intuitive.”
“Unpredictable,” he adds with a smirk.
“But you”—I poke him in the shoulder playfully—“told me I was more of a tigercub.”
“I stand by that,” he says firmly. “Fierce and ferocious on the outside, soft and cuddly on the inside.”
His dark gaze pins me in place like he has seen straight into my soul.
