“Wow. I seemed to walk in at the wrong time.”
I shake my head and drag my hand across my face. “No. Perfect timing. Where are your parents?”
“They went home. We’ll see them soon. Can we go back to the house? I am a little tired.”
“Yeah, sure, are you okay?” I touch her shoulder, concerned, and study her. She seems different, but I can’t pinpoint it. Her scarf is in place, and her cheeks have the same shade of pink she had before due to the cold. Her beanie over her long hair is still perfectly set.
“Totally. It’s just cold.” She’s lying, I can tell.
But I let her lead the way.
* * *
Even though it’sa five-minute drive home, Rosie’s subdued mood doesn’t go unnoticed. Something is off, and when we’re inside and she tosses her hat into the basket next to the coats that we just hung, then I’m positive she’s in a mood.
She even ignores me when she begins to march to the stairs, until I stop her by grabbing her arm.
“Talk to me.”
She heaves a sigh. “Is it true? That you want to run for Congress, Senate, God knows what else? I thought it’s just mayor.”
“It is.”
“But would you want to one day be more?”
I shrug and wonder where the hell we’re going with this conversation. “I can’t say.”
“Well, your father seems to think so, and he also seems to think that I’ll be a good politician’s wife. I won’t. I’m… a little eccentric.” She flutters her eyes and lines form on her face.
A smirk begins to play on my lips. “Is that what has you bothered?” I gently walk her off the step and wind her into my arms. “I assure you that we shouldn’t listen to my father’s fantasies. I mean, maybe one day he’s right, but for now, I’m okay right where I am.”
She pouts and peers down at her belly that’s growing by the day, it seems. “Still, I’m just not ready to sign up to bethatkind of politician’s wife. Mayor duties where you pet the state-winning cow is more me, you know.”
Nibbling my bottom lip, I love that I’m about to point out the obvious. “You know you keep saying wife.”
Her eyes pop out, and her gaze rockets up to me. “I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“You’re mistaken.” She attempts to hold a weak self-assured smile.
“Hmm.” My head bobs. “I think you did.”
She grows flustered, and her jaw slides side to side as her hands pump fists. “If I did, it’s your fault.”
I step back, astonished and amused. “My fault? How?”
“You’re the one who has rings upstairs. It just confused my brain for a second.”
“Really? Is this the part where I’m supposed to forget your little slip-up?”
She growls and pushes me out of the way, beelining it to the living room where she paces back and forth in front of the fireplace. “Carter, I have pregnancy brain. I forget things. It’s a side effect, you know.”
I flop onto the sofa to enjoy the view of her little meltdown. “You said it more than once.” Now I’m just egging her on.
She grabs a cushion then throws it at me, and I dodge it. “Maybe. Fine…” she drawls, giving up. “I said wife. It’s a figure of speech. Most definitely not because I once had that title or one day I’ll have it again.” Her hand flies to mouth, too late to catch her sentence.
Refraining from allowing her to mull over her confession for too long, I hold out my arms, inviting her to join me on the sofa. To my surprise, she joins me, defeated.
