Maddox gives me one more kiss on the cheek before we make our way through the store, heading straight for the baby furniture. I know both of us are going to get sidetracked. I’m going to see baby clothes and get a little too excited, and Maddox is going to find that stroller and geek out. But we have a mission—buy every single furniture item we need for the nursery.
It’s now or never. I’m nearing the end of my second trimester, we’re moving into the house slowly but surely over the next few weeks, and Maddox starts training camp tomorrow where he’ll be gone for a month. Then when he gets back, it’s football season. So now that we know it’s a boy—and that we’ve decided to go with a blues and whites theme for the nursery—we can start furniture hunting.
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want a football theme?” I ask as we pass by a section of Fury merchandise, complete with Fury onesies. “I’m fine with football if you want it. This isn’t the hill I’m going to die on.”
He shakes his head as his eyes wander down the technology aisle. I have a feeling we’ll be stopping there and checking out monitors before we go.
“No. If my kid wants to play football, it’ll be because he fell in love with it all on his own. I don’t want him to think we have this expectation for him because he was literally sleeping around footballs since he was born. Sure, there’ll be team gear and clothing, and at least one mini football he’ll play with. But I just feel like if that’s literally all he grows up around, it could put some sort of weight on him that I don’t want. He can be whatever he wants. A football player. An engineer. A baker because he inherited his mom’s talent. An astronaut. A singer. A dancer. Sky’s the limit, and I want to let him find it out for himself.”
I stop walking, needing a second to take all of that in. I know for weeks I couldn’t get past Maddox’s physical age. And I think there will always be times when I’m reminded just how far apart our birthdays are. But then there are moments like this when he says things that are so mature, so wise, so thoughtful, that I’m reminded that age is actually just a number. And if a man says, does, and thinks things like Maddox does every day? Then fuck the number. It doesn’t mean shit.
“Everything okay?”
I nod and take his hand, pulling him into an empty aisle. Sure, people are still probably walking by, but Maddox can’t say things like that—especially when my hormones are raging like they are—without me kissing him.
His surprise at my reaction lasts the better part of a second. Then he’s wrapping his arms around my waist and turning mearound so my back is against the shelving, as he brings me in as close to him as I can be. Damn baby belly.
“You’re killing me, Gabrielle,” he says, his lips leaving mine, but just so they can move up to my ear. “Is there a dressing room we can slip into?”
I moan, loud enough that if there are people in the aisles to either side of us, they have to be wondering what we’re doing. But in my defense, Maddox’s tongue is swirling at my pulse point, and lately that’s a one-way ticket to an orgasm.
“We’re at a baby store.”
He replaces his tongue with his lips, leaving a wet kiss that I can feel down to my toes. “You started this. You don’t want me to finish it? I bet you want to. I bet if I felt you right now, you’re already wet for me.”
The moan I let out says “yes.” But I need to say no, even if he’s right. “In my defense, you said the sexy things first. How was I supposed to resist?”
“I love how turned on you get when I talk about the least sexual things possible.”
“What can I say? You just do it for me, Gallagher.”
Our eyes stay locked for another second before Maddox leans in and kisses me hard—but quick—then steps away.
“You go start looking at the changing tables. I’m going to go look for this stroller, but mostly because I need a second.”
I can’t help but smile knowing he’s just as affected as I am. “I can’t wait to see it.”
I give a glance down to his cock then back up to his eyes, and hear him let out another groan as I saunter away.
I’m all smiles as I let myself browse through the baby clothes Maddox had to know I wasn’t going to be able to resist. I don’t know what it is about baby boy clothes, but I’ve become a little obsessed. I mean, the little overalls? Ironic onesies that say things like “Mr. Steal Yo’ Girl?” Little Fury football jerseys?I want them all. Luckily for me, I have a partner who is just as excited for everything as I am, and doesn’t bother looking at price tags.
Every day I’m getting better at coming to terms with Maddox being the bread winner in our relationship, and that it’s going to be a few years until I’m the owner of Sugar and Sweets. Because of the pregnancy—and Beau insisting every penny I earn goes to me and his nephew—we’ve agreed that he’s going to stay the owner for the time being. This way, he can still pay me a salary, and I can make sure everything I need is taken care of. At first, I wanted to be stubborn about it. But he’s right. If I bought the bakery now, no way would I be able to handle the stress.
So yes, I technically could afford all ten of the baby outfits I just picked up, but I know Maddox won’t let me pay for a single one of them. The strange thing is, I don’t mind. And it’s all because of who Maddox is. He’s not holding his paycheck over my head. He’s not reminding me of how much he makes on a daily basis, emphasized with the knowledge that he just bought a million-dollar home for us. He’s not telling me every day how his career is more important than mine.
And I love him for that.
I love him for a lot of things.
I just…love him.
I do. There’s no denying that anymore. I probably have loved him for a lot longer than I realize, but hey, it’s always taken me a little longer to see things that have been right in front of my face.
I should tell him. I’ve been meaning to. But saying those words again when I’ve only said them to one other person not related to me is hard. They mean something. I thought they meant something last time. And for a while, they did. So I’ve wanted to be sure. Not just say it because it felt like I should. I want it to mean something.
And it will. I know that in my heart of hearts.
With a smile on my face for a non-sexual reason, I put back a few of the outfits, but keep seven of them, as I make my way over to my original destination. I already found the changing table I want on the store’s website, but there’s something about seeing furniture in person to make sure it’s really the right one, so I head that way. I’m searching for my phone in my purse, and completely miss the fact that I’m not the only one looking at baby changing tables.
