We’re about as closed off to our true feelings as two people can get, so I’m not sure if this is a good idea or not, but here we go…
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Callie
* * *
I straighten and clap my hands, although I probably won’t be as excited when I’m the one having to divulge something—like why I could barely eat any dinner. I’m not even sure if he noticed how quiet I’ve been since holding Breelyn.
“Okay, one for one is where I ask you a question, and then you ask me one, and you have to tell the truth.”
He drops the spoon next to the pan and pulls some flour out of the cabinet. “Isn’t that just called having a conversation?”
I move my head right and left. “No. It’s different.”
“If you say so.” He measures nothing, putting a few spoonfuls in the pan. “Since it’s your game, I get to go first?”
“Since you’re new to the game, sure. I won’t make you lose at rock, paper, scissors—again…”
He shoots me an amused smile, and my stomach flips.
“Ask me whatever you want to know.” I shift to get more comfortable on the counter.
He stirs and stirs, both of our eyes on the mixture he’s conjuring in the pan.
“If you can’t think of anything, I’m happy to?—”
Foster eyes me. “I’m sure you’d like that.”
“Immensely. I already have my question.”
He chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He puts in the milk, stirs, and moves over to the pasta, using a different spoon to stir the noodles, then stays there so my knee is touching his hip.
I’m trying to process being so close to him. It’s really nice, but it also feels as if I’m leaning over a ledge, and one wrong move and I’ll fall.
“Why are you up right now—other than the fact that you’re hungry?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, huh? I’ll have to warn Hayes if he ever plays with you.”
“You don’t have to?—”
I put my hand over his mouth. “Yes, I do. That’s the whole point of the game. So be prepared, Foster Davis, because I’m hitting you just as hard.”
He nibbles on my palm like what I imagine a rabbit feels like, and I retract my hand. He laughs, and for a second, his armor slips, and he’s all warmth and soft edges. It happens more often now, but it still knocks me sideways.
“Holding Breelyn… I’m worried…” I pause, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks, but he doesn’t, so I continue. “I like to think I’m good with kids. Monroe, Lincoln, and Lake… but they’re older. They can tell me what they need, and I can do something about it. But a baby? Babies don’t give you instructions. What if I don’t have that motherly instinct? What if I’m not a good mom when it counts—like in the beginning? Maybe I’ll crush the toddler years, but the infant part? It scares me. Holding Breelyn felt like I had an eighteenth-century vase in my arms, and one wrong move and…”
My hands go to my stomach, and I stare down at them. There’s no turning back now.
“Not to diminish what you’re feeling, but I do think it’s natural to feel that way. Especially for people who have never really been around babies.” He picks up the spoon and steps away, and I hate how quickly I miss the heat of him beside me. “But Callie, the baby is going to be yours?—”
“Ours.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “Ours, so you’ll automatically feel more comfortable, and you’re not a quitter. Being comfortable will come in time. I honestly think you’ll be fine.”
He tosses the parmesan cheese into the pan, stirring before grabbing the hot pads and picking up the pot of boiling water and noodles.
