“I’m tired,” I admit, voice barely there. “And emotionally wrung out.”
He gives me a look that’s all affection and low-simmering fury at the world. “Okay.” He leans in to kiss my temple. “Do you want tea? Crackers? You say the word, and I’ll move mountains. Or at least the cat off your lap.”
I shake my head, eyes still wet. “No,” I breathe. “I just want you to kiss me.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, his shoulders lose that fight-ready tension, his jaw relaxes.
“Yeah?” he says, voice rough at the edges. “I can do that.”
And he does.
God, hedoes.
He leans in slowly, his palm sliding from my cheek to cradle the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and that’s when my heart starts to gallop. Fast and wild and full of something that feels dangerously close to forever.
When his lips finally find mine, everything else disappears.
It’s not rushed.It’s not showy.
It’s devastating. Soft and coaxing, his mouth moves against mine with nothing but patience. He’s not just kissing me—he’slearningme. Savoring every sigh, every tremble. Pouring every unsaid word into the spaces between us. I taste him and swear I can feel the weight of all that fierce protectiveness. His loyalty. The storm he carries and the shelter he offers in the same breath.
When his thumb skims along my jaw, my whole body shivers. My hands curl into the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer.
He deepens the kiss with this low, needy sound that shoots straight through me. The floor could fall out from under us and I wouldn’t care, just because he’s right here. Solid. Warm. Mine.
When he pulls back just enough for us to breathe, I’m dizzy with want. His forehead rests against mine.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, unable to form words. My heart is still racing, but it’s the good kind now.
“Good,” he murmurs, pressing another soft kiss to my lips. “Because I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
“Just today?”
He smiles against my mouth. “Every day.”
forty-five
LUCY
This second trimester is a breath of fresh air after weeks of wading through molasses. I’m still tired, but it’s the kind of exhaustion I can live with. I can sit outside with a mug of tea and not feel like I might pass out mid-sip. I can eat again. Actually crave things. Sleep without waking up in a cold sweat, convinced something’s wrong.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not bracing for the next hit. I’m not tiptoeing around my own body.
I catch myself smiling more. Dreaming a little louder. Letting myself imagine things like a nursery. Little shoes. Sunday mornings that smell like pancakes and baby lotion.
It would be nice to pretend that everything is perfect, but the reality is, Emily is still an unknown part of this equation. Though itisgetting a bit easier to watch Isla around her. Isla’s curious and cautiously hopeful, letting herself inch toward someone she doesn’t remember but wants to understand. She’s talking a little more when Emily’s around. Asking questions that make my heart clench, likewas I funny when I was a baby, too,ordid you miss me when you were gone?
Emily always answers as if she’s reading from a script, but Isla soaks it up. I think part of me wants to soak it up, too. For Isla’s sake.
Aidan still hasn’t let Emily take her out alone. Not once, and I don’t blame him. What that means, though, is every visit happens here, in our home, under our roof, with either Aidan or me always within earshot.
I have no doubt we’re doing the right thing, and yet…it feels like we’re letting Emily peer in, try on the mother role for a few hours, but never actually leave the driveway with it.
We haven’t talked about it, and maybe that’s why my heart seizes up when I think about all the things he’s keeping to himself.
I know Aidan’s been talking to Finn, even though he hasn’t toldmeabout it. So I have no idea what’s going on. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t included me up to this point. I don’t like being kept in the dark. I want to be his partner in everything.
