Movement comes from the bedroom that’s due to be the nursery, and I slowly push the door open to catch Warren in the act. He knows me well, because he stands in the doorway, blocking my view, his arms tucked behind his back, wearing a bashful expression.
“Oh, hey,” I chirp.
He shakes his head. “You’re not very good at following instructions.”
“Guilty.” I try to peer around his big frame. “Whatcha doing?”
A rosy hue paints his cheeks, a perk of him being beardless, though I sometimes miss it. “I know you’d planned on doing it when you finished work, and you can change it up if you hate what I’ve done.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “What have youdone?”
Warren’s gaze falls before he steps aside to reveal the room.
I suck in a surprised breath.
The once sterile white walls are now a pale sage, with stenciled white geese and frames filled with hedgehogs and deer dotted around. Cream floor-length curtains hang from the window. The crib is built, along with the wardrobe and changing table. He’s even hung the mobile Talia gifted me. In the corner, half-built, is the nursing chair I pointed out the other week. A drill and screwdriver sit discarded next to it, which is what I’m guessing I interrupted.
It’s exactly as I imagined—no, better. So much better, my heart doubles in size.
Warren shuffles on his feet, watching me like a hawk. “Your sister helped me pick out the paint and showed me a few, um, Pinterest thingy-ma-bob-boards. I hope I got it right, but we have time to fix it before the baby arrives.”
“Warren?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Shut up and kiss me, you wonderful man.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. I’m swept up in his arms, broad hands cradling my face as he brushes his mouth with mine. Gone is the tiredness, and before I peel his clothes off, I pull away.
“It’s perfect.” I rub my thumb over his bottom lip. “Is this what you’ve done all day?”
He nods. “I only have the chair left to do. Now, you can enjoy your time off work before the baby arrives. Relax. Nest. Whatever you want.”
“Mm, rest sounds nice.” I drop my forehead to his chest. “Have you decided how to decorate the nursery at your place?”
He stiffens. “My place?”
“Yeah.” I glance up. “Sorry, I presumed you’d want the baby staying with you some nights.”And you would finally let me see where you live. The longer he puts it off, the more concerned I am that he lives in a rat-infested hovel. “Your kitchen renovations have gone on for a while.”
His jaw grinds, which only heightens my angst. At what point do I call out this aloof behavior? When our child graduates from college? We’d agreed to go slow, that I’d be patient, and I have been, but we’ve not exactly been going slow. He’s here most nights unless he’s at the firehouse.
“I’m beginning to think you’re hiding something.”
He rears back. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, I’ve never seen your place, for starters, and anytime I bring it up, you change the subject or brush it off.”
He sighs, eyes clamping shut. “I’m selling my house.”
“What?” Surprise laces my voice now. “Since when?”
“I’ve thought about it for a while. It makes sense to move closer to Iris Meadows. Somewhere in between.” He paces across the hardwood floor. An uncharacteristic move. “It seems pointless to build a nursery if I’m moving soon and everything is boxed up. There’s nowhere for you to sit. It’s a bombsite.”
This reaction is so unlike Warren, who’s ready to unravel right in front of me. All because of a house?
“Okay.” I catch him by the forearm, stopping him fromwearing a hole in the floor. “Okay. I’ll drop it. I just wish you’d told me you were thinking of moving.”
His shoulders slump. “Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
