I blink, clueless as to what she’s talking about until she waves the black marker in the air. “Oh, yeah, sure.”
“How about we take a break?” Marcus offers and hooks an arm over his wife’s shoulders. “We’ve been playing games non-stop for three hours. Harriet is probably planning her escape route out of here.”
“Sorry we’re a competitive group.” Her apologetic smile widens. “Oh, did you want something else to eat? Warren asked our mom to stock up on cereal for you.”
My face goes beet red. Tell Warren O’Connor your cravings once, and the man goes above and beyond to ensure you never go without.
At the mention of cereal, my stomach growls something fierce. I clutch my tummy, trying to muffle its rumblings.
Jackie beams at me. “You’ll find them all in the pantry. There’s quite a selection. Go nuts. We’ve got to keep that little baby you’re growing well fed, and if they’re anything like Warren, they’ll eat you out of house and home.”
“It’s an O’Connor trait. Freddie never stops eating,” Diana adds.
“I love Cap’n Crunch!” Freddie shakes his butt in a happy dance, proving his mom’s point.
Fucking adorable.
“Is it too late for him to have a bowl?” I discreetly ask his parents.
“The kid has been high on sugar throughout the entire holiday. What’s another day?” Marcus offers.
With their permission, I go on the hunt for a crunchy evening snack.
Jackie wasn’t kidding. There’s an entire shelf dedicated to cereal. I scan the rows of boxes and spy my target on the top shelf. Balancing on my tiptoes, I stretch up, my fingertipsbarely brushing the Cap’n Crunch. I catch the edge of the box when a sharp pain shoots through my abdomen.
“Ooft. Shit,” I hiss through my teeth, curling over at the waist.
Warm hands land on my hips from behind. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”
Warren’s voice is tight, and though I can’t see him, it’s easy to picture the concerned frown etched across his face, eyes pinched and mouth flat.
“I’m fine. Must’ve pulled a muscle.” It’s true; the pain disappeared faster than it arrived. It isn’t the first time and my OB-GYN warned me I might expect round ligament pain in the second trimester.
“Do we need to call someone? Go to urgent care?” Warren isn’t convinced, and when I face him, his grip doesn’t loosen.
“I swear it’s okay. It’s happened a few times; my OB says it’s normal. Unless it persists and gets stronger, there’s nothing to worry about.”
My reassuring words have the opposite effect. “Why didn’t you text me when it first happened? I could’ve helped.”
I want to smooth away the frown lines marring his handsome face. “How could you’ve helped?”
He considers this for a beat. “Come over so you could put your feet up. Cook you dinner. Um…a foot massage?” Jesus, this man. I don’t think anyone has ever been so concerned and dedicated to my wellbeing before, which is depressing. “I want to know what’s going on every second of this pregnancy. You’re doing all the hard work, and I’m just…”
“The guy who knocked me up?” I smirk despite my gooey insides and noodle arms.
“I want to make this easier for you, Harriet. I might not be able to carry the load physically, but I’m always available if you want to talk. We’re in this together. We’re a team.”
“I don’t want to bother you?—”
“We’re ateam.”Despite his stern tone, his expression is soft, and the determination behind his words hits me harder than I expected.“Say it with me.”
Studying him in the dim lighting of the pantry, I try to formulate a simple sentence. Hypnotized by his proximity, I sway into him. The pads of his fingers dig into my hip bones; not too hard, just enough to tell me he’s waiting. I’m thrown back in time to when his bruising grip was on my ass, in my hair, holding my jaw. Jesus, these flashbacks need to stop.
Warren’s breath hitches. Is he remembering that night too? His shoes scuff along the floor, inching closer until my breasts brush against the hard planes of his chest. Smoke and spice swirl around me, a heady blend.
“Harriet,” he murmurs, voice thick and gravelly, scraping across my skin and hardening my nipples.
“Yes?”
