Chapter 3
Cody
The dogs smell every inch of Karissa’s bags and then her again. Just like I warned.
I glance at the clock. It’s nearing 1 a.m. and I’m exhausted. I know she has to be just as tired, if not more.
“Alright, enough. Kennel,” I tell the dogs.
“They’re cute,” Karissa says.
“Sometimes.” I clear my throat. “There are towels in the bathroom. Shower gets really hot, so be careful. I’ll change my sheets for you and take the couch.” I head toward my room.
“Don’t you have a spare bedroom?” she asks, glancing around before her eyes lift toward the ceiling. The stairs are just beside us, so it’s pretty obvious there’s a second floor.
“I don’t have beds in them. One’s my workout room, other’s my hunting stuff, office, random shit.”
“W-well, then—” she stutters, her face red.
“You’re not gonna sleep on the couch,” I cut in, a quick laugh forming. “C’mon, cut that Hallmark bullshit.”
She blinks. That came out harsh.
“Sorry.”
She swallows. “The couch would honestly be better for my back and pelvis though, because it’s—”
I hold my hand up. “I don’t need details.”
“Sorry.” She laughs.
I open the small linen closet in the hallway and reach for one of the wicker baskets Addison insisted I needed, “to stay clean, organized, and tidy.” Her words, not mine, because apparently I fold things like a toddler.
Joke’s on her, though. I don’t fold a dang thing anymore. I just toss it in the baskets and call it a day.
I pull two blankets out and take them to the couch. Dropping one on the coffee table, I throw the other over the couch and Karissa grabs the corners to help.
“If you need another blanket, they’re in that closet.” I point in the direction I just came from.
“Do you have an extra sweatshirt?”
My eyebrows scrunch. “Yeah, or I can turn the heat up?”
“No,” she says, “I want to use it as a wedge under the baby. I wish I would’ve grabbed my pregnancy pillow.” She sighs.
“Ella probably has one. My sister-in-law.”
“That’s okay.”
I dig around in the back of my drawer and find her a sweatshirt—one of the good ones. The ones in the back are less worn. I guess subconsciously I save the nicer stuff back there.
When I walk out to give it to her, I’m not expecting to see her standing there in just sweatpants and a sports bra.
Her stomach is round and jutting outward.
I’ve never seen a bare pregnant belly this big in person. It doesn’t even look real.
“Here you are.” I hand the sweatshirt to her. She smiles and says thanks. “Anything else? Water? Food?” I offer.
