“True,” I admit, finally managing to unfold the damp fabric. I shoot her a smirk. “It’s honestly more of a comment on your taste in music.”
My hands dwarf the miniature outfit as I hold it up for her perusal and it hits me again, as it had in the store, just how small a newborn baby is. It’s so hard to even imagine holding a tiny precious bundle in these large, callused hands. It almost feels sacrilegious.
Lucy giggles as she reads the message. There’s a cartoon-like line drawing of a baby carriage on the front of it and below it reads:‘they see me strollin’, they hatin’.’
“Oh my God, Noah, it’s so cute! I love it! Little Chamillionaire and Ibothlove it,” she says, rubbing exaggeratedly over her belly.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised that you even know the name of the artist–and I use the word ‘artist’ in the absolute loosest sense–”
It takes me a moment before I zero in on what she’s just said.
“Don’t even joke about that. You arenotnaming our baby Chamillionaire,” I say firmly.
“We’ll see,” she says with a casual shrug, but her grin is wicked.
“Your ridiculous love for that painful era of rap music aside–”
“Hip hop, too,” she corrects me.
“Right. Hip hop too,” I parrot. “I–”
But my words are cut off by a squeal of delight.
“Noah, look!” she calls out, pointing over my shoulder. And I realize that the door isstillhanging open. Beyond it, I can see that the clouds have finally lifted and a huge rainbow spreads across the sky. The colors are a vivid contrast against the lightening pewter backdrop. It’s still lightly raining, but Lucy doesn’t seem to care as she shoves past me and races down the stairs in her bare feet. My heart lurches into my stomach as I watch her, worry about her slipping on the wet metal coming to the forefront of my mind, but thankfully she makes it to the bottom unscathed. I let out a sharp exhale of relief and hurry behind her.
When I reach the bottom she has her arms flung out to the sides and her head thrown back, taking in the miracle that is nature.
“Isn’t it stunning?” she breathes.
“Yes,” I whisper. But I only have eyes for her.
She’s just so …alive.
Just like last week with the leaves and the fresh fall air, I love how much she appreciates everything around her.
And then, she starts dancing.
I watch, awe-struck, as her body moves to a tune that only she can hear. Lucy sways and twirls before me and it’s so sensual, so utterly erotic. Her usually wild hair is matted down and clinging to her face, her shirt molded to those perfect tits. And it’s confirmed, there is most definitely no bra under there. Her breasts bounce enticingly and I let loose a growl from deep in my chest as my eyes zero in on the tightly furled nipples pointing sharply through the wet fabric.
I’m mesmerized–hypnotized–by the sight of her.
This is it, the thought hits me. Smacks me right in the face, more like.
This right here.
This is the moment when I fall.
I’m transfixed, watching her.
And then a large cold wet droplet snakes its way down the back of my shirt and I snap back to reality. She’s out here in her bare feet dancing in the rain. InNovember!
I reach for her. “Luce, come on. We’ve got to get you inside.”
But she only shakes her head and dances further away from me. “Noah! Live a little!”
“This is crazy,” I argue. “You’ll catch a cold.”
She giggles. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Come here.”
