“Sweetheart, when were you gonna tell me? I mean, it doesn’t matter. I would have noticed eventually anyway, right?”
“Flint, I was going to tell you tonight. This is the gift I was talking about. I’m carrying our child.” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I add awkwardly, “Three tests don’t lie, right?”
He brings his other hand up and cups the side of my face and runs his fingers around the shell of my ear. “How long have you known?”
“Three and a half weeks,” I reply in a strained voice. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”
“Stop apologizing, sweetheart. Listen to me. Telling or not telling me doesn’t matter. I understand that pregnancy involves hormone changes and you’ve gotta do what feels right every step of the way. I ain’t never gonna fault you for that.”
“You’re not mad? Not even a little?”
“Hell no. I’m just so fuckin’ happy, Jules. I am the happiest man on this beach right now. Only an asshole would ruin news this good over something like when he gets told.”
“You don’t think it’s too early? We haven’t been together for long.” I ask cautiously.
“I’m sorry if you spent three and a half weeks scared to tell me. You don’t need to be worried about telling me anything.”
He sets the pack of test strips aside and pulls me into his lap. I press my cheek into his chest as his arms come up around me, holding me close. He murmurs into my hair. “I could notlove you more than I do right fuckin’ now. Same goes for our kid. The two of you will always come first in my world.”
One hand slides down to my still-flat stomach, and he talks directly to our child. “Did you hear that, little bitty bit? You have two parents who can’t wait to meet you.”
I don’t know if it’s hormones, like Flint said, but I’m too emotional to speak. Instead, I put my hand over his and listen to him talk to our unborn child for the first time. I know that I will remember this moment for the rest of my life. Making a baby with the man I’ve been crushing on for years is like a wonderful dream come true, but seeing him so happy about it is something I don’t have words to describe.
Chapter 22
Flint
One Month Later
This morning is a special day in our lives. I’m standin’ in the kitchen, gazing out the window, with a cup of coffee in my hand and a small black box in my pocket. I’ve been carrying it for two fuckin’ weeks, lookin’ for the right time to pop the question. So far, I haven’t found the right moment. Jules has to have noticed I’m acting strange as hell. If so, she’s not brought it up.
I’ve decided that I’m going to do it today. Every single day that she goes with a bare finger is an insult to my manhood. This woman loves me, so I know she’s gonna say yes. I just need to get it done.
I touch the ring box in my pocket, just to double check that it’s still there. I grab the small leather folder off the counter and tuck it under my arm just as she comes down the hall. She’s wearing one of my old shirts and a pair of leggings, and the shirt is unbuttoned over a tank top that stretches tight over her belly which is just starting to show. Every fuckin’ day this woman of mine just keeps getting more and more beautiful.
“Darlin’, come outside with me. I have a surprise for you.”
“Where are we going?”
“Out to the lemon tree.”
She glances towards the front door, smiling. “Do we have more lemons coming in?”
“Maybe. Let’s have a look.”
We walk out to the front yard together, hand in hand.
The tree is taller than Jules and not quite as tall as me. I planted it when I first bought the property and this is the first year I’ve actually had lemons. There’s a round wooden bench around it that I built myself.
I sit her down on the bench and kneel down in front of her. The sun is on us.
I take the leather folder out from under my arm and put it in her lap.
“What’s this? Is it the surprise you mentioned?”
“Open it and find out.”
She opens it and pulls out her sketches. The ones she gave me on the back of work orders since she started working in my shop. The sketch for a new sign for the storefront is on top. The caricature with my big head and tiny motorcycle is under that one. The portrait of me with a lipstick kiss on my cheek that said no flirting. The one of my bicep with her name worked into it and half a dozen more. The drunk caricature on a napkin from the bar. I kept every single one she ever gave me. I had them mounted on archival paper.
