Page 102 of River Wild

“Do you want me to put it up now?”

“Yes,” I say eagerly.

I wait while he goes and gets a screwdriver. I watch as he takes down the old hanging light fixture and then carefully gets his from the box and fits it to the wires before screwing it to the ceiling.

“Should I turn it on?” he asks.

I nod, staring up at it.

He flicks the switch on, and it comes to life. Not that it wasn’t already alive with the mix of colors. There must be forty different glass balloons, all varying sizes, hanging on thin wires from the metal fitting, where the lights gleam down on them, alighting the multiple colors. There are numerous shades of reds, greens, yellows, oranges, and blues.

It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

He steps closer to me. “Is it okay?” he asks with an uncertainty that I’ve come to know from him.

For all his brash and bravado, River is also incredibly insecure and shy.

I turn my face to his. “It’s perfect. Olive is going to love it. I love it.” I press my hand to my chest.

He smiles, and it’s blinding. My heart swells, feeling like it’s tripled in size.

River and I rarely touch each other. I don’t know if it’s a conscious thing on either of our parts, but it’s just not something we do.

Neither of us are tactile people. But I want him to know just how much this means to me. That he took the time to make this for Olive.

So, I reach up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you so much, River,” I whisper close to his ear. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”

He doesn’t hug me back. I feel a shudder run through his body. Not knowing what it means, I release him and step back.

“Sorry, I just—”

“No,” he says low.

His hand reaches out and catches hold of mine.

Our eyes meet. For once, his aren’t guarded. I can see right into them, and they’re telling me everything I haven’t been sure about.

I can feel his hand trembling as he lifts mine and places it against his chest. Over his heart.

I flatten my palm. I can feel his heart pounding beneath his solid chest.

“You make it do that,” he roughly tells me.

My stomach flutters, and whether it’s the baby or him making it do so, I can’t tell. But it’s definitely him that has my heart fighting to catch pace with his.

His hand leaves mine. He gently runs his knuckles down my cheek. His thumb traces a path over my lips. My breath hitches.

I swallow down.

The tenderness of his touch … the intensity of the moment is almost overwhelming.

Almost.

“Red,” he whispers, lowering his face to mine.

A kiss to my forehead. The barest of touches. His stubble brushes over my skin. It’s softer than I thought it would be.

I close my eyes.