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“I certainly hope they get your eyes and hair,” I blurt out. “And some of your height.”
“Mm, I think they’ll be beautiful like their mama, with your fair skin and dark hair. And smart like you.”
“They’d better be clever, for their own sakes. Surely, they won’t survive having us for parents if they can’t get sarcasm,” I say, trying to ignore the way he’s still staring at me.
“Speaking of the babies, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask, something I probably should have brought up a long time ago.” He pauses for a breath. “I know you already have your heart set on their first names, and I love Penelope and Charlotte. But would it be okay if we gave them my last name?”
I see his throat working as he swallows hard. “Of course, Blake. They’re just as much your daughters as they are mine. Besides, Bourgeois is a much cooler surname, and I’ve never really been all that attached to Reed, anyway,” I reply with a smirk, and he grins back at me.
“I’m glad to hear you think so,” he returns, his tone deepening and making my stomach swoop.
“Were you really worried I wouldn’t want them to have your name?” I ask quietly, brushing over his advances again.
“A little,” he says on an exhale. “It’s really important to me, and I guess I got nervous and built it up in my mind.”
“Sort of like me and childbirth right about now.” I scrunch up my nose, and he laughs.
“Then you should probably pray the girls do end up taking after you. I hate to sound insensitive, but at least there’s a chance they’ll be smaller with your genes and having to split their peanut butter sandwiches. My sister-in-law, on the other hand, is probably in more trouble than she’d like to think.”
“Wait, were you guys big babies?”
He shrugs apologetically. “I was nine pounds. JD was nearly ten.”
“Ninepounds? Holy hell, man. You should really lead with that the next time you have unprotected sex,” I exclaim a little too loudly.
He snorts. “Sorry I didn’t make it a point to mention my birth weight up front. Besides, at the time I was a little busy with a mouthful of?—”
I clear my throat as the waitress approaches with our food, thinking I’m safe. But a second later, my phone vibrates, and I open the notification to find a text from Blake with an emoji that fills in the blank. He bats his eyelashes innocently at the waitress and thanks her, and I try to hide my blush and pelt him with a fortune cookie as soon as we’re left alone again.
“Hey, now, I know you’re pregnant, but no tossing your cookies at the table,” he protests as he pushes a plate of noodles my way.
I boo his terrible dad joke as I begin shoveling in lo mien as if I haven’t eaten in ages. That’s the thing about being pregnant: Hungry is the hungriest I’ve ever been, thirsty is the thirstiest I’ve ever been, and so on. It doesn’t bode well for all my other growing urges.
We finish dinner, and I crack open one of the cookies to read my fortune.
“What does it say?”
I lift a brow. “I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who buys into fortune cookies.”
“Maybe I just wanted you to read it aloud so I could add ‘in bed’ or something else at the end that makes it sound dirty.”
I smirk and look down at the slip of paper, thenI click my tongue. “‘Our brightest blazes of happiness are often triggered by unexpected sparks.’ Ugh. Too easy.”
He licks his lips and tries his best not to laugh as he reads his. “‘People may doubt what you say, but they will believe what you do …’in bed.”
“I think you planted these ahead of time, you nerd.”
He winks at me before standing and gesturing for me to go ahead, and I get another text as I stand to the side while he pays for our dinner. Now he’s just sending me random suggestive emojis. I put my phone away and elbow him in the ribs as he accepts the receipt. He responds by pinning me with a sexy glare, his mouth turning up slightly on one side.
We leave the restaurant and head over to the bookstore, and I ask him more about his reading habits on the way. Truthfully, most of his answers surprise me. I might have thought I knew Blake better than most, but the more I learn about him, the more I like.
“Wait,” he says as he reaches over and pulls my door closed. “I just remembered. It’s the markings on the inside of the ring, right? Those letters on your dress?”
Oh, come on. This isn’t even fair anymore!
I blink at him as my brain malfunctions, eventually finding the wherewithal to nod.
“I like it. It’s one of my favorites on you. And it goes well with your little tattoo.”
