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I simply nod and wait for the hostess to pour still water into the glasses before she leaves us.
Staring up at him, I watch as he searches my face curiously.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’m thinking that we’ve never really talked about what we want our family to look like.”
“I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted a lot of kids, but if that’s not something you want, I understand. It is your body after all, and it’s gorgeous. I love your body.”
“Let’s say I wanted to give Nora a sibling sooner than later. How would you feel about that?”
He lifts my hand to his lips, brushing them across my knuckles. “I think, as a nurse, you know that it doesn’t matter how strong a man’s pull-out game is; it’s not one hundred percent. I’m ready whenever you are, Whitley Mae Paul.”
“How do you feel about a holiday baby?”
I watch as a smile begins to form on his stunning face. His beautiful blue eyes sparkle in the candlelight as he leans in and rubs his nose gently across mine. “Are you telling me you’re pregnant?”
“I’m telling you that it’s been over a month since my last cycle, right before Vegas actually. The fact that you did not fall out of your chair, in shock, I’m guessing you were aware of that already.”
“A man can hope, and he can pray, and I’m not too proud to say I’ve done both. Tell me you’re happy. Tell me you’re as excited as I am.”
“I am, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. It’ll be the offseason. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous, too, but that’s to be expected.”
“Nora’s going to lose her mind.”
I love the fact that he’s beaming at the thought of telling her.
Laughing, I agree, “She certainly is. I think we should wait to tell her until the end of the first trimester.”
“And I’m guessing you’re not going to share the bottle of wine I ordered?”
“You’re guessing right. And if there’s any soft cheese on that appetizer platter or processed meat, it is not going in my mouth.”
He bends in and brushes his lips against mine. “I am so happy. Thank you. I love you, Whitley.”
“I love you.”
Dinner is delicious. For the main course, he ordered a plate of al dente pasta, swathed in a rich marinara sauce, and topped with plump, juicy meatballs. He knows me so well that he ordered something basic. I’m a sauce snob, and if it’s not good, I’ll never eat it again. It is amazing. Between Pope and me, we eat every bite, and then we share his favorite dessert, which is something I’ve never had—tiramisu.
“Espresso-soaked ladyfingers and creamy mascarpone. It’s going to melt in your mouth, Whit.”
And it does.
We sit and talk about Nora and then the season opener against the Yanks. He changes the subject to the charity and asks me what I envision. I was honest. Women want to feel safe and strong, and I want to help them build that confidence. We also talk about how much I miss York and my work friends.
“I’ve seen you in action, Whit. You’re amazing, and you love what you do. If you want to work, we’ll figure it out.”
“I do think I need to get my feet underneath me here first.”
“And here all I can think about is getting you home and off your feet.” He winks.
And to that, we both knew it was time to pay the check, grab the takeout order we placed to bring back to Chloe, and get home.
At home, Pope double-checks that Nora didn’t sneak in our room while I bring Chloe dinner.
“Thank you, now go have some fun.” She shoos me away.
As soon as I walk in the bedroom, and shut the door, Pope locks it behind me. His mouth is on mine, his hands on my waist, and he’s pulling me against him as he walks backward toward the massive California king—or as Nora and I call it, the Pope-sized bed.
