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Our home.
“What do you think about this one?” I ask, pointing to a farmhouse-style light-stained table I keep circling back to. “It’s a close match to the kitchen cabinets and will fit the space just right, with plenty of room to move around it, and the chairs are sturdy but cute. I think we should get at least four, you know, for when Mama or a friend comes over to visit. And we can think of getting more if we have—” If we have kids, I was going to say, but stop myself before it slips out.
Wyatt smirks like he knows exactly what I was thinking. “Sounds good to me.” He kisses my forehead and checks the list. “Next up, living room furniture. So a couch, coffee table, maybe a bookshelf…” And the list seems to go on forever. It really does take a lot to fill a house when the only thing you bring with you is a bed and a card table.
We spend the next two hours picking out the rest of the things we need, and I find myself constantly checking in with Wyatt to see if he’s getting annoyed at how long I’m taking or at how much he’ll end up spending by the time we’re done. But he smiles happily the whole time, totally content. It’s at that moment I realize I’m doing exactly what Mom had to do with Dad—gauging his feelings, ready to stop or change on a dime so he won’t get angry.
It’s exhausting.
Wyatt lifts his brow when I stop walking and stare at him as all this zips through my mind. I go up on my toes and throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and squeezing when he leans down to wrap his arms around my back.
“Thank you,” I say into the crook of his neck, and he squeezes me back, gently rocking us side to side in the middle of the aisle.
“What for?”
“For this. For not getting mad I’m taking so long, or at how much this is all going to cost.”
He squeezes me harder, then pulls back a little to look me in the eye. “Why would I get mad at you for that? I’m not going to rush you, and I already told you that you don’t need to worry about the money. I’ve got this covered, and I want you to be happy.”
I lean into his hold again, thinking about how different his attitude and demeanor are from what I’m used to. It’s so freeing not to have to walk on eggshells anymore.
“I am happy. For the first time in a long time, I’m happy. Thank you,” I say, my voice a little lower now, hopefully conveying all the emotions I feel toward him. “Thank you for everything.”
His voice is just as full of emotion when he whispers back, “I’m happy too. All because of you.”
I get a little choked up, and a tear or two slips down my cheeks. Happy tears. We stand there like that, in the middle of the store, for long enough that my arms start to tingle, and I’m sure his back is starting to ache from bending over for so long. I sigh and let him go. He drops a kiss on each of my cheeks before straightening, and we check off the rest of the list.
We walk by the last corner of the store we hadn’t been through yet, and I pause, even though we don’t need anything from this section…the nursery section. My skin heats, and I blush when I mentally tally how many times Wyatt has cum in me, which has been at least once per day. If not more, I think, remembering what he did to me last night while I was asleep. It would be a miracle if I didn’t get pregnant.
Wyatt steps up behind me, slides a hand under the hem of my sweater, and rests it over my belly. For a few long minutes, I indulge in the vision that comes to me clear as day—painting the nursery in the little green house, hanging tiny onesies and pajamas in the closet, with children’s books stacked on a small bookshelf. I picture myself rocking an infant who has my blonde hair and his brown eyes in a corner chair, smiling down at them as they drift off to sleep, then laying them in their crib. Wyatt would rub my back as we stare down at our beautiful, sleeping baby.
“Soon.” Wyatt’s husky whisper sends tingles up my spine, and I shiver as I close my eyes, committing the vision to memory before I snap back to reality and step away. I’m way too young to think about babies, about building a home and life with a man I just met, no matter how amazing and caring and sexy he is.
“All done!” I say with faux cheer, pointedly ignoring what he just said. “We don’t need anything else here. Time to go.” I adopt a strained smile as I practically run from the nursery section. “I’ll wait for you by the truck,” I yell over my shoulder, not wanting him to see how panicky I feel as I hightail it out of the store.
When I make it outside, I take in big gulps of the fresh air and try to slow my heart rate. Why did I have to conjure up and get lost in that fantasy when I know having a baby with him would be so foolish and stupid?
It was fun picking out furniture and things to decorate the little green house. But that’s all it was. Fun. I still have to leave for his own safety, no matter how much Wyatt wants to keep me.
But I don’t want to leave, I silently admit. He’s mine.
I have this fantasy stuck in my head now, and I realize I want every bit of it with Wyatt. That’s the real reason I’m panicking. Not because doing all that would be foolish or stupid, but because I want the life he’s offering up on a silver platter.
When I was stuck in the prison of my parent’s house, all I could think about was getting out. I couldn’t even dream up what kind of future I wanted, not when I thought it would be impossible to get away. College, a career, a husband, or kids of my own…I couldn’t picture any of it while under Dad’s oppressive thumb.
But I did escape, and I can dream about a future now. And, apparently, that dream includes Wyatt and babies and a house in the country down the road from his lovely mother, who I bet would make an amazing grandmother.
A family of my own.
I do want it, all of it.
I’m pulled out of my spiraling thoughts when I spot Wyatt leaving the store. He’s walking slowly across the parking lot with a serious expression, almost sad. It hurts my heart because I know my reaction is the reason he is no longer smiling.
I expect him to open the door and lift me into the truck, but he bends and hoists me up with his hands under my butt. He pushes my back up against the side of the truck, and I automatically wrap my legs around his middle, though I can’t get them all the way around. He’s so big and strong and sexy. I don’t know why he can’t see it, but I sure as hell do.
He kisses me softly, tracing my lips with his tongue until I open for him. It’s so easy to get caught up again in the fantasy of being with him when I’m overwhelmed by the feel, taste, and smell of him. I circle my arms around his neck as I lean into the kiss, parting my lips wider and tilting my head to the side to slide my tongue against his.
Wyatt breaks the kiss quicker than I’d like and presses his forehead to mine. Quietly, he says, “It’s going to be ok, babygirl. I know you’re scared about how intense everything is between us, how fast we’re moving. But we’re going to figure it out. Together.”
