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“You mean marriage?”
“Yes. Plenty of men would have a shotgun wedding and then not even be there in all the ways the world can’t see. You’re the opposite.”
“Couldn’t we have both?”
He’d parked the car and we sat there in silence. My heart beat erratically as his words sank in.
“What are you saying?”
He turned to face me. “I’m saying maybe we should talk about getting married.”
“No,” I said softly. “Not like this, Bennett. Not just because I’m pregnant. I’ll give the baby your last name.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“I want you to have my last name, too.”
“Because I’m the mother of your son?”
His gaze was warm on me. “Among other reasons, yes.”
I swallowed hard. “Other . . . reasons?”
“Just one, really,” he said softly.
“Oh.” My voice was almost inaudible.
“I love you, Charlotte. And that’s a hard thing for me to do and say. But I do. I love your strength and your smile and your intelligence. I love how you keep me on my toes. It’s never felt as good to make another person happy as it does with you.”
“You make me happy, too. But I’m not ready for marriage.”
His expression fell. I squeezed his hand between mine.
“Just having a baby is a huge life change,” I said. “I think we need to be together longer before we start talking about marriage.”
“Yeah.” He pulled his hand out from between mine. “You’re right. Let’s go in and lo
ok here, okay?”
I closed my eyes as he opened his door and got out of the car. I’d hurt him. My throat was tight with emotion. Bennett had never made me feel anything but amazing, and I’d hurt him.
He opened my car door and I met his eyes as I stepped out. I wanted to say something. Something that would make all this awkwardness disappear and bring the warm glimmer back to his eyes.
But I couldn’t. I’d been honest; I wasn’t ready to talk marriage. And he’d asked me not to tell him I loved him unless I knew it was true. As crazy as I was about him, I wasn’t yet sure it was love. It was getting there; that was for sure. But I wanted to know it with my whole heart when I said it. And I would not be like my mother—forcing every relationship into a quick marriage out of fear of being alone.
A display of baby blue, yellow, and pale green sleepers caught my attention as soon as we walked in. I drew in a breath as I ran my fingers over the soft material of one.
“Oh, Bennett . . . look how tiny they are.”
There were baby jean jackets, loafers, and newsboy caps on another display. I grinned with excitement as I checked out sizes and piled baby clothes over one arm.
“Charlotte,” Bennett said from behind me, “slow down. How much is all this gonna cost?”
I shrugged and grinned even wider. “It doesn’t matter. This is one of the happiest days of my life, and I feel like splurging on our little boy.”
He didn’t respond and I turned to look at him. His expression was distant.
