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“Nah. She’s cute as hell. You make beautiful babies, Bel.”
We’d make beautiful babies.
The thought pops into my head, uninvited.
Can’t go there for a thousand reasons. Among them: the thought of going through pregnancy, birth, and the first four months again makes me want to play in traffic.
Although.
Although. As I watched Beau read to my daughter on the monitor, my insides swelled with affection. His rendition of That’s Not My Koala was cute and patient and approachable.
Maisie adored it, and so did I.
“Maybe we should change the name of Word Porn,” Beau says. “That way Maisie can join.”
I smile. “I kinda like how dirty our little club’s been from the beginning. But we can start a new one for the three of us?”
“Love that idea. Something G-rated.”
“How about that name? G-rated? Just so we, you know, don’t get the two clubs confused.”
Beau laughs. “Count me in.”
Longing is spreading up the sides of my torso, settling like a weight in my core.
The space, ten feet or so, that separates Beau and me crackles. The heat that’s been there since he stepped foot in the house half an hour ago stoked to new heights by whatever it is Beau’s feeling right now.
“If you’re having second thoughts—”
“I’m not. Before we…” His chest rises on a sharp inhale. “Bel, I need something from you.”
I roll my lips between my teeth. His eyes flick to my mouth, and his nostrils flare. “Name it.”
“What’s about to happen, it could be the only thing I have to give you. Tell me you understand that.”
Rising from my stool, I set my napkin on the counter beside my plate. I still have half a burger and some fries left. It was all delicious, but I am too nervous—excited—to finish it.
“I understand,” I say.
And I do.
It was my idea to keep our expectations in check. But now—
Now I’m wondering if that’s what I really want, or if it’s just a shitty defense mechanism. A knee-jerk reaction to feelings I’m not ready to name.
I think part of the reason having a baby was so appealing was because it meant I wouldn’t be emotionally available to fall in love again. I’d be in too deep with a baby to care or think about a relationship.
There is no room for romance in survival mode.
And for a while, that was true. I was too busy being ground to dust by the present to dwell on what my romantic future might look like.
But now I’m faced with the most delicious, most dangerous future of all: one where I’m in love with Beau.
Maybe I should’ve fought this. I shouldn’t have welcomed it the way I have.
I just had no idea how quickly I’d be in over my head. But how could I not be in love with him? When you know a man as intimately as I’ve known Beau for over fifteen years, their souls become so familiar. And that friendship, that soulship…it’s a forever kind of thing.
It makes falling in love as easy as breathing.
“Okay,” he says. His eyes are on my face again. Searching. Searing.
Running my hands down the front of my jeans, I say, “All right.”
Beau grabs the Walgreens bag off the counter and rummages through it, producing two boxes and a few tubes labeled water-based lubricant.
My pulse takes off at a sprint.
“So it’s been a while,” I begin.
“Really,” he deadpans.
“I have no clue what to expect. Post-baby sex is not a popular topic of conversation, probably for good reason. I don’t know how this is going to, er, feel. Or go. Or not go.”
His eyes bore into mine. “I don’t want you to worry about me. This is about you, Bel, and making you feel good.”
“I want to make you feel good, too.”
“Aw, honey.” God, I love it when he calls me that. His eyebrows curve upward. “You make me feel good just by bein’ around. I’m the luckiest son of a bitch to be doing this with you. It’s an honor. I’m following your lead.”
This huge, powerful man is putting himself at my mercy like it’s no big deal. Like I’m the desirable one, the one with the power, instead of the other way around.
It is a big deal, which probably explains why my throat swells.
You’ve got this.
Enough chitchat. I’m ready, and there’s no telling when Maisie will be up next. Or when my nerve will falter.
A part of me wants it to feel weird when I move across the kitchen to stand in front of Beau. I place a hand on his chest.
He’s wearing a broken-in tee tonight, soft to the touch. The muscles of his chest, shoulders, and back are clearly visible through the thin fabric.
The slope of his pectoral feels warm and solid beneath my palm.
Shelter.
But it’s not weird. Not at all. I think, heart wild inside my body, that this is all we’ve been after since we first met. A sense of home.
