His jaw clenched. “No more, Poet.”
“No more what? Painkillers?”
He shook his head. “No more forcing your way through it. You need rest. You rest. You need sleep. You sleep. You need anything, you tell me, and I’ll move a mountain to get it for you.”
The front door shut and locked before I’d even hoped to respond.
As I got dressed, I thought about what he’d asked in the shower.
Was I ready for a baby?
Wasanyoneready for a baby?
But no. I wasn’t ready.
And yet . . .
I couldn’t stop picturing a little girl with whiskey-colored eyes and dark hair.
“No,” I stated to the empty room. “We are not doing this.We are not getting hijacked by our ovaries. We are not thinking about little Brooks babies. We’re not . . .
Oh, but we so, so are.
I groaned.
It didn’t matter that the apartment I lived in was barely bigger than a pincushion and would be smaller with Brooks’ huge body in it. It didn’t matter that I’d just uprooted my entire life and was going for a dream that had formulated as fast as my new relationship.
Both of which lit me up inside.
No matter what sort of pep talk I gave myself, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Kids had always been part of my life plan. But I never really thought of them as anything other than some distant dream. I hardly thought about them in New York. Aside from my job taking everything from me and then some, I hadn’t been able to get close enough to any man to sleep with him, let alone think about them as the future father of my children.
But the way Brooks cared for me . . .
God, he’d be such a good father.
Such a good husband.
I smacked my forehead.
Okay, time to focus on something else.
I grabbed my keys and phone, slid on a pair of shoes, and was out the door.
Sweet Teeth’s line was a few people deep when I arrived. While I waited for my turn to order, I read the laminated flyer that was pinned up on the wall behind the espresso machine.
Belly Basket & Barn Dance. Dark Timber Ranch.The date was set for the last week in October.
I stepped up to the counter. Gracie was at the register and her smile widened when she saw me.
“Are you always here?” I asked with a laugh.
“Seems that way, doesn’t it,” she said with an ironic grin. “What can I say, I love this place.”
“I love it too,” I said. “It’s cozy and unique.”
“Thank you.” She perked up. “It didn’t always look like this, but Cole’s parents let me change it up a bit and I really want this place to feel like an extension of someone’s home. But just different enough so you don’t feel the cabin fever effects of never leaving.”
