Oh, there’s been lots of kissing over the last few weeks and plenty of hugging, of time spent like this, our bodies pressed close together. Here in my kitchen, at my apartment watching TV while I attempted to crochet or worked on my planner or sent out contracts and created menus and ordered food. At his place, meeting up before or after he worked out with his trainer or the Grizzlies’ strength coach or got on the ice for practice, including doing another session with Rosalie.
Rosalie—who I met and is perfectly lovely. She even offered to teach me how to skate.
So, even though I kind of hate her for being so graceful and pretty and beyond nice, I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.
But all of that has served as a reminder that the season will be starting soon and I’m getting a little scared.
What’s going to happen when Leo’s off traveling?
And the baby is due in January, which isn’t ideal.
His season will be gearing up, and the team will be prepping for the playoff push and…
That’s not really what I’m worried about.
There’s still a not-small part of me that’s worried he’s going to leave again. That he’ll have the distraction of hockey and forget about me and?—
He kisses my temple. “Lost in your thoughts?” he asks softly.
I realize he’s finished with the dishes, has stacked them on the drying rack. “Yeah,” I say, lifting my head from his shoulder. “Sorry.”
Turning, he dries his hands on a towel, then tosses it aside so he can cup my face.
God, I love when he does that.
Love how it merges our gazes together. How, in a single heartbeat, the universe is reduced to just him and me.
His eyes search mine, and it’s as though he can see every single thought in my brain.
I brace.
But he just murmurs, “Take your time, Mama.”
My heart spasms, and I relax against him again.
God, I really like this man.
He presses his lips to my forehead, asks, “Feel up for a small surprise?”
“A surprise?” I ask eagerly.
He nods, mouth curving into a smile. “Just a little one before life gets really crazy.” My stomach rumbles before I can reply, and he grins. “The surprise comes with food.”
“Then I’m definitely in.”
“Good. I’ll get the trash”—he’s taken it out for me every time he’s been here since that awful day more than a month ago—“you get your stuff.”
“Deal,” I say and make short work of using the bathroom and washing my hands, but just as I step back out into the kitchen an odd sensation fills my stomach, and I freeze.
“Harp?”
I press my hand to my stomach, trying to understand what I’m feeling.
It’s…unlike anything that I’ve ever felt before.
A fluttering or a pulse, almost like a muscle twitching.
“Baby,” Leo says, coming closer, his hand settling on the small of my back. “Are you okay?”
