Nice.
Peaceful.
Easy.
Kind of like the night that got us here—only tonight we stayed far, far away from my bedroom. But the talking is here, the banter and laughter and sense of knowing this man far more than I possibly can. Even if it’s just over dinner and arguing about the gender of the baby I’m growing in my womb and discussing nothing important.
“I’m just glad you were able to eat without getting sick.”
I press my hand to my belly. “Me too.” Then I yawn. “Oh gosh,” I say, waving a hand in front of my face. “Sorry.”
He reaches over, as though to brush back an unruly strand of my hair, but stops, his fingertips mere millimeters from my skin.
My lungs hitch.
His hand drops to his side. “I think it’s time for me to let you get to bed,” he says gently.
“Yeah,” I agree, even though part of me rebels at the thought of him leaving. “I’m sure you have things to do too.”
He pauses. “Too?”
“I just meant I’m sure you have things to do.”
“Except you said too.” His eyes fix on mine. “Tell me the other big plans you have tonight.”
“I should kick you out, just for that presumptuous attitude alone.”
“Yeah?”
“One hundred percent.” I lift my chin.
His lips twitch. “Should I remind you I gave you my fortune cookie?”
I snort, but he’s right. He let me eat all the fortune cookies. So, I just roll my eyes then tilt my head to the living room, my plan for the evening currently sitting in a lumpy, knotted ball on my coffee table. “There.” I point. “That’s what I’ll be working on tonight.”
He picks up the yarn. “Craft time?”
“I’m learning to crochet.” Or something like that because the learning part isn’t going well. “My mom made me a blanket when she was pregnant with me. I thought I would…” Embarrassment begins creeping in and I bite the inside of my lip. “Well, I don’t know if I’ll figure it out enough to make it look good, but I’m trying anyway.”
He doesn’t say anything and my embarrassment grows.
“So yeah, I’m torturing myself with crocheting and getting caught up on episodes of the show the girls and I are watching right now so I can properly discuss it with them. That may be one episode.” I shrug. “Or it may be the three I’m behind.”
“Three hours of reality TV?”
Another shrug. “I see it as plenty of time to brush up on my crochet skills.” A beat. “Unless I fall asleep before I untangle this mess.”
His eyes dance with humor. “I think that may take you the full three hours.”
“That’s okay.” I shrug. “Sometimes good things take time.”
He stills, and it’s like he’s suddenly gone a million miles away.
“What?” I ask.
A blink, his body jerking, his gaze flashing back to mine.
And there’s something in his deep brown eyes that has my heart squeezing.
