My eyes open. We both ignore theone daycomment that hangs in the air. And also the obvious follow-up.Like, one day that happens to be nine months from right now?
“Yes.” I’m surly now. We’re getting back into Real Life territory and I’m suddenly wide awake again.
“How many kids? Hypothetically. In your wildest dreams.”
I’m glaring at him now but he’s waiting for my answer, so I give it to him. “I used to fantasize about having six.”
“Six?” I can tell he loves this. That he’s impressed by my ambition. “Six is a good number.”
“I always thought it would be so much fun to be part of a big family. I used to pretend when I got lonely that I had all these imaginary brothers and sisters. There weren’t really a lot of kids at our hotel by then. Mostly business travelers and the kind of people who come to New Orleans to party.”
“What would you name a girl?”
What kind of question is that?Is this some kind of tactic? To make me feel like I already know her?But the answer comes surprisingly easily. “Sabine. It was my mother’s name. And it’s one of my middle names. I’ve always liked it.”
“Sabine Amelie Thibodeaux Wilder.”
I bite my lip. He’s already naming our children? I shouldn’t feel so stunned, of course, considering the elephant in the room we continue to repeatedly ignore. But a big part of me stillisstunned. By our runaway freight train of a love affair and also that I’m allowing myself to get so thoroughly swept away by the force of this wildfire attraction. Even so, I can admit thename is kind of perfect. And I find myself asking, “What about a boy?”
“Jack. My father’s name.”
“Jack Dallas Wilder.”
“Jack Dallas Theodore Thibodeaux Wilder,” he says, like he’s already thought about it and has made the executive decision.
“I don’t want to name it after him.”
“Yes you do. You’ll forgive him eventually.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
“Jack Dallas Theodore Thibodeaux Wilder,” I repeat. I guess it has a certain ring to it.
“Done,” he says. Like everything’s settled.
Done?The cynic residing in my head is outraged and alarmed.What the hell are you doing right now, Amelie Esmé Sabine Anaïs Thibodeaux? Get real! You need to be more careful! What if he’s lying? Or what if he changes his mind? There’s a very real probability that you could find yourself wandering the streets of New York and sleeping on Sadie’s sister’s couch with an innocent little newborn. Either that or you’ll be forced to run back to the hotel with your tail between your legs to beg for your job back. And what about little Sabine? Are you going to carry her around from room to room while you clean? Are you going to sneak her into your tiny storage room to live there with you? What if she cries? What are you going to feed her? Two-day old fucking grits? Are you really willing to take all these risks for someone you’ve known for—let me remind you—four days??? Wake up, girl!“Um. Yeah, so … about that Plan B …”
“I have a better idea.”
“You do?”
“If you like it.”
“What idea?”
He reaches for something. In the pockets of his jacket that’s on the floor next to the bed. As he reaches, his big body displaces the sheet. Of course I notice the hard, inked, rippling muscles as he moves. The quilted six pack and the arrow line of dark hair. The somewhat-more-innocent-lookingmanhood,still wet, that never fails to fascinate me. The messed-up thick hair. The masculine face that I absolutely love, now dark with his five o’clock shadow. The aqua eyes that are now watching me with a lazy, charmed expectation, as he presents to me three small boxes.
Please don’t break my heart, Dallas Wilder.
35
“What are these?”All three boxes are light blue and they’re all different sizes. “You don’t have to buy me presents, Dallas. The clothes are so over the top already.”
“I’m not buying them because I have to, sweetheart. I’m buying them because I fuckingwantto. With the force of a thousand suns. You don’t work your guts out for an entire lifetime while meanwhile knowing for a fact that you’re destined to be lonely for eternity because you’re convinced you’re incapable of falling in love, only to then meet the hottest little bartender in New Orleans one random Friday evening and fall so fucking hard for her on the spot that she feels like your goddamnsavior,to thennotwant to spendallthe fucking money you’ve accumulated but hardly everuse—onthe sweetest little hellcat who ripped your heart out of your chest and is now holding it her hands, looking so gorgeous while doing it that you fall for her all over again.”
I smile, shaking my head a little. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
