“You are too good for me,” I admit to her.
She smirks and then tilts her head to the side, her eyes lighting up. “I was going to say the same thing to you.” She laughs. “What is the next thing you wanted to say, Theo?”
“Don’t say my name like that,” I warn her. “You say my name like that when I can hold you in my arms and then bury myself in you.”
She giggles. “Noted, don’t say your name unless you are next to me.”
“I like hearing you laugh.” I take the pan off the stove. “And I hate to see you cry.”
“I promise, I don’t cry often. Or at least I didn’t before I was pregnant.”
“I don’t want you crying at all.” I turn off the stove. “Not one fucking tear.”
“You can’t order me to do that.”
“No, I can’t,” I agree, “but I can make fucking sure there isn’t a reason for you to cry.”
“Well, you saying those words”—she takes a deep breath in—“makes it pretty fucking hard.” She looks down at her stomach. “Sorry for swearing. I promise I’m really working on it.”
I just smile at her as she talks to the baby while I plate our scrambled eggs with toast and bacon. All conversations about my ex and her parents are gone. “So now that you told your boss and all that, when do you think you’ll be telling more people?” I place her plate in front of her.
“I don’t know,” she answers softly. “Why? Do you want to tell people?”
“Um, yeah.” I take a forkful of the eggs. “I want to tell everyone I see. I would have already, but I was following your lead.”
“What?” she gasps.
“What, what?” I ask her, unsure of what she is asking me.
“You want to tell everyone?”
“Yeah. I would take out the front page of the paper if I could.”
She throws her head back and laughs as she pushes my shoulder. “Okay, well, let’s not do that. I can just imagine the headlines: Trapped by the Local Pariah.”
My fork falls to my plate. “Don’t fucking talk like that about yourself again,” I snap. She looks at me, surprised. I push away from the counter, walk over to the fridge, and grab the carton of orange juice. I was about to slam it on the counter. “You will never say anything about yourself like that. Not in this house, not out there, and especially not in fucking front of me.”
“It’s not a big deal, Theo,” she says, trying to downplay it. “I’ve been called that my whole life.”
“Well, it fucking stops now. I’m not fucking kidding either.” I sit back down on the stool beside her, reaching out to gently touch her stomach. “I’m sorry I swore,” I tell the baby, “I couldn’t help myself.”
Collins doesn’t say anything to me. She just puts her hand on mine.
“Eat, then bed. It’s getting late.”
She finishes her plate, and after I push her toward the bedroom, she tries to wash the dishes.
By the time I’ve cleaned up and joined her, she’s fast asleep. I slip into bed, and I roll into her. She has a pillow tucked at her side, and I make my body fit around hers. Like I was meant to be there all along.
“Night, baby,” I whisper into her hair.
The next thing I know, her alarm is ringing. She shuts it off quickly, no doubt to keep me from waking up, and tosses the covers off herself as she gets up.
“Morning,” I mumble.
“I hate that you have to wake up because of me. I’m going to message Roman and ask him to come and get me.”
“I’m taking you to work, and then I’ll drop the truck off later for when you get off.”
