Page 47 of Make it a Double

And yet…

And yet, I found myself raising my fist and rapping my knuckles gently against the door. Sawyer’s gasp took me by surprise. I muffled my laugh as she let out a hesitant, “Yes?”

“I was going to wash my clothes,” I said, forcing air in through my nose. I could smell my shampoo and body wash. It was torture for so many reasons to know she was just on the other side of this door, and there was nothing I could do. It wasn’t even strictly for sexual reasons. I genuinely wanted to take care of her. “Did you want me to grab yours?”

There was a moment of silence long enough for me to wonder if I’d made a monumental mistake, and then I heard it. The softest yes that nearly had me falling to my knees in relief.

“I’m coming in,” I called, twisting the doorknob and prying it open just enough to fit through.

My plan was simple enough. Go in, grab the clothes, keep my head down, and get the hell out of dodge before I embarrassed myself. That all went to shit the moment movement caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

The shower stall was made from frosted glass, and with the steam from the water filling the small space, I wasn’t able to see anything other than her silhouette from where I stood.

That was all it took for me to stand there, gaping like a goddamn idiot.

Sawyer was soft lines and blurred edges, but I remembered them well. How pliant her body was beneath my touch. How creamy her skin looked against the dark cotton sheets beneath the moonlight. All of it had been burned into my memory, and now she was here. Feet away. Naked.

And, for the first time tonight, I saw the faint outline of her swollen belly. A belly that had my child growing inside.

“You got everything?” she asked.

While I may not have been able to see much, her view was a bit clearer than mine. I swore there was a hint of amusement in her tone. She’d undoubtedly caught me fantasizing about everything I shouldn’t be.

“Y-Yeah, all good,” I stammered, bending forward to collect her things. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re finished.”

The peal of her laughter followed me as I left, leaving me feeling slightly less embarrassed and all the more happy for it.

SAWYER

Tonight had been a giant fucking disaster, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw when I quietly padded into Beckett’s kitchen.

He was standing there, none the wiser to my arrival, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. A snug green tee stretched over sculpted shoulders and a broad chest had him looking like one of my book boyfriends from my favorite romance novels. Muscles rippled along his back as he worked to plate our dinner.

I was woman enough to admit my baby daddy was hot.

It was the first time food had smelled good in months. While my nausea might have lessened recently, nothing had been appetizing since those early days of my pregnancy. I’d gotten into a habit of forcing food down just for the sake of survival, which is why I’d been living on the blandest food imaginable. Each day, it was a bit harder to choke down, but I couldn’t help it.

Of course, when my meals were being prepared by a rich man with a smoking hot body in a cabin by the lake, the bean in my belly decided they were hungry. If that was what it took, so be it. I was just grateful to eat food that didn’t taste like cardboard.

Running my hand over my belly, I smiled. None of this had happened as I imagined, but maybe that was for the best. This felt more authentically us. A freaking mess of epic proportions, and yet we ended up where we started.

Soft music filtered through a portable speaker sitting on the kitchen island. It was an acoustic folk song. Slightly melancholic and slow, reminding me of a crisp fall evening in the mountains when the leaves changed colors and a bonfire raged in the distance. I could almost smell the crisp cedar and warm apple cider.

It reminded me of us.

Though I knew next to nothing about Beckett, other than what was available on Google, his choice in music wasn’t all that surprising. He put on such a cocky, rich-boy front when I’d met him, but it’d quickly fallen away as the night wore on. The more we talked, the more I could see him opening up in front of my eyes. It was like watching a flower flourish in unfavorable conditions.

I wanted to know more. What was his favorite color or the movie he couldn’t get enough of when he was a boy? Did he prefer pancakes or waffles on Sunday mornings? Was he a Keaton Batman fan, or did he prefer Christian Bale? I was a firm believer that your favorite version of an overcasted superhero could tell you a lot about a person.

But it was dangerous to ask those questions or to get in any deeper than I already was. Beckett and his family had the means to fight me on this pregnancy if they wanted to. His fancy lawyers could take our baby away from me, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. I had to remember that when he swooped in with home-cooked meals and smiles that made me want to melt.

Beckett turned around and jumped at the sight of me standing in his kitchen like an absolute idiot. He laughed, hand clutched to his chest as he dropped his head and sighed. “Fuck. You scared me.”

“Sorry, I just walked in,” I said, moving toward the island. I leaned over and examined his handiwork. Everything looked delicious. Oregano and garlic hit my nostrils as he ladled a spoonful of sauce over freshly plated spaghetti. He smiled gently as I watched him work, not saying a thing until he grabbed the freshly baked bread out of the oven.

“Do you have a problem with your food touching?” he asked, grabbing a slice for himself and placing it on a smaller dish.

I tilted my head from side to side. “Mmm, depends on what it is. If my brain tells me two things go together, then it’s usually safe, but I can’t mix sweet and savory foods.”