Page 70 of Fall Love

There are so many comebacks I could make, but instead, I intend to act them out.

When we get to the house, I tell her I need a quick shower. “Just to get the lake off me. Be back in ten. Make yourself at home.”

I want her to feel comfortable in my house, because I’d like this house to become her home. She looks good here. She looks right.

I’m back downstairs in eight minutes, finding Neve on the back porch, watching the sky creep from bright blue to streams of violet and orange.

I hold out my hand as she sits on the swing. “Come with me.”

She gazes up at me with those eyes, full of trust conflicted with fear, and then gently sets her hand in mine.

I lead her through the living room to a door beside the fireplace.

Once inside, Neve gasps. “You have a game room.”

“No cottage would be complete without one.” The dark green interior is a sharp contrast to the rest of the décor in the house. The plush, plaid carpet blends with the wall color. A poker table stands in the corner. A bar cart beside it. One wall is a giant bookcase, full of books, but also puzzles and games. The final wall has a dartboard, complete with a chalkboard beside it for scorekeeping.

“Cottage,” Neve scoffs, running her fingers along the leather back of a chair pushed against the poker table. She glances from shelf to shelf, quietly reading off game titles.

Then she looks at the dartboard.

“You didn’t get to throw something earlier,” I say, having no doubt Neve could have thrown an axe and won the tournament had she not been so pregnant. “Still want to throw something?” I arch a brow, then cross the room for two sets of darts. “Let’s play a game.”

I hand her three darts and keep three for myself. “Here are the rules.”

She gives me a skeptical look, like she knows the rules for darts.

“Every time you get a dart in the circle, doesn’t matter which one, you get to request the other person remove an article of clothing.”

Neve stiffens but her hand drifts slowly, almost absently, over her stomach. She bites her lower lip, eyes dropping to the ground for a second like she’s considering something.

Then she looks away from me entirely, giving me the side of her face. That’s when I know something isn’t right.

“Neve,” I say, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

Her shoulders lift slightly on a breath she doesn’t quite release. For a second, she doesn’t answer me. She just stands there, eyes fixed away from me, like she’s weighing whether whatever she’s thinking is worth saying out loud.

I don’t rush her.

Eventually, she lets out a small breath and shakes her head once, like she’s annoyed with herself for hesitating.

“It’s nothing,” she starts automatically, then stops. Her jaw tightens.

“No,” she corrects quietly. “It’s not nothing.”

She fully has my attention.

Her gaze flicks to me, then away just as quickly.

The loss of her gaze slows my heart rate, making it difficult to breathe.

“I just . . .” she starts, then hesitates again, like the words don’t want to form cleanly. Her fingers press against her belly before she slides her hand lower, cupping the swell, cradling it.

Finally, she exhales sharply through her nose.

“I just don’t know what you see in me,” she says, her voice quieter. “Now. With me like this.” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine when she adds, “I don’t know what you think of my body anymore.”

Her honesty lands harder than anything flirty she could have said. I don’t speak straight away because she’s not asking for reassurance in a casual way. She’s asking if she’s still wanted. Desired. By me. So when I speak, I keep it steady, letting my attraction and need for this woman bleed into my tone, into my words.