Page 80 of Fall Love

“Neve,” he whispers one more time, his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m sleeping,” I whisper-groan.

He smiles into my neck. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Am I okay? I just emptied out my dad’s garage. It feels like he died all over again. We cleared out his house shortly after he passed and sold the place. The garage had even more sentimental value than the house did.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” he whispers against my skin, like he gets it on some level. Acknowledging that I might not be as okay as I pretend to be.

“I’m good,” I lie, not certain why I can’t tell him the truth. I’m frightened and feel alone. And I’m having a baby, and there is no guide for that. I don’t know how to mother. I don’t even know how to take care of myself most days.

“You don’t have to be good all the time either.” He reiterates, nuzzling his nose against my neck before settling in behind me. Holding me, allowing the silence that follows.

The weight of his arm around me is a comfort I’ve never known but appreciate more than I can express. His body lined up behind me, holding me tight against him, brings further confirmation that I don’t need to be okay, and Tate will still be here. My emotions are not imperfections. He accepts me as I am.

A little worn out. A little battered feeling. A lot confused.

The silence continues, and I drift back into that hazy sensation of sleep-but-not-sleep. Just drifting like my life feels like at the moment.

I’m not certain how much time passes before he runs his hand down my arm. “I like seeing you in my shirt,” he says just below my ear, tickling my neck.

I hum. I don’t want to admit how much I like wearing his shirt. This is the second night in a row I put it on after showering, breathing in the scent of him embedded in the soft material. Spice and clove. Sexy and comforting. Wearing his shirt strangely made me feel . . . safe. Like everything would be okay. Not today. And maybe not tomorrow. But soon.

Tate presses another kiss into my neck and slowly pulls his hand back over my belly. “I’ll let you sleep.”

I catch his hand before he meets my hip. Clutching at the back of it, I keep my eyes closed, but my voice is strong. “Tate.”

He stills behind me.

“Do you think you could stay awhile?” I pause and lick my lips, lowering my voice. “Maybe hold me for a little bit longer.”

“Of course, baby,” he coos.

I hear the distinct thud of shoes falling to the floor and feel a rustling shift behind me again before Tate lines up against me once more. He slips his hand over my stomach, and I cover the back of it, feeling like he’s holding onto Little Wrench more than me.

Selfish, I know.

But I drift off to sleep when his arm grows heavier, and his hand never leaves my belly.

CHAPTER 28

[Neve]

At some point during the night, I wake with a start. Tate’s hand is still on my belly, but his arm doesn’t feel as heavy as it did earlier.

“Tate,” I whisper, winding my fingers through his.

“Yeah, baby?” His breath brushes the back of my neck. He sounds strangely alert, like he was no longer sleeping.

I simply hum, my body suddenly vibrating. For all my doubts about him . . . will he stay, will he go . . . I can’t seem to get enough of him when he’s this close.

With my hand over his, I slowly press his hand lower, rounding my belly and slipping through the opening where his shirt isn’t buttoned toward the bottom. My skin is stretched tight. My lower belly almost hard. My underwear lost beneath the weight of my stomach and the tops of my legs.

Tate senses where I’m leading his hand and he drifts between my thighs, forcing my leg over his hip behind me.

Why am I like this? And why can’t I get enough of him touching me, being close to me, loving me.

Because that’s what this feels like when he’s this close. When his fingers find where I need him most. When he presses a kiss into my nape and lingers there, breathing me in.