Page 92 of Fall Love

While I exhale as the cramp releases my belly.

“Pumpkin pancakes for dinner?” He wants to make up for the pancake breakfast he didn’t get to make me days ago.

He leans in, giving me a quick kiss I hardly feel, before he brushes past me, leaving me in the baby’s room, taking in all the features one more time. The lightweight curtain that matches the baby quilt. A sound machine dangling off the edge of the crib. A soft yellow blanket draped over one end of the crib.

What is happening here? Did he ask me to move in? Does he want us to play house? Does he think we will just share the baby?

The thought is unfair. Of course, we’ll be sharing her. We are her parents.

But what are we to each other?

After a quiet dinner, I want to flee, because old instincts are taking over. However, Tate sets me up on the much-bigger-than-mine couch, pulling the cushioned ottoman against the larger piece so I can stretch my legs.

Tonight is National Girl’s Night Out, and as much as I want to hang with my sisters, I give in to Tate’s suggestion that we watch a movie. I’m tired, and cranky, and traipsing around the woods, big as a barn, doesn’t sound like the smartest idea. I’ve made plenty of unsmart ones over the years, so I listen to my gut here.

Was Tate one of those unwise decisions? Or is getting too close to him the not-smart part?

Sometimes, I’m overwhelmed by his sweetness. Like I’m waiting for it to vanish. For him to disappear, and every time I think about him leaving, my heart aches.

With Beetlejuice on the screen, because nothing beats the original, Tate and I sit close before he scoots his body lower and sets his head on my belly.

Little Wrench gives a sharp kick and Tate lifts his head, laughing. “Seems she doesn’t like me encroaching on her mom.”

Her mom.

I comb my fingers through Tate’s hair and gently tug. “That makes you her dad.”

“I’m ready for it,” he says confidently.

But is he? Will he be here when she walks? When she learns to tie her shoes? When she plays with her first toy wrench? When she learns to change a tire? When she goes on her first date? When she suffers her first heartbreak?

The spiral train is running at full speed today.

My eyes well with tears, but I quickly blink them away. I clear my throat and ask, “How are you ready?”

He glances back at my belly and runs his hand over it. “Because this is exactly what I’ve wanted for a very long time.”

Yes, but does he want this with me?

Despite all his reassuring comments—about fatherhood and wanting me sexually—my thoughts continue to weave. Because, for the first time in my life, I want more than just one-night stands and short-term situationships. I want a relationship. Something long-term and committed. Something with devotion and an endgame. Something lasting.

My stomach tightens again. Dammit. As my lungs seize, I count the seconds in my head, willing the pain to pass, and not happen again anytime soon.

Tate wraps his arm around my stomach and settles into my side, using an extra pillow to prop him against me. As I stroke through his hair, he dozes while I stare at the screen, not really watching a movie I’ve seen a hundred times.

When the movie finally ends, I shift, and Tate lifts his head.

“You missed it,” I whisper.

He glances up at me, his eyes sleepy. “The dreams in my head were better.”

“Really?” I softly laugh, brushing back that lock that falls forward when he sleeps. “What did you dream about?”

He simply hums, then leans for my belly and kisses it.

“Take me to bed,” I whisper, not eager to continue our orgasm mission but wanting rest for my racing thoughts.

“Sounds like the perfect dream,” he rasps, before sitting upright, reaching for the remote, and turning off the television.