Page 265 of Show Me

Her nose wrinkles as she swats my chest. “I’m not stubborn, but they’re definitely getting your stubbornness.”

“Impossible.”

She arches an eyebrow.

I grin. “Okay.... Maybe a little.”

She slides her fingers between mine. “I’m glad it’s you. You’ll be an amazing father.”

The words hit me harder than anything else today. More than I love you. More than I trust you. Because they’re about the future. Not the past. Our future.

I lift our joined hands and kiss her knuckles. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you’re still glad.”

“I know.”

Chapter One Hundred Forty-Eight

Ruby

The refrigerator hums as the afternoon light fades toward evening through the kitchen windows. His hand is wrapped around mine, warm and solid.

I look up at him. Really look. The faint shadows beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. The way his jaw tightens when he's trying not to feel too much. The fear still flickering at the edges of his expression, like he can't quite believe I'm not going to change my mind.

I touch his face. His stubble rasps against my palm. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch like I might take it away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.

His throat works. “I know.”

But he doesn’t. Not really. I see it in the way he holds himself, braced for impact, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I step closer. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Kiss me.”

He does. Soft at first, questioning, his hands coming up to frame my face like I’m something precious and breakable. I make a small sound against his mouth and grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer and needing more and needing everything I denied myself for weeks.

“Ruby…” He breathes my name against my lips.

“Don’t stop.” I kiss him again, harder, and feel the moment he stops holding back. His arms go around my waist, lifting me, and I wrap my legs around his hips without thinking, and just choosing him and choosing this.

He stumbles back a step, catching himself against the kitchen counter, laughing shakily against my mouth. “God. I can’t–” Another kiss, deep and desperate. “I can’t think when you do that.”

“Good.” I run my hands through his hair, memorizing the texture, the warmth of his scalp beneath my fingers. “Don’t think.”

He carries me like that through the living room, his mouth never leaving mine for more than a breath. We bump against the doorframe to my bedroom, and he pulls back, just barely, resting his forehead against mine. His eyes are wet. His hands are shaking where they support my thighs.

“You’re sure?” The question comes out rough, broken. “Because I can wait. I can sleep on the couch forever if that’s what–”

I kiss him. “I’m sure.” I pull back enough to see his face, to make sure he hears me. “I want you, Xavier. I’ve wanted you for so long I don’t remember what not wanting you feels like.”

Something cracks in his expression. Not dramatically. Just a softening, a giving way, like ice melting in spring. He sets me down at the edge of the bed and sinks to his knees in front of me, the same position he took earlier when he talked to our baby. But this is different. This is worship.

He looks up at me, and I see everything in his eyes. The weeks of guilt. The fear. The desperate hope. The love so big it scares him.

“I missed you,” he whispers. “Even when you were right here. I missed you.”

I cup his face in my hands. “I’m here now.”

He presses his face into my stomach, breathing deep, and I feel the shudder that runs through him. Not desire, though that’s there too. Relief. Overwhelming, bone-deep relief.