Page 57 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

Ten minutes later, I pull up to the local ice cream stand with the red and white roof. Picnic tables dot the parking lot, a few of them filled with families.

We step in line to order, standing side by side. Her arm brushes mine and I feel embarrassingly giddy over that fact. I grin down at her, and she must feel my stare because she looks up.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. I’m not about to admit that the accidental brush of her arm makes my stomach do somersaults.

We reach the front of the line and Bertie orders the banana ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I get chocolate and vanilla swirl with chocolate sprinkles.

Standing off to the side, waiting for our order to be made I can’t help but take in how pretty she looks. Her blond hair is clipped back in one of those claw looking things and her face is bathed in a warm yellow and red glow from the lights on the ice cream stand.

“You’re staring at me,” she teases when she catches me.

I feel the tips of my ears warm. “Can’t help it,” I confess. “You’re so gorgeous.”

She laughs. “Are you kidding? I haven’t washed my hair in like four days, my ankles are swollen, and I think there’s dried toothpaste on my shirt.” She looks down and plucks her top away from her body. “Yep, right there.” She points out the spot.

“You say all that, but when I look at you all I see is the prettiest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

I can’t tell if it’s a flush on her cheeks or just the red hue of lights. “Luke,” she says softly. “I’m nothing special.”

I hate that she thinks that way, that the people around her dashed all her confidence. If she’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life building back her confidence, so she never again doubts how gorgeous, smart, and kind she is.

Our order is called and I grab both cups along with some napkins, following her to one of the picnic tables.

I wait until she’s had a few blissful bites of her ice cream before I spring the news on her.

“So, I got a call today,” I start and her spoon hovers halfway to her mouth.

“Okay?” She drawls when I don’t continue.

“It was from Tanner—the player we’ll be living with—and his family is going to be out of town when we originally planned to move and his wife suggested, especially with the baby coming, that we might prefer to go ahead and make the move.”

Bertie’s still frozen, a tiny bit of banana ice cream on her upper lip. I want to reach out and wipe it away, but I also don’t want to startle her.

“How soon?” she asks, voice small. She sticks her spoon back in her cup and leans away from me. I hate that small sign of retreat.

“Next week?” I try not to cringe as I wait for her reaction.

She bites her bottom lip. “Next week?”

“Next week,” I reiterate.

She looks away from me, and I’d give just about anything to know what she’s thinking.

When she turns back, she pastes on a smile, “I guess we’re moving sooner than we planned.”

“We don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

She shakes her head. “No, it makes more sense to move now like his wife said and be ready for the baby.” She rubs the curve of her stomach. “I think time is passing faster than I expected and it’s scaring me a bit. I’m scared I’m going to blink and he’s going to be starting kindergarten.”

I reach for her hand that rests on the wooden picnic top. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

She gives a soft laugh and even though I can tell she’s nervous she seems okay with all of this. Clearing her throat, she says, “I guess we better start packing?”

I give her hand a squeeze. “Yeah.”

CHAPTER 20