Page 90 of Dissonance

“You’re enjoying this,” I say, tilting my head to look at him.

“Aye,” he replies, eyes on me, not even pretending otherwise.

“Okay, partners, when she exhales again, gentle counterpressure at her lower back. This will help support her through the contractions later on.”

His palm presses in on my exhale, the relief instant.

“Oh. That’s actually”—I inhale again, waiting for the sensation—“really good.”

He smiles against my shoulder, lips placing a gentle kiss there before moving to the crown of my head. I close my eyes, the quiet instructions and the shuffle of the room with expectant parents blending into background noise until there’s just his voice, his hands, and the pattern of in, out, kiss setting a steady rhythm I could fall asleep to.

“Well done, everyone,” Harriet announces at the end of the class. “Great job. I’ll see you next week.”

Helping me to my feet, we—Lockie—tidies up, the mat folded and stowed away before I’ve found my bag. We move toward the door with the rest of the group, the low buzz of conversation spilling out with us into the corridor.

Two women hang back outside, heads bent together. One of them glances at Lockie, her gaze taking its time as she looks him up and down—appreciative and lingering far too long—then sliding to me. She leans toward her friend, murmurs under her breath, the friend’s mouth curving slightly as she glances back.

I know that look; I’ve seen it a hundred times in a hundred different rooms, and the sound that comes out of me is low and involuntary, one I don’t fully register I’ve made until Lockie’s head turns.

“What was that?” he asks, lips twitching.

“What was what?”

“That…noise.”

His gaze moves between me and the two women, and I watch the exact moment he puts it together.

“Ah. I get it.”

“It was nothing,” I say, a fraction too fast, eyes fixed deliberately forward.

He chuckles, pulling me into his side, pressing a kiss to my temple. The women look away, and I stare ahead, my face on fire as he steers me toward the exit. Outside, the cool evening air cuts through my sweater, and I still refuse to look at him when we reach the car and he opens the door.

“You were good in there,” I say, aiming for casual and landing nowhere near it.

“Aye?” His amusement hasn’t gone anywhere.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I didn’t say a word,” he says, dark eyes catching the light, entirely too entertained. “You’re the one who growled at two women in a parenting class.”

“I didn’t growl, I—” I stop, huffing. “It was involuntary.”

He’s quiet, which is somehow worse than if he just laughed.

“Hasn’t happened in a while,” he says.

I know exactly what he means, the last time I got…territorial over him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

He rounds the car and gets behind the wheel, doing that thing where he’s not smiling but he absolutely is.

“I’m not going back next week,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Aye, you are. And for what it’s worth”—he starts the engine, glancing across the center console, his hand finding mine—“I’d have done the same.”