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“That’s your dream, huh?”
“One of them,” I agreed.
“And the others?”
Damn him.
It was like he knew that if he got me talking about something that I was passionate about, that it would be hard for me to keep the wall up between us.
Why he was doing it was beyond me.
But I was stuck with him now. It wasn’t like I could just rush out the door with some make believe errand or job I had to do. I didn’t want to be a complete bitch and then have to live with that bad energy stinking up my apartment until someone else came to take over for Rowe.
I could answer him without letting myself feel connected to him. At least, in theory, I could. We would just have to see about practice.
“I would like to have my own learning center where I could teach all my different classes or workshops. And maybe hire someone else to help as well,” I told him. “I like helping people and being around like-minded people. But having all the businesses being disconnected can be hard to manage all at once. Trying to keep a schedule is a little more difficult than I like.”
“That’s a good plan for the future. Anything else?”
“I want to be a mother,” I told him. It was no secret that I’d always wanted that. I had the most incredible relationship with my own mother. I wanted that with a child. Hell, I wanted a dozen of those sticky, loud, genuine creatures around me at all times. “I’ve always wanted that. I love kids. I actually considered being a midwife before I decided that would take up all my time, and not allow me to do all the other jobs I get so much out of.”
“Just kids? You didn’t mention a husband.”
“Well, the husband part is lovely but not necessary,” I said, shrugging.
“You’re serious?” he asked, brows drawing together.
“Yes. I mean would I adore finding my twin flame and building a life with them? Of course. But I don’t think that everything else I desire—even children—should be put on hold or never happen if that person doesn’t come into my life. Or doesn’t want me. I should still be allowed to be a mom. Be it biological or adopted. Or both. I would really like both.”
“You’re going to find someone, Billie,” he said, and his tone was strangely thick, like he had a lot of conviction about it.
“Maybe. We will see. But I will be okay either way.”
“No, babe, you will. No one who has ever met you doesn’t like you.”
Except him, of course.
“Who has ended all your previous relationships?” he asked, wanting to make a point.
“I did,” I admitted.
“Exactly. They would have stayed with you if given the chance.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s impossible to know. All I do know was that none of those relationships were right.”
“How do you know if it’s right then?”
“I don’t know exactly firsthand. My mom and aunts describe it as something that doesn’t feel like a choice.”
“Doesn’t feel like a choice?”
“Yeah, like… have you ever been in relationships or are you like all my manwhore cousins? Not that I am knocking whores both metaphorical or literal, mind you.”
“I’ve been in relationships. Not many and not in a long time. But I have been.”
“Well you know how, at some point after all the sex hormones have calmed down after the first few weeks or months, you have those ‘should I stay or go’ thoughts? Like you are acutely aware of the fact that there is a choice involved in you staying in that relationship.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, they claim there doesn’t feel like there is one. There is, of course, it would be toxic to say just because you love someone that you have to stay and put up with their shit. But I think what they mean more is… there would be no getting over it. They could leave, but the love they have for their person would never go away. It would constantly be on their mind and in their heart. I’ve never had that with a previous partner.”
Hell, after the first few days following a breakup, I barely ever thought about them again.
The only person who had stuck with me was, well, Rowe. And I was sure that was mostly because he’d rejected me like he’d done, had shaken my confidence and made me second-guess myself. No one else had managed that before. So, of course, it stuck with me.
“What about you?” I asked, busying myself with combining ingredients into a bowl. “Do you want the traditional happy-ever-after?”
“I do. And I want the wife.”
“What if the right one doesn’t come along?” I asked, looking up and catching his gaze staring down at me. Caught, he looked away.
“I am choosing to remain optimistic.”
“How many kids?” I asked, somehow picturing a whole slew of boys who looked just like him. Future womankind would be very, very lucky.
