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I hitch myself a little higher and wrap my arm around his, burrowing into his side. “You feel nice, too,” I say quietly.
“You make me want things,” he says quietly.
“What kinds of things?” I reply. I look up at him and he stares down at me.
“All things.”
I laugh quietly, because I’m afraid the bubble of peace that’s surrounding us will burst if we’re too loud. “All things? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I just know I want them.”
His comment settles low in my belly, in that place where dreams lie in wait, just hoping to be turned into butterflies in your belly and then heat in your guts.
“I want them too,” I admit. Then I scrub my face against his upper arm so he won’t look at me and see how very much I want the same things.
“Any chance you might want them with me?” he asks. An expectant silence falls over the room.
“You’ll do,” I say with a playful shrug.
He chuckles and adjusts Chase in his arms. He’s asleep, so Mick gets up and moves him back to his portable crib. Roxy is asleep in my arms, so I move her to a pillow on the other end of the couch and tuck her in nice and snug so she won’t roll off. Mick turns so that I can crawl into his lap, and then he adjusts me so that I’m leaning in his arms. He stares down at me, and brushes a lock of hair away from my lips.
“You’re like smoke,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes you’re heavy and thick, and I can see you right there in front of me. You look so solid until I try to grab hold, and then you’re gone.” He motions with his hands like I’m slipping through his fingers.
“I’m sorry I make you feel that way.” I am. So sorry. He deserves so much better than me. He deserves the world. “Have you ever been in love?” I ask.
He laughs. “Are you seriously asking me that question?”
“What?” I ask, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Of course, I’m serious.”
“You’re so smart, but sometimes I think you get in your own way, without even meaning to.”
I try to sit up. “What does that mean?” He holds me tightly in his strong arms, not letting me retreat.
“It means that for some reason, you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Why is that? Open your eyes, Wren.” He jostles me in his arms a little.
I say nothing.
“How did you meet Shane?” he asks.
Shane is the father of the baby I lost. “He plays guitar for the band that used to open for us when we were on the road.”
“Love at first sight?”
I snort. “More like lust at first sight.”
He grins. “So, it was like that.”
“Very much so. He was charming and friendly and he made me feel special. Until he didn’t.”
“What did your parents think of him?”
“Emilio hated him. Marta tolerated him
. My sisters were ambivalent.” I shrug.
