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I let him keep talking. It all came out in a rush. The plans Vincent had for expanding the brand into a monthly magazine instead of a weekly newspaper. Possibly moving from only paper media into podcasts and maybe even a news show, although that was farther in the future.
I could hear the thrum of excitement under the guilt.
I couldn’t disagree with Vincent’s ideas because that was the way I got world and entertainment updates. Various podcasts were the only reason I was remotely informed. It was the easiest way to consume information while I was cooking.
Finally, Asher ran out of gas. “I can’t disappoint Gran. She’s done so much for me.”
It wasn’t my place to tell him what to do. But knowing how much was on his shoulders made everything make so much more sense.
“It guts me to think about telling her that I hate it. And I hate that I hate it. How can so much change in a few years?”
I pulled his hand over to my middle. “Things can change in just a few months.”
He gripped the still mostly flat expanse of my stomach, and I cupped both of mine over his. “It’s not selfish to want more than work. To want a legacy that includes a flesh and blood family. Talk to Bess. Talk to Vincent.”
I turned into him and he curled his arms around my shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He held me so very tight. Almost too tightly, but I didn’t pull back.
I needed some of his strength too. And while our little baby was coming freaking fast, I felt like I wasn’t alone for the first time.
As if maybe we were building a legacy too.
Twenty
After a long Monday, I wasn’t any closer to a decision about Vincent.
We hadn’t discussed anything other than the usual work things last week. Our overnight away at the trade show wrap-up had been more of the same. Somehow we’d come to an unspoken agreement not to speak about anything but that day’s agenda.
Coming home to Hannah on Saturday had been both a blessing and a curse. I’d stopped at the gym on the way back because I’d been too full of anger and frustration. I didn’t want to bring any of that home to her and the baby. They didn’t deserve that.
Yet I’d still snapped at her about stupid canned pasta.
Over the past week, I’d probably let on more than I wanted to. She was an intuitive woman. And I wasn’t nearly as good at hiding my thoughts as I’d once believed.
My poker face must have vanished right along with my supposed passion.
I knew one thing. I had no problem feeling passionate toward Hannah, as our ice cream middle of the night date had proven quite well.
Resisting that woman was proving to be hell on my libido. And my heart.
Other niggles of interest were starting to take hold too. I didn’t know if opening up to her—or trying to, despite the freaking walls upon walls we both had around us—had unlocked some of the other juggernauts inside me, but I was becoming curious about things that had never fascinated me before.
Like podcasts.
Daly had mentioned that word in passing the other day, and it had been stuck in my head ever since. I’d done some research over the weekend when I’d been closed into my study at home, communicating with Hannah with notes and iPad videos because it was easier. Less sticky.
Less likely to end up with us naked. We were both understandably wary about that.
Perhaps Vincent was righter than I’d given him credit for. I’d felt more flickers of excitement from looking into what equipment doing a news podcast would require than I did about selling advertising and plotting media campaigns. By far.
I hit replay on the video on my computer screen one more time. Before the picture came into focus, baby laughter filled my office. Despite the headache brewing behind my eyes, I couldn’t help smiling. Hannah clapped her hands and the laughter grew louder as Lily pumped her legs and smashed her hands gleefully in the bowl of applesauce Hannah had placed before her. A dollop landed on Hannah’s forehead and she sighed, still smiling. Her adoration for the baby was evident in every line of her face.
As soon as it ended, I played it again. With every viewing, the tension in my shoulders and behind my eyes bled away.
She’d started doing the videos by accident, I think. She’d tried to take a photo and had accidentally recorded a clip instead. Once she sent it to me, I’d asked for more. I liked seeing the record of their days together. There was no pressure for me, since I wasn’t there to mess things up.
No, I was at work, messing things up here instead.
My phone rang and I grabbed it without looking. “Wainwright.”
