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As we walk outside, I ask, “Do you have time for a late lunch?”
“I’ll never turn down food. Hey, where’s the daddy wagon?”
It’s go time. “I drove something else,” I say, playing it cool.
“What? What does that mean?”
I feel for the keys in my pocket and hit the start engine button as we approach where I’m parked. The growl of the turbocharged engine catches her attention, as I knew it would, and she eyes the vehicle appreciatively.
“You like that?” I ask.
Her eyes rove over the grayish-white Jaguar SUV. “Uh, yeah, it’s a beautiful, beautiful beast. Like a mom car on crack.”
Fist pumps. “Glad you think so, because it’s yours.”
“What?” she shrieks, loud enough for at least a one mile radius to hear.
I toss her the keys. “Yup. Had it built for you.”
“You what?”
“Go ahead, take a look.”
She opens the driver’s side door and peers inside. Her sharp inhale tells me she very much likes the murdered-out interior—all black leather everything.
“This…this is too much.” Her eyes are watery and her voice trembles. Gotta love those pregnancy hormones.
“So you like it then?”
“West! You can’t keep doing things like this.”
“Like what?” I ask.
She stomps her Vans clad foot. “Don’t be obtuse. These insane, over the top gifts. It’s too much.”
I step into her space, backing her into the open door before picking her up and plopping her behind the wheel. “Nothing, and I mean nothing, is too much when it comes to you and our baby. Y’all deserve better than the best, and that’s damn sure what I intend on delivering any and every chance I get.”
She parts her pretty lips to reply, but I don’t give her the chance.
“You’ve been driving the same car for what, six years now? Safety standards have changed. Not to mention, while yeah, you had a back seat, it was still a two-door. Talk about inconvenient with a car seat. And trunk space…don’t even get me started on trunk space.”
With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Stacia barks out a laugh. “Okay, fine. You got me.”
“Uh-huh. Anything else you wanna say?”
Another eye roll. “Thank you.”
I wag my brows. “You can thank me tonight.”
She shoves at my chest. “You dog!”
“Woof!” I give her my best bark and growl. “Now let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stacia
Today’s the freaking day we get to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl! I’m so excited I hardly slept a wink last night.
It’s also the day they’re going to stick a needle into my belly, and while that sounds like far less fun, it’s for a good cause, because it puts me one step closer to putting my family back together.
The downside? It’s not even eight o’clock, West is still asleep, and my appointment isn’t until eleven. Which leaves me wide awake and all alone.
It’s while I’m lying here, playing on my phone in bed, next to West, that genius strikes. He’s always going above and beyond for me, and it’s high time I do something sweet for him.
As quietly as I can, I slip out of the bed and pad out into the kitchen. After some fruitless rummaging, I find what I need—a pen and paper.
I pop a Nespresso capsule into the machine to make myself a cup of coffee and get to work.
Thirty minutes later, I have small little folded notes placed all around the house for West to find. Each one contains a reason why I love him and how thankful I am for him and our journey together. I’m pretty damn proud of myself; I know it’s not extravagant like a freaking brand new Jaguar F-Pace, but hopefully the sentiment behind it is enough.
A quick check of the clock tells me it’s now pushing eight forty-five. West usually wakes me with coffee, but this morning, it’s my turn to return the favor. I quickly make him a cup—and myself another—and head back into the bedroom. Balancing both mugs, my phone, and one of my notes is a feat, but…I make it.
I place both mugs and my phone onto his bedside table and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. I almost feel bad waking him; he’s been burning the midnight oil, so to speak, and working long hours, but I think I might actually combust if I wait any longer.
“Good morning,” I singsong into his ear, my voice soft and husky. “It’s time to get up.”
West groans this deep masculine sound that makes my thighs clench. I feather kisses along his chest, neck, and jaw. I’m just about to go for his lips when two strong arms band around me, and, in the blink of an eye, our positions are flipped and he’s running his lips all over me.
The burn of his scruff is a delicious kind of torture as he turns the tables. “Good morning, indeed,” he rumbles as he sucks my nipple into his mouth through the thin material of my tank.
