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“I guess I never put much thought into it,” Emma states. “When are you due?”
“Five days before Thanksgiving. It’s bad timing with it being midseason, but you can’t exactly make these things happen on a timeline. We tried for months. The plan was for the off-season, but life had other plans.”
“Do you want to join us?” Emma offers.
“Sure,” Luna agrees.
Just like that, the women have highjacked whatever plans Trent or I had for the evening, but from the way he’s looking at his wife, he doesn’t seem to mind. I don’t either. Trent is a good guy, and his wife is his world. I don’t have to worry about him hitting on Emma, or telling her any wild stories. I’m not one to hop from bed to bed, but I’m not a saint either.
Emma scoots her drinks across the table and climbs out of the booth. I stand, letting her inside to where she pushed her drink and then slide in next to her. Luna sits across from her, and Trent from me.
“So, how long have the two of you been together?” Luna asks, her eyes flashing to me, and then her focus turns back to Emma.
“We’ve been talking for a while, but officially, me getting to call her mine, this weekend.” I lean over and kiss Em’s temple.
“Aw,” Luna sings. “You two look so cute together.”
“Welcome, how’s my favorite mom-to-be?” Harvey asks Luna.
“Hanging in there.”
“Here’s your water and glass of milk,” he says, placing them in front of Luna. “What can I get you, Trent?”
“Just water, thanks, Harv.”
“You two know what you want to eat?”
“Cheeseburger and fries. Run the burgers through the garden,” Trent orders for them.
“Coming right up.” Harv turns and walks away, only to come right back with a tall glass of water for Trent before he disappears again.
The ladies fall into conversation, as do Trent and I. We spend the next hour chatting about anything and everything, and with each second that passes, I want more of it. I want more of being a unit, a couple with her. I want more nights like tonight with Emma by my side.
“They were really nice,” Emma says in my SUV on the way to my place. “Luna’s got that pregnancy glow.”
“That’s a real thing?” I ask her.
“Yeah, couldn’t you tell?”
“No, but I’m a man. I’m not meant to notice those kinds of things, unless it’s my woman,” I add.
“Oh, I see, so there’s still hope for you.” I hear the humor in her voice.
Hitting the button to open the garage door, I pull in and turn off the engine. As if she’s stayed with me hundreds of times, Emma climbs out, reaching into the back for her bag. She doesn’t wait for me as she heads for the door that leads to the utility room. I take my time shutting the garage door and grabbing my bag from the back as well. I stop off in the laundry room and empty the contents into the hamper.
“Em,” I call out when I don’t see her in the kitchen.
“In here,” she calls back, and I follow her voice down the hall and into my bedroom. Her bag is on the bed, and she’s pulling items out of it. “I’m overdue for that shower,” she explains, not bothering to look at me.
In a way that makes this easier. “Hey, so I cleaned out a couple of drawers, you know, in case you wanted to keep anything here.”
She stops messing with her clothes and turns to face me. “Mr. Domestic.” Her tone is teasing and I don’t know what I expected, but it’s not that.
“There might be some closet space too.”
“Might be?” A grin tilts her full, kissable lips.
“There is. I told you I moved some things around today.”
“For me?”
“Only for you.” I reach out and pull her close, kissing her soft and slow.
“Hold that thought, QB. I need a shower.” She grabs what she needs and heads to the bathroom.
“Wait,” I call out just before she disappears behind the door. Reaching into my dresser drawer, I pull out the same shirt she slept in last time and toss it to her. Her only reply is to smile and continue on into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I’m tempted to put her clothes away, but I want her to do it. I want her to feel comfortable here. I know I’m moving us right along in this relationship, but I can’t seem to help myself. The more time I spend with her, the more I want. It’s like she’s an addiction. One I don’t want to break.
Ignoring the nagging feeling to put her things away, I strip down to my boxer briefs and T-shirt, tossing my dirty clothes into the basket in the closet. I turn off the overhead light and turn on the TV instead. It gives off just the amount of light she’ll need to put her things away.
