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“How old were you?” I ask when I hear her walking up behind me.
“Six. That was after we went bowling. See the lights in the background? Dad gave a homeless man some money, and he offered to do it when he saw us trying to take the photo.”
I turn, taking the glass of water, our hands brushing. Electricity sparks up my arm, the touch making it difficult to focus on anything else.
“Good memories,” I say.
She smiles shakily. “Yeah, they are. I should think about those times more.”
We sit on the couch, Della turning toward me.
Her dress isn’t low-cut, but it’s enough to get my body stirring even more. She folds her leg over, highlighting her juicy perfection.
I almost lose it when she brushes her hair from her face. There’s something so intoxicatingly feminine about it.
“I hope the drive here was okay,” she murmurs, then laughs delicately. “Sorry, I’ve never done date talk before.”
I smirk. “Neither have I.”
She blinks. “Really?”
“Really,” I say. “I meant what I said. I’ve never felt this way about anyone except for you.”
“That sounds like a line,” she murmurs.
I touch her chin and direct her gaze back to me as she stares down. “I swear, Della, I swear on everything…none of this, not one bit, is a line.”
She reaches up and touches my hand.
“You look beautiful tonight,” I tell her. “That dress is giving me all sorts of ideas.”
“Pfft,” she says. “It feels like a maternity dress.”
I know what she’s doing—deflecting the compliment and making a comment about her size as a way to diffuse it.
“No,” I say gruffly. “It’s just the right fit. I meant what I said when we were texting. Your body is curvy in all the best ways.”
In the back of my head, the wordmaternitybounces around.
I know I may be pushing too fast, but I can’t stop myself.
“Speaking of maternity….”
“Do I want kids?” she says, reading me, her eyes getting emotional like they did in my office during our first almost-kiss.
It’s like she can sense the magnitude of the question like she knows I’m not just asking her for the sake of it.
“Yes,” she says after a pause, still with that emotional look on her face. “I do. I always have. Jess…she used to make fun of me for this, but…but fuck her.”
Della sits up straighter, causing pride to expand in me, to fill me up.
“Fuck her,” I agree fiercely.
“I always thought – think – well, if I find the right man and he wants to have kids when I’m young, what’s wrong with that? And if I want a house filled with children, maybe three or four or even five, is there an issue there?”
“I don’t think there is,” I say, my voice getting husky, my whole body tensing at the thought. “If you find a man who wants to support you, who has the money and the desire to do it…you can still pursue your career. You can do anything you want.”
“Eli,” she whispers.
