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We pick out a shitload of toys, towels, and blankets when she asks me a question that completely stumps me. “Is your wife going to be breastfeeding or bottle feeding?”
Fuck. I should definitely know this, and if I weren’t so caught up on the way the word wife sounded, I might just have the brain cells to figure it out. “Ahh . . . I’m going to assume breastfeeding,” I tell her.
The woman goes about getting everything Bri could possibly need and then throws in some bottles, a sterilizer, and some newborn formula just in case.
“Thank you so much for this,” I tell the woman as I stand at the cash register, feeling a massive weight lifting off my shoulders. “My wife is going to be thrilled.”
“Good, I’m glad I could help. Now, when would you like all of this delivered?”
Hmm. good question. A plan starts forming, and I arch a brow as I look at the woman. “Is it all in stock?”
She quickly flicks through her computer before nodding. “It sure is.”
“Is it too much to ask to get it all sorted and sent out this morning?”
“No problem at all,” she says, probably not wanting to let down the guy who just bought nearly everything in her store.
I give her the address and she tells me it will be there in an hour, and I hand over my credit card, settling the bill before ducking out of the store. I look down at my watch and realize I should have just enough time to approve the changes on the Wilder mansion before getting back for the delivery to arrive.
An hour later, I pull up at Brianna’s apartment just in time for the delivery truck to pull in behind me.
I hop out of my truck and thank the delivery guys for showing up right when they said they would, especially considering the late notice. They follow me into the building and right up to Brianna’s door which is when I run into my first problem—getting through the fucking door.
Searching around, I find her spare key hidden in the light fixture above her door and smile to myself, wondering how the hell she was able to reach it in the first place. I open up her door and head inside with the delivery guys following behind. I head down the hallway to the bedroom which is when I realize, she only has a one-bedroom apartment.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself. How the hell did she expect to have twins living in this place and how the fuck did I not realize this earlier? Apart from the first time I was in here, she’s only ever allowed me to drop her at her door, never welcomed me in, terrified because neither of us has even a shred of self-control.
An idea shoots through my mind and the second it’s there, it won’t be leaving.
Pulling my wallet out of my back pocket, I turn to the delivery guys before taking five hundred dollars out of my wallet. “What’s it going to take to convince you guys to take the rest of the day off work and help me move all of my girl’s shit into my place?”
Grins spread wide over each of their faces as the guy closest to me reaches out and gingerly plucks the money out of my hand. “No problem at all,” he says. “What do you need?”
Two hours later, Brianna’s apartment is packed up.
She’s going to kill me, and it’s definitely going to make the whole earning her truth thing just that little bit harder, but it’s for the best. She can’t raise twins in this tiny apartment. They need space to run, to grow, and I have just what they need at my place. It just makes perfect sense. I want them with me anyway, so as much as I say it’s for their own good, a part of it is also for my own selfish needs.
Then because I have absolutely no intention of texting her to let her know what’s going on, I leave a note on her counter so she doesn’t think she’s been robbed, then get on my way.
Fifteen minutes later, I turn down my long-ass driveway and indicate to the delivery driver to pull up right out front. I check my watch and realize we have just over three hours to get all this shit inside and set up before Brianna comes knocking down my door and cursing me out.
She’s going to be pissed, but it will be worth it to have her living under my roof once again, where we can truly be a family.
Most of her stuff gets put downstairs so she can decide where she’d like it to go, but all her clothes and precious things are taken right up to my room because I wouldn’t want her anywhere else, and honestly, that’s not going to go down well.
