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“And he was already … in the news?”
“Mm, hmm.”
“Shit,” he whispers.
His gentle touch and quiet response make me second guess whether I’d been wrong to have kept this secret to myself all these years. For several long minutes, I swing between relief and beating myself up for all the assumptions I’ve made my entire adult life about how this moment would go and why I never planned to experience it.
Tired of spinning in my own head, I wonder what Stirling’s been thinking this whole time.
“A mango for your thoughts,” I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel.
“Honestly?”
“Of course.” I tense.
“I know we’ve only known each other a few weeks. And that you have a clear and detailed plan for how you’re going to raise these kids and that your plan doesn’t include a husband.” He slides his hand from my back to my hip and coaxes my body to roll in his direction so we’re facing each other. “But if you ever change your mind, if you ever think it might be nice to have someone around to balance the parent to child ratio, I would do pretty much anything to be that man.”
It takes a few seconds to really process what he’s said. The voices in my head argue.
He thinks he knows you, but he doesn’t. Not, really.
He’s seen you at your worst. Now he knows your big secret and he still likes you.
But babies bring stress into the most established relationships. This will end in tears and heartbreak.
There’s no guarantee either way, so why not see if it works?
“Magdalena?”
I look into his eyes.
He takes my hand and kisses each of my knuckles. “I did not plan this. I sure didn’t expect it when you basically fell into my lap a month ago. But I’ve fallen in love with you. I love you. And I would love to love these babies with you.”
Part of me wants to be wrapped in his arms and never released. The other part screams bloody murder at the thought.
“An avocado for your thoughts,” Stirling prompts.
“Honestly?”
“Of course.” He smiles and my confusion increases.
“Maybe, I might love you, too?”
“You’re not sure?”
I shake my head. “I know I love how you take care of me, feed me, read to me, touch me, kiss me, look at me. I love our conversations, falling asleep in your arms, waking up with you. I love that I feel so safe to share my deepest secret with you. But …”
“But what?”
“But I don’t know if that’s actually love or if it’s gratitude or if it’s just relief to have a connection with someone after having been on my own for so long.”
“Why can’t it be all three?” he asks.
Because this is not the plan. This is not who I am. I am not the marrying type. And even though he hasn’t outright proposed, it sounds like he wants to become something official, formal, long term.
All I can do is shake my head.
CHAPTER14
