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“Yeah, but have you seen the way all the books are stacking up? I swear, if Tess buys us one more, we could open our own library.”
“If you tell me what you want, I’ll go get it,” I say, smoothing my hands up her sides. “There’s no need for you to go. Stay here and rest.”
She pulls away with a pout. “But I wanna go. You’re the one who doesn’t like IKEA.”
“There’s too many people,” I reason. “And the aisles are too narrow. And last time that ruffian slammed his cart into your ankle.” My mind floods with the memory of her crying out in pain. She dropped her soda on the floor and we had to find a staff member to go get a mop.
She laughs, waving me off. “Yeah, that hurt like a bitch. But that wasonetime. I very much doubt that kid will be there again. And if he is, I’ll let you punch him in the head, okay?”
I grumble, knowing she doesn’t mean it. She never lets me do violence on her behalf.
“Besides, you know how much we all love their little chocolate cookies,” she teases. Then she’s leaning in, trailing a soft finger down the bridge of my nose. “And if you’reverygood…and you don’t complain about the crowds even once…” She tips up on her toes and whispers in my ear, “I’ll buy you a jar of lingonberry jam.”
I smirk. “You don’t play fair.”
“I have three super competitive husbands,” she replies with a shrug. “I play to win. Carry my coffee while I shop, and I’ll put some of that jam on my nipples when we get home and let you lick it off.”
Now we’re both laughing as I shake my head. “Fuck,” I say, knowing my evening plans have been made for me. “I love you. Even when you manipulate me with your feminine wiles. Especially then,” I add for good measure.
“I know,” she replies with a satisfied smile. “Now go put a shirt on. This show is not for public viewing,” she adds, gesturing at my bare chest.
With a patient sigh, I go in search of my lost shirt. And I feel like I had socks on at one point too…
“See? This is fine,”Rachel says for the third time, leading the way through the IKEA kitchen showroom.
I say nothing, walking dutifully at her side, holding her decaf caramel latte. Why do I need to confirm what we both can see? This is a slow night. There’s hardly anyone else here.
I tried convincing Rachel to take the shortcut straight through to the fulfillment center, but she insists that IKEA is an “experience.” My wife is nearly nine months pregnant with our child. If she wants to wander IKEA on a Thursday night looking at sofa beds and closet organizers, I will hold her coffee.
But she seems a bit unsettled tonight. She usually likes to take her time, sitting in every chair, and we never escape without at least one new kitchen gadget. Tonight, she hardly seems to spare the showrooms a glance. I watch as she peers around, almost as if she’s expecting to see someone she knows around every corner.
I follow her gaze before glancing down at her. “Are you well?”
“Mhmm,” she replies, snatching her hot coffee from my hand. “Yep. Never better.”
“The baby—”
“”Has two more weeks left in the oven,” she replies, cutting me off with a stern look. Her sandals slap as she walks with purpose through the mattress section. She’s practically marching.
My irritation simmers. “At some point you will slow down, yes?” I call after her. It takes nothing to catch up with her on my longer legs. “You will realize you’re about to have a baby and let us care for you?”
This gets her attention and she slows her pace, one hand on her rounded belly as she glances up at me. “Youdocare for me,” she says with a gentle smile. “All three of you have been amazing. You spoil me silly.”
I frown. “We’d spoil youmoreif you’d sit down for ten minutes together.”
She hands her coffee back to me with a sigh. “Tomorrow is my last day before maternity leave. And I’ve hardly lifted a finger at work for the past month anyway. Doc Tyler and Hillary fuss over me like a pair of mother hens. The only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass is Poppy. And the three of you are even worse once I get home—”
“Because you’re pregnant—”
“Yeah,pregnant,” she huffs, hands on her hips. Her beautiful dark eyes flash with annoyance. “I’m not sick, and I’m not dying. In fact, this here—” She waves a hand at her belly. “This is a sign of methriving, Ilmari. I’m perfectly healthy. Lil Baby No Name is healthy too. I’m as strong as ever and just as capable.”
“Don’t we know it,” I mutter.
She flashes me a grin. “Besides,” she says, her voice suddenly louder. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night when I was deep-throating you in the shower—”
“Saatana, Rakas,” I grumble, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to my side as she laughs. “You want everyone to know our business?”
She snorts, pulling my hand from her mouth and lacing our fingers together. “Come on, Bear Man. Don’t forget our deal about the jam either,” she adds with a backwards glance, batting her lashes.
