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My eyes move from the beach to my stomach. It’s still flat—aside from some light bloating that probably isn’t even visible to anyone else. I wonder when that bloat will become bump—when it’ll be obvious to everyone else that there’s a tiny baby in there.
I lift my dress up over my hips and run my finger across the skin above the waistband of my bikini briefs. It’s smooth, hot, perfectly unmarred.
How long do I have until it changes? Until the beauty of what’s inside reflects in permanent markings that will only ever fade?
How long do I have until I’m no longer me?
“It’s not every day I get to finish work and come home to my girlfriend showing her knickers off.”
I look at Tyler as if to say, Really? “They’re not knickers. It’s a bikini.”
“I like it when you say knickers,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss me.
“I like it when you say knickers.” I let him sweep his lips across mine and pick up my water again.
“How are you feeling?”
I point to the toast. “I ate a slice.” I wiggle my bottle. “And I’ve drunk half of this.”
A smile that tugs at my heart in the best kind of way stretches across his face. “Good. I was worried about you.”
“I slept the whole time. I woke up maybe half an hour ago.”
“Good. That means we can spend the day out.”
I chew the inside of my lip. “What if I get sick again?”
“We’ll make sure we’re within running distance of a loo at all times,” he reassures me.
I smile at his use of the word ‘loo.’ His words are as charming as his accent.
“Have you ever thought about moving back to London?” I ask, standing.
“Why? Have you?”
“No. But you grew up there, right? Don’t you miss it?”
He shrugs, pulling his T-shirt off. “Not really. I mean, yeah, I miss some stuff. Like proper fish and chips, and Crunchies, and people talking properly.”
I shove his arm properly. “What’s a Crunchie?”
“Honeycomb covered in chocolate. You’ve never heard of a Crunchie?”
“You just told me you miss them, so what makes you think I’ve heard of them?”
His dark eyes settle on mine, glinting with amusement. “I can tell you’re better. Your mouth is back.” He steps forward, shirtless, and runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
“You sound disappointed.”
“About your mouth being back? No. I happen to find it sexy as fuck when you argue with me.”
“It’s not arguing. It’s replying with attitude.”
“Attitude or arguing, whatever. Either way, it’s sexy as fuck.”
He curls his fingers around the back of my head and pulls my face to his. A whisper of air hovers between our lips where they’re not quite touching but not quite apart. I flatten my hands against his stomach and slide one up his chest. It curves around the side of his neck, my fingertips teasing the hair at the top of his neck.
Slowly, he touches his lips to mine, his kiss tender. The softness of his mouth massaging mine makes me giddy, and I lean into him as he deepens the kiss.
