“Yeah. She’s a total word nerd.”
“Word nerd? And you’re not?” He nodded around the lounge room, which was liberally dotted with the library books she’d borrowed the week earlier.
“Yeah, so, I like to read.” She nudged him with her shoulder again, and a swelling of warmth flooded her system. Desire kicked hard in her gut.
A dangerous desire, because they had somehow found themselves right in the very muddy water she’d intended to avoid. They weren’t a couple, but they were having a baby together, living together, sleeping together. It was a recipe for disaster, wasn’t it?
“I’m jealous. I never really saw the point of books.”
She made a gasp of indignation. “You’re kidding?”
“I never joke about books.”
“Now I really don’t know if you’re being serious.” She shook her head, her eyes sliding to his. Her stomach jerked. “Books are … books are … books are these incredible, rectangle shaped portals to all these amazing other worlds. You can go anywhere you want with the right book. Surely you read when you were growing up.”
“Of course I did. Text books.”
“Text books are not books,” she gasped with shocked indignation. “Listen to this.” She put her plate down and stood, moving across the room with unconscious grace and lifting one of the books at random. She turned to the bookmark and read as she walked back towards him. It was Harry Potter, and the characters were in a particularly tricky spot, so the excerpt was full of drama and tension. She finished reading as she sat, a sigh expressed by her features.
“Isn’t that amazing?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Absolutely. Now if you can just find time to read me all the books, I’ll convert myself into a true fan.”
“That’s listening,” she teased. “But sure.”
“Isn’t that a kids’ book?”
She shook her head. “You’re impossible. Harry Potter is transcendental. It’s got universal appeal. You should read it, then you’d see what I’m talking about.”
He put his own plate aside and pushed his hands back behind him, crossing his legs at the ankle.
“This was a much better idea than going out.”
“Carpet picnics always are. Bad day at work? Carpet picnic. Fight with a friend? Carpet picnic. Huge Visa bill? Carpet picnic. When in doubt? Carpet picnic.”
“Carpet picnic. Got it.” He smiled at her, and she pushed her hands back to recline with him, letting the sense of satisfaction and fullness settle around her.
“Is it wrong that I want to get that picture framed?” He nodded across the floor to where the black and white image of their baby sat.
“It would be wrong if we didn’t, right?”
His laugh made her blood bubble. A happy silence settled between them, and Imogen felt it massaging her body, relaxing her, relieving her, whispering to her that everything was going to be fine. Everything would work out.
“So she was pissed?”
“She?”
“Your ex.”
“Marie,” he said on an exhalation. “She was … upset,” he agreed finally.
“I’ll bet. I’d be furious if my husband got some random woman pregnant three seconds after we split up.”
He arched a brow, stifling a laugh. “It wasn’t like that, believe me. Our relationship had really run its course ages ago. I’ve told you that.”
“So why is she so mad then? Sounds like it’s a fresh wound.”
His smile was self-condemnatory. “Our divorce wasn’t … clean.”