I arch a brow. “And you thought my dad’s scary skeleton thing was scary.” Jett is busy playing with Beau’s finger on the hand wrapped around his tummy, completely oblivious to our banter. He’s just… happy, and that makes me ecstatic. “Decorated rooms make you feel like they are shrines to ghosts?” I let out a low whistle which earns me a panty-soaking grin from my boyfriend.
“I feel like I’m like a creepy old lady waiting for someone to return from war when I know they’re not going to, but I keep fluffing the pillows every day and touching a framed photo and pacing. It’s just weird.”
I nod to the lone bed. “So instead, you just put a mattress in here, which gives off major ‘do I have your consent’ vibes.”
He looks horrified, but I rise to my toes and plant a kiss on his lips while I laugh. “Oh, I’m kidding. You’re a man. I didn’t expect the place to be decked out.”
In a moment, the mood shifts to serious. “Dad moved out of Oakcreek once I was eighteen. No one ever really came here too often but me. And the truth? I didn’t care about anything until you two.”
“Beau,” I say because it’s so sweet I don’t know how to respond to that. I feel the same way–when I met Beau, the highlight of my day was driving a stranger to their destination just so I wasn’t stewing in my own misery at home.
Before I can get lost in the romantic inclinations of his words, he flicks off the light and pulls the door almost closed. Before he clicks it shut he turns to Jett in his arms. “You want this to be your room or do you like the room at your house better?”
My heart gallops in my chest. He wants to live together. I already knew it, he said so the other night. I never mentioned it again. At the time, it seemed fast and implausible. Things have changed so quickly in just a few days. They’ve fallen into place, and now the idea of living with Beau doesn’t seem as crazy or impulsive as it maybe once did.
But Jett doesn’t answer because he’s ten months old, and we keep moving through the house. He shows me his bedroom, and it’s exactly what I’d expect. A very large bed with a massive down duvet and tons of pillows strewn about the sides. A dresser stands against the wall where a watch, a photograph and a bottle of cologne sit. There’s a laundry hamper with a Wrench Kings button up slung over the edge. A pair of work boots tucked against the wall, some dirty socks on the floor, and very little else besides two empty night tables.
“I like your room,” I tell him, taking in the large floor-to-ceiling windows lining the wall behind the bed. The shutters are turned down, so I can’t see the yard, but I get a vision of us tangled in the sheets, sunlight dripping over our bodies, happiness filling the entire home.
“Better than yours?” he asks, again, toeing around the idea of us living together. “I have to tell you, Beck. I didn’t like Dustin showing up. I don’t like him potentially being able to get to you without me around.” He makes no mention of Dustin telling him I’d visited, and he’s so happy–maybe he reallydoesn’tknow.
I nod, my eyes focusing on the crumpled sheets of his bed. He’s mine, and yet the idea of him lying in that bed, all that muscle and hard cock bare as he sleeps soundly–Jesus, I’m going to be pregnant in no time.
At thirty-seven I didn’t plan on having another. It took me so long to get Jett. But I’ve never physically ached to be round with a baby until I met Beau. And now all I can think about is being in a home with him, my belly plump with our baby, Jett growing up in the loving arms of Beau, a man who loves and cares for him, even though they are not blood.
When I bring my focus back to him, he looks nervous. With my pulse racing so loud my ears are pounding, I smile. “I agree. I don’t like him having access to us, either. Let’s get through the first birthday and talk then.”
I’m not trying to buy time or test the waters. I know that my life exists only within the same walls as this man. But moving while opening my studio and planning a first birthday? Not fun. Moms may be wonderful multi-taskers, but I’m looking to keep my sanity now that I’ve found it again.
When we’re just about to sit down to an early dinner, I get a call from Aaron, the construction foreman who did the floors down at my studio. Apparently, he left one of his tools near the kilns, and he needs it for a job tomorrow. Beau offers to load up Jett and drive me there, but when it comes to the studio, I always tell him I have a strong inclination to handle things on my own.
He doesn’t give me any shit about not wanting to share or not opening up. Instead, he cups my cheek, kisses my lips, and says, “I love what a strong, hard-working woman you are.”
That statement gets me wet, like watchingMagic Mikefor the first time.
After asking ten trillion questions about who this guy is, Beau texts my dad while I’m getting my shoes on, insisting that he gets Carl to “vouch” for the construction man, making sure I’m safe to meet up with him at 5 o’clock. When I insist nothing nefarious will come of it, that he is a nice, normal guy, Beau says, “let’s see what Carl says.”
A few minutes later, dad texts his approval. I roll my eyes at the two of them, but internally, I feel special in ways I never have before. As I’m walking out, I turn back to see Beau airplaning reheated bites of chicken and sweet potato into Jett’s open, excited mouth.
“He still needs to nurse when I get back,” I call from the door. “So not much more.”
Beau’s face devolves fromtalking to a ten-month-oldtocompletely starvingin a matter of seconds. Dark eyes eat up my tits before coming to my face; Beau licks his lips. “Hurry back.”
The hairs on my arms rise from those two words.
* * *
I got to my studio,exchanged pleasantries, and accepted many apologies from Aaron on leaving his tool behind; stood in the doorway while he retrieved his tool, and as quickly as I’d arrived, I was leaving.
As I drive back to Beau’s place, I’m ready to lose myself in the fantasy of what tonight has in store for us when my phone rings.
I hit ignore when I see it is Dustin.
When I get back to Beau’s, I find him and Jett asleep in the middle of his bed. Jett is turned on his side, hands fisting large chunks of Beau’s t-shirt, eyes fluttering from a restful, dreamy sleep. Beau’s on his back, his arm outstretched above Jett, curled up behind him so that his fingertips graze Jett’s little back.
Hating that I have to wake them but knowing I need to because even though we got giraffe, two sets of pajamas, fifteen diapers, wipes, a portable crib, a slew of creams (for butts and boobs), and a bunch of other crap I’m sure won’t even leave the bag—I didn’t bring my pump.
Leaning down, I take Beau’s mouth in a kiss soft enough to be romantic but powerful enough to rouse him from sleep. He blinks me into consciousness as he wakes, a smooth grin curling his lips as he realizes I’m home.