Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“I felt awful about the way I reacted when you first told us. I’d been prepared for you to tell Queenie and me you were dating or something, and then you dropped the baby bomb and…well…all the stuff I’d thought I’d dealt with slapped me right in the face.” He sighs. “Queenie set me up with one of her therapist friends last week, and it’s been good to have a sounding board. I don’t know how you’d feel about talking to someone together, but maybe it’s something you would consider? Just so we can work on keeping the communication in our relationship open, and then Queenie doesn’t have to get on me about keeping things bottled up until I explode.” His cheeks turn pink, and I have to wonder what that’s about. Or maybe I don’t want to know.
“If talking to someone together will help you and me, then that’s what we’ll do.”
He wraps me up in a gentle hug. The kind that tells me without words that we’re in a much better place. “I love you, Momster.”
“I love you, too, Ry-ry. You’ll always be my baby, even when you have your own.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Home Sweet Home
Hanna
I EXPECT THERE to be an adjustment period when I move into Jake’s place, even though we’ve been spending several nights a week at each other’s places. Apart from getting used to each other’s routines and habits, it’s fairly seamless.
Jake is an easy guy to live with. He’s tidy, organized, and the only thing I can really complain about is the fact he often leaves his socks in very random places around the house. Apparently, he gets hot easily, and when that happens, his socks come off.
I’ve taken to tossing them on his recliner, which hasn’t been getting much use these days since he’s migrated to the couch so he can sit with me in the evenings.
He hands me a bowl of ambrosia salad—something my mom used to make when I was a kid, and I perfected by the time I was a teenager because I loved it so much. And just like when I was pregnant with Ryan, I can’t seem to get enough of it. I’m very grateful my dairy aversion has let up in the final trimester of my pregnancy.
Jake drops down on the couch beside me, and, as expected, props his foot on the coffee table and shucks off his socks, dropping them onto the floor.
I spear a chunk of pineapple and chase a mini-marshmallow around the bowl. “I have an idea.”
“If it includes leaving a laundry basket in every room for my socks, I’m game.”
I roll my eyes and grin, but give him the side-eye. “You know, if you really want to cool down faster, you could always take your shirt off instead of your socks.”
“You just want to ogle my dad bod.” He runs his hand over his abs. He’s gained a few pounds along with me, possibly because I’ve been a fiend for chocolate pudding and all things chocolate, period. I’ve gone down to part-time at work, and I’ve been on modified bed rest since my visit to the hospital. It means I’ve had a lot of spare time, and I’ve spent quite a bit of it making easy, but delicious food. While sitting down, of course.
But while my belly is swollen, his is still mostly a four-pack.
“Well, duh.” I pop a mandarin slice into my mouth. “Of course I want to ogle you.”
He gives me a smirk that makes everything below the waist clench. My hormones are ridiculous right now. But I’m as big as a house, and sex is off the table until the baby is born. Not because I don’t want to have it, but because my doctor is concerned an orgasm is going to raise my blood pressure too much. I’m scheduled for an induction at thirty-eight weeks. But that’s still a week away.
“But then my shirts would be all over the place, too.”
“Your socks aren’t all over the place, they’re right there. You probably have enough to do a sock load.” I motion to his lounger with the fork before I close my lips around it.
“Well, shit. I mean shoot.” His fingers find the hem of my shirt, and he lifts it until about six inches of my belly is exposed. He leans over and presses his lips to my skin and whispers, “Sorry, little man. I didn’t mean to swear.”
As if he can hear his dad talking to him, a fist or an elbow moves across my belly. I’ve been having Braxton Hicks contractions on and off for the past week. Ryan was two weeks early, and being older means there’s a greater likelihood that this little guy is going to make an appearance before the due date, too.
I set my bowl aside so I can run my fingers through Jake’s hair while he coos at my stomach. He’s been amazing these past months, and what started as a mutual attraction has shifted. Especially since we had the scare and I moved in here. That’s what it took for me to finally come to terms with the fact that baby or no baby, we had something special. And it would be a lot easier on all of us if we gave our relationship the chance it deserved to evolve during the final months of my pregnancy.