Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 72(@200wpm)___ 58(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 72(@200wpm)___ 58(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
Roxie’s attention snaps to me. She straightens up, hands on her hips, as she eyes me.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asks, brows raised in warning.
I shake my head, holding my hands up in surrender. “Of course not, sunflower,” I assure her, stepping inside the nursery. “Do you want some help, beautiful?”
Roxie shakes her head firmly. “No,” she decides, giving the stubborn answer I knew she would. I know better than to let her see the smirk trying to tug at my lips, though. “I can do it perfectly fine by myself.”
I let her continue trying, growing more and more frustrated by the second as the screw mocks her from the carpet. She glares at her belly as though our unborn child is inconveniencing her. It’s incredibly amusing, and I can’t help but admire her independent streak.
Even married and about to start a family together, she’s still not used to being taken care of the way I always do. At every turn, she makes sure to remind me that she’s a strong woman who can do shit herself. And sure, she can, but she doesn’t have to.
“Roxie,” I say, interrupting her attempt. “I know you can do it yourself, sunflower, but let me help. You don’t have to be so strong all the time. You deserve to be taken care of, and that’s what I’m here for.”
She wrinkles her nose, and for a minute I think she’s going to continue arguing with me. Instead, she just grumbles something under her breath and drops the pieces she’s holding, letting me step in.
“Good girl,” I praise, earning me a death glare from my wife. I grin at her, remembering our first meeting. Roxie is nothing like the goody two shoes Sunflower Springs and her father thought she was. No, she’s a strong, independent, hot-as-hell woman who I’m somehow lucky enough to call my wife.
The crib is nearly finished after her efforts, but I finish it up quickly as she supervises. Tidying the instruction packet and spare screws away, I slide my hand into hers and take her out of the nursery and towards our bathroom.
Roxie leans against the black marble counter as I run a bath, adding fancy salts and pregnancy-approved bubbles. Who knew being pregnant meant you couldn’t use half the bath bombs in the shops? Not me, at least until our doctor gave us a rundown of all the dos and don’ts of pregnancy. And let me tell you, I got the best end of the deal here. Worshiping the woman I love for growing my child is the least I can do.
Roxie sighs happily as she inhales the floral-scented steam, and I help her out of her clothes, leaning down to kiss her swollen stomach. She slides her hands under my shirt and tugs, silently demanding I join her. As if I’d ever say no to her.
I help her into the bath and join her, the warm water and bubbles rippling with our body movements.
“You’re sweeter than I am,” Roxie teases, sweeping her hand through the bubbles as she gets comfy.
I chuckle, kissing her damp shoulder and settling my hands on her belly, feeling our baby kick and roll.
“You’re the one that corrupted me, remember?” I tease back, spluttering when she splashes water into my face in retaliation. As nice as the bubbles and fancy shit smells, they do not taste as good.
She laughs at my face as I try to clear the soapy taste, and I capture her lips in a kiss, sliding my tongue against hers until all I can taste is the sweet, addictive taste that’s uniquely her.
“I love you,” she whispers, settling against my chest and placing her hand over mine on her stomach. The baby kicks hard, and we both laugh, gazing down at our soon-to-be newest family member.
“I love you, too,” I say gently. “Both of you.”
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
ROXIE
Five Years Later
“Yeah, sure, Anna, we can swap those shifts around,” I say on the phone, nodding like she can see me. “No worries, I’ll update the schedule. Hope you feel better soon!”
I say goodbye to our employee and hang up, quickly swapping her shifts around so that she’s not on until Friday instead, giving her time to recover from her migraine. She’s a great bartender, and I always try to make sure our employees have the best experience working in one of our bars.
The door to the office opens as I’m resending the schedule to our employees, and I look up to find my husband strolling towards me. He looks edible in a tight black shirt and slacks, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I might be drooling. I can’t help it.
“I just got a call from Kade’s kindergarten teacher,” he says, and my brows hit my hairline. There’s a hint of amusement and pride glinting in his dark eyes that makes me feel equal parts suspicion and curiosity.