Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I hug Janie again and whisper, thank you. About a billion times, and then she leaves the daycare. With a soft glance, Farrow and I acknowledge that we want privacy for a few more minutes, maybe an hour or more—so we end up sitting on these miniature plastic chairs.
Farrow picks up a Batman action figure, his inked fingers shifting with precision and consideration over the plastic joints and cape. “I’m surprised your dad let little kids play with DC toys.”
“Begrudgingly. He always told my mom that they were doing a disservice to future generations by spoiling them with crap.”
Farrow smiles. “Sounds like your dad.” His brown eyes flit up to me. “What do you think, wolf scout?”
I rest my forearms on my thighs, the tiniest chair uncomfortable under my ass, but I couldn’t be more comfortable in this room with Farrow. A man I trust and love. “I want to have kids with you down the line, but I haven’t thought much about how we’re having them. Until now.” I rake a hand through my thick hair. “Have you thought about it?”
“How I’m going to have kids?” he repeats.
“Yeah, even before me. When you were younger, did you have an idea of what you wanted to do?”
“Not a big one.” Farrow places the toy Batman down. “I didn’t dwell on that shit. I knew it’d be dependent on my husband.”
I feel an uncontrollable smile grow on my face. That husband is going to be me. I look to the left so he’s not seeing the brunt-force of any lovesick emotion. But when I glance back, he’s smiling too knowingly. Like I just jerked off to his photos in a scrapbook with hearts drawn around his face.
“Need a private moment?” he teases.
“Away from you? Always. Give me three millenniums.” I wait for him to add his technicality about me not living that long, but he’s just grinning. I gesture to him. “You’re finally conceding and realizing immortality could potentially exist, and that I’m immortal.” Triumphantly, I lean back on the tiny chair. And then I almost tip backwards. “Jesus.” I catch myself and bow forwards.
Farrow laughs hard.
My neck heats, and I flip him off with two fingers. His laugh is just a know-it-all smile now. And his eyes brush over my eyes with this quiet affection that tunnels into me.
“You want to adopt?” he asks gently.
“Maybe.” I run my thumb over my tensed knuckles. “There are a lot of kids who need parents and good homes, and I wouldn’t want to shut the door on that option. Unless you’d rather just go the surrogacy route.” I soak up Farrow’s features.
His natural brown roots growing in, his strong jawline, and his beautiful, earth-shattering cheek-to-cheek smile that some little kid should have one day.
I lick my dry lips, trying to find the words. “How selfish is it that I want to see you in our kids?”
“You’re very, very human.”
“Humans are selfish,” I tell him.
His lip quirks. “Yeah, we are.” His fingers skate through his hair. “Look, I haven’t obsessed over who I want as a surrogate or egg donor before, but I have thought about adoption versus surrogacy—and I want the selfish, biological thing. I’ve dreamed about it, and if press ever asks me, I’m going to be extremely unapologetic about that.”
I nod a couple times, understanding. But I say, “I haven’t decided if I’d want to use my sperm.”
“I figured.”
My brows knot. “You figured?”
He rolls his eyes and gives me a look. “I know you. You’re moral and good, and with addiction in your family history, I figured that you’d take time to weigh everything. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t overthink this shit, even the sheer existence of our kids.”
He’s right, but I’m attached to his use of “our kids”—and Jesus, I’m trying not to grin like a fucking fool. “I’m not sure I can decide right now.” It’s a big deal, and it seems so abrupt to close the door on a biological kid just because addiction runs in my family. I wouldn’t even be alive, if my parents kept that door glued shut. Still, I have to ask Farrow, just to be sure. “But if I choose to never use my sperm, would you be alright with that?”
He touches his obsidian spear earring, which he wore the night of the fire. Not lost. “I’ll be honest, I want to see you in a kid the same way you want to see me. But I’m okay with that changing. Just like I’m okay with adopting too, as long as we have at least one biological kid in the future.”
I smile. “I can get behind that.”
“How do you feel about Jane’s offer?” Farrow asks, sweeping me and gauging my reaction.
“There’s a lot to consider.” I stare at the Batman action figure. “I don’t care about the incest rumors.” I look right at him. “I don’t care if Jane carrying our baby or using her egg stokes that bullshit. Public perception isn’t dictating my fucking life.”