Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
I couldn’t help myself. I died of laughter.
“Hey, easy,” Connor dropped my hand, a little miffed, “Way to kill the mood, Emmy.”
“I’m sorry,” I wheezed out. When I finally got myself under control, I said through a wide smile, “I’m trying to tell you something important.”
“Okay,” I could sense his confusion but he tried to concentrate on what I was saying.
I thought about all the possible clichés I could. “Are there any buns in the oven?”
“You’re hungry?” he drawled before throwing his thumb back over his shoulder. “I can whip you up something real quick.”
“No, I—” I shook my head. This wasn’t working. Okay. “Connor,” Time to shoot my shot. I stepped up to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest then spoke very slowly, “You’re going to be a daddy.”
I watched a range of emotions pass over his face. First, puzzlement. Then, realization. And finally, understanding.
He blinked down at me a solid minute before he put his hand to my stomach and whispered, “You’re poofy?”
A choked laugh shot out of me. I nodded, smiling. “I’m poofy.”
“How long have you been… poofy?” he asked and I didn’t miss the way his voice shook.
“About eight weeks.”
Another range of emotions washed over him.
First, shock. Then, apprehension. And finally, anxiety.
His eyes widened and he reached up to hold onto his head as if it might just explode if he didn’t. “You’re eight weeks poofy?”
Wow. He was taking this worse than I thought.
And just like that, my joy subsided. Smile falling to the floor with a splat, I took a step back and let out a small and unsure, “You’re not happy?”
Immediately, Connor’s hands fell to his sides. He stalked over to me and he gripped my upper arms tightly. The intensity of his gaze was almost frightening. “Never in my life did I think I could feel as happy as I do now. But,” Oh no. There was a but. “But it’s just now that I realize I’m really fucking underqualified for the whole father gig. And, baby,” his eyes softened, “that scares the shit out of me.”
Aw. My heart.
“I mean, what if I mess up? What if I screw this kid up? I didn’t exactly have the best role models when it comes to parenting, you know?”
Ugh. Stahp.
He was killing me.
Not many people got to see this side of Connor. The insecure, vulnerable Connor. It was an honor to be among the trusted few who got this part of him, as irrational as his fear was.
Reaching up, I cupped his jaw and ran my thumbs over his cheeks softly. “Stop.”
“But,” he started.
I cut him off. “Stop it.” I hated to admit it but the fear he felt was matched in my own. “I’m scared too.”
The admission had Connor letting out a deep breath. The weight on his shoulders was now halved as I helped him carry the load.
“You’re going to be a great dad,” I told him, smiling up into his face. “No doubt.”
His struggle receded momentarily as he rested his hands on my hips and squeezed. So much said without saying a thing at all.
Winding my arms around his neck, I asked lightly, “You up for another adventure?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“With you?” He lowered his face to mine and kissed me in a way that melted every worry to vapor. “Always.”
Epilogue
Your Song.
“Something’s wrong,” Connor muttered as he walked into the kitchen carrying our little girl, Faye, high on his hip.
As he approached, she reached for me and I took her eagerly with a wide smile. “Nothing is wrong.”
He frowned down at our daughter. “I did this to her.”
“You did not,” I laughed softly before placing a gentle kiss to her sweet-smelling forehead.
But he was nodding. He was also looking more than miserable. “It has to be me.” He continued to nod. “You’re perfect so it definitely wasn’t you.”
Connor Clash, you stop that.
My heart could only take so much.
“Honey, please stop worrying. She’s just taking her time.”
“Taking her time?” He blinked at me. “She’s eighteen months old and hasn’t said a single word, baby.” Ugh. Here we go. “In all the books I’ve read they say girls normally start talking before boys.” I rolled my eyes as he put his hands on his hips and stated, “I think we should take her to Doctor Bergstein.”
“Ugh,” I started with a low groan, “Not this again.”
He pointed at me. “Book the appointment.”
I realized he was going through something so I tried to be patient. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Also, Doctor Bergstein might have—kind of—asked me to never bring you back to her practice. She called you a schmendrick, whatever that means.”
Connor’s brow furrowed and, quite suddenly, he looked defeated. “What if something’s wrong?”
Placing our beautiful daughter in her high chair, I buckled her in and took the two steps over to him. “Faye is in perfect health. She’s growing exactly the way she should. Ten fingers. Ten toes. All that jazz.” With a gentle hand to his chest, I pasted on a muted smile. “She’s just a late bloomer. That’s all. Okay?”