Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Not the only sign of life.
I look at her belly, unable to stop my hands as I trace over the soft, warm skin. She trembles beneath my touch, and I know that despite her need for sleep, we need to talk.
I can’t put this off anymore. We can’t put this off anymore.
She needs to know what’s happening in my head and heart as much as I need to hear what’s in hers. So I wrap her in a robe and lead her to the living room, guiding her to the couch where she sits, curling her legs underneath her.
“You want something to drink or eat?”
“Do you have apple juice? That sounds delicious right now,” Tiffany asks, a bit of life coming back into her face.
I smile at her words, brightening at the newfound animation, a hint of the sassiness she had in the hospital lobby. “I do. Fancy organic stuff, even. Let me get it for you.”
I come back a moment later to find her curled up on the far end of the couch. I’m struck by how similar it looks to that first night I brought her here, drunk and sick. It really wasn’t that long ago, if you look at a calendar.
But I can’t believe how far we’ve come.
And how far we have to go. We’ve both got issues, clearly. And we need to clear the air if we’re going to stop those issues before my history repeats itself.
I set the juice down on the coffee table and sit down next to her. Tiffany turns to me instantly. “I wanted to tell you. I did. I just didn’t know . . .”
The pain in her eyes stops me in my tracks, a horrifying idea I hadn’t considered coming to mind. She wants the baby, that was never the issue. She was worried about me.
My jaw clenches. “Didn’t know what?” I demand, keeping my voice low.
“How you’d react.” Her eyes fall, and her hands twist in her lap. “This isn’t exactly what we talked about. We were just getting started, and while the feelings were big, are big . . . we never talked about a baby.”
The fire that threatened to bubble up snuffs out in an instant. She didn’t know how I would react. Nothing more. That’s fair. And a concern that needs to be put to rest right now. At the same time, I don’t want to scare her with the gravity of the situation we’re in now. There’s no going back, not for me and not for her.
I reach across the back cushion, laying a finger on her shoulder. “We talked about ‘more’. Maybe this isn’t what we imagined, but this is definitely more.”
She closes her eyes as if my words gut her. She swallows thickly and then opens her eyes, pinning me directly in her gaze. “We agreed on a relationship as compared to fucking. A baby is way more than ‘more’, though. I understand if it’s not what you want. I won’t pressure you or put expectations on you.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“I’m giving you an out. That is . . . if you don’t want another child.”
“I don’t want a fucking out! How could you think that?” I proclaim hotly as I dismiss the idea entirely. “I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me. And I’m already in love with this baby too. Our baby.”
Hope tries to bloom in her eyes, her mouth going slack. But she doesn’t trust it, doesn’t trust me. “Daniel, I need you to be sure. And if you need time to adjust, that’s okay. I’ve had a lot longer to think, and you deserve at least that too.”
I shake my head, putting my hand on hers. “Tiffany, stop. Stop acting like I’m running away. I’m not. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Tiffany’s lip quivers, and hope blooms again in her eyes. “You’re not?”
“No.” I scoot forward, cupping her face. “And neither are you.”
Tiffany’s breath catches at my touch, but then her eyebrows knit in confusion. “What?”
I grin, looking her up and down. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, baby girl.”
A shiver runs through her at the endearment, and her cheeks pinken, making her look more alive than she has in days. She sees the way I’m looking at her, and she responds to it. “What do you mean?”
There’s a hint of coy seduction in the question, but she’s still not quite a hundred percent certain that I’m fully onboard. Whether it’s our individual histories, or her hormones, or just being scared out of her mind by an unexpected baby, she needs total and complete reassurance.
I don’t answer her question directly. Instead, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted me? You know, in the past.”
She lifts a shoulder, her eyes cutting away. “I don’t know. You seemed out of reach, I guess.”