Page 48 of Targeted By Fate
We arrived at the paternity store to discover they had, in fact, pulled out a bunch of clothes all in the same type, style, and size as the ones he picked out for me and had them bagged and ready to go. I didn’t even try anything on, letting Boaz scan his card, and away we went.
“That was painless. Thank you.”
He put his hand on my belly. He loved doing that. I liked it too. “Anything for the father of my baby. Now… now it’s time for the good part.”
“The good part? Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
We drove out of the city into a much more rural area than I’d been in a long time. It was beautiful, but the farther we got, the more confused I was.
“We aren’t going to visit a pack, are we?”
I knew that would eventually be part of my responsibilities, but I needed a heads-up—or twenty—before that happened.
“Nope. We’re going to see a human.”
That piqued my interest. Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a farm and up to their barn, where a small sign read: Handmade Furniture.
He walked around to my side of the car and helped me out. We went inside, where the person sanding a rocking horse stood up straight and smiled.
“Is it time?” The man set down his sander.
“It’s time.” My mate wrapped his arm around my middle.
The man came over and shook my hand. “I’m Doug, and this was one of my favorite projects. It was such an honor to create them for you.”
I didn’t understand—was I getting the rocking horse or what? But he led us to the back of the shop, where there were a ton of bookshelves.
“These are for you.” My mate kissed my cheek.
“They’re custom and will fit the dimensions your husband gave me. But they’re movable instead of built-in. So if you ever decide that you want to move, you can easily take them with you.”
My old shelves had been plastic crap. Nothing like these.
I hugged Boaz, barely getting my arms around my belly.
“Now it’s your time to pick the finish.”
Doug showed me gobs of choices, but my eye instantly went to one that reminded me of my childhood bed frame. It was funny how memories stuck like that. He told us he would deliver them in a week, and my mate and I left.
I thought we’d go home next, but no. My mate had more surprises for me, and our next stop ended up being a huge bookstore.
“Here.” He handed me a gift card. “If you don’t spend every single penny here, I’m not taking you home.” He was teasing. Probably.
“Okay. I can do that.” It wasn’t hard to spend money at a bookstore. But then he told me to turn it over—and I saw the total amount, and my jaw dropped. “They make gift cards that big?”
“You already agreed. No take-backsies.” He ran a finger along my mating mark, knowing full well what that did to me.
“Okay, I will do this because I know that you like to dote on me, but I’m using a lot of it for the baby.”
“I accept your terms,” he said, kissing my cheek. “I know you love your books.”
I’d lost many over the years, in moves, in shitty apartments, at college, and I did miss them. They were kind of my thing. The library had been great, but there was something about having a copy on your shelf for whenever you wanted them.
My first stop was the children’s section, where I found a nice employee and told her, “I want to start a library for our baby.”
When I told her our budget, her face lit up. The next thing we knew, the counter was filled with books.
