Because here’s the truth: I like him and how he looked at me when I talked about important things in my life such as my work as a fashion buyer. To him, what I do matters.
It’s also how he didn’t shy away from any conversation topic, other than his family. But that’s understandable since he lost most of them. I haven’t mentioned the loss of my birth mother to him yet either.
I don’t know what this is between us exactly. Not yet. It’s not a relationship, and it’s not just a co-parenting arrangement either. It’s messy and confusing and moving way too fast and also not fast enough. But it’s something.
He’s already weaving his way into my life in ways I didn’t plan for. And maybe that’s what scares me the most. Because when someone’s close enough to matter, they’re close enough to hurt you.
Still, I don’t regret spending time with him. We need more nights similar to tonight to be comfortable together when the baby arrives.
19
IF I SNEEZE, ALL BETS ARE OFF
HAISLEY
Since we looked after Tilly last week, life has been a blur of deadlines and mental to-do lists. Work’s been relentless, and when I haven’t been busy with my day job, I’ve been trying to wrap my head around all the changes happening at Maravilla. Between the two, there hasn’t been much room or energy left for anything else. Including Rasmus.
Still, he’s managed to stay present in the small ways that matter. He texts me multiple times every day without fail, sometimes a quickhow are you feeling today, sometimes a funny meme or an eye-roll-worthy dad joke. I’ve been able to get to know him better, one laugh at a time. And the more I learn, the more I like.
Now I’m waiting for him to pick me up from the brownstone. The plan for the long weekend is simple: just the two of us, tucked away at his cabin. All I’ve been told is to pack warm, comfy clothes and a pair of skates.
When Rasmus pulls up to my place, I whistle appreciating his car. It’s a sleek, black Range Rover that’s good for both cruisingthrough Brooklyn and powering through snow-covered backroads.
Wearing a heavy-knit olive green sweater matching his parka, a pair of nicely fitting jeans, and a gray beanie covering most of his hair, Rasmus steps out and smiles.
“Hey,” he says, making his way up the steps. His brown eyes flick over my overnight bag before meeting mine. “That everything?”
I point at my skates. “And those.”
He takes them and my bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Walking to the passenger side of his car, he opens the door. “In, you go.”
I slide into the seat, the interior as nice as the exterior. Heated seats and enough space to move will make the drive more comfortable. As Rasmus shuts the door and rounds the front of the car, I follow his every movement. A strange warmth spreads through my chest, but I push it deep back where it came from.
Oh boy, he still looks as attractive as he did that first night. Well, actually, even more so now that I can see him fully. And that damn beard. Why does a trimmed, well-kept beard make any man hotter? So unfair.
By the time he gets in after tossing my stuff to the backseat, I’m trying to look anywhere but at him. I don’t want to have him catch me staring. That would be awkward.
Still, I can’t ignore how good he smells. His signature scent is all warm and inviting. It wraps around me whenever he’s near, making it impossible to ignore his presence. And now I’m stuck in a confined space with him for hours. There’s no escapefrom the way my pulse falters every time he moves even slightly closer.
Rasmus reaches behind my seat and pulls out a tote bag overflowing with snacks. “This will hopefully keep you happy during the ride.”
I peek inside, and my jaw nearly drops. He’s thought every single detail through, clearly taking notes from my texts. Because nearly all of my favorites are right there.
There are sour gummy bears and dark chocolate-covered almonds from my favorite store, cheddar popcorn, a couple of protein bars, PB&J sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a few bottles of soda and mineral water. There’s also a bottle of Tums Chewy Bites.
“You really went all out,” I tell him in awe.
“Road trip rule number one: gotta have good snacks. If I missed something, we can stop on the way there.” Rasmus smiles softly. “Also, I made a playlist.”
I look at him suspiciously. “With your taste or mine?”
“It’s a mix of both; I added timeless alternative, indie rock songs, and your favorites from fifteen to twenty years ago. I call itThe Compromise Playlist. Look it up on my Spotify.”
I grab his phone and see it’s locked. “What’s your passcode?”
Rasmus hesitates and mumbles. “1701.”
I spot the green icon and find the playlist at the top. Pressing shuffle, the opening notes of one of my favorite early 2000s pop songs spill through the speakers, and I burst out laughing. “Rasmus?—”
