“Whose baby are you having?” Lachlan asked as we walked past the cozy mysteries.
“Chris Hemsworth’s,” I told him. We were out of view of the book club gang, and I could easily slip my hand out of Lachlan’s. But I didn’t.
“Which Chris is he?”
“Thor.”
“Can’t compete with that.” Lachlan grimaced as he pulled me into the office. “I think I could hold my own with that Captain America guy, but not a Hemsworth.” He inspected a framed photo on a shelf for a long moment. “I feel stupid being here.”
Something was definitely bothering my husband tonight. “Whyareyou here?”
“I’ve been calling you for hours.” Standing by my sister’s desk, he ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, mussing it in a way that only made him cuter.
“My phone got waterlogged. Not sure if it’s fixable.” If not, I would certainly be getting another one first thing tomorrow morning. I felt like someone had removed one of my organs. “Are you all right?” Lachlan’s cheeks tinged red, and his thumb brushed my palm. My breath instantly went shallow, and I suddenly wondered if this was how Princess Rochelle felt when she first woke up from her coma. “Lachlan?”
“I thought something had happened to you. You said you’d be back from Branson around four. Those roads are terrible.”
“How do you know that?”
“Miller told me. On the fifth time I called him. He said you always had your phone. When you didn’t come home and didn’t answer, I got worried.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Look at me being the overly protective husband, right?”
I was trying very hard not to melt like s’more chocolate at his concern. “I’m sorry. Celeste scheduled a late meeting, then I came straight here.”
“I’m…” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Lachlan’s chest beneath that high-dollar sweater rose and fell as his breath whooshed from his lips. He planted his hands on his hips. Nodded twice.
Then he hugged me.
Full-on—body grab, big arms wrapped around me tight, his head resting against mine—hug.
Gosh, he smelled like cedar and autumn nights and exactly the place I wanted to be. “Can’t breathe here, husband.” But I could feel his rapid heartbeat beneath my cheek. And maybe I did nestle in just a bit. Only because it was chilly. We were simply victims of an old and drafty office.
“Do not read into this,” he said against my hair.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I didn’t fear for your life.” One hand slid up and down my back. “I wasn’t imagining every single terrible scenario.”
I bit my lip on a smile. “No?”
“No. I have a podcast interview with Anderson Cooper next week and didn’t want to have to find another wife to help.”
I wasn’t sure when my hands had wrapped around Lachlan’s waist, but there they were. And they didn’t seem inclined to move. “You’d never find another willing lady by next week.”
“I’d need two weeks at least.”
“Lachlan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I’m not used to checking in with someone.”
He went quiet for the space of three even breaths. “I’m not used to caring.”
I closed my eyes against those words and the feather stroke of tenderness behind them.
Lachlan’s hands slipped from my back, and he retreated one step. Scowling, he massaged the side of his neck. “That came out a little sweeter than I meant it to.”
“You can take it back if you want.” Why was I looking at Lachlan’s lips? I needed to stop.Look away. Break contact. Rebuke the lips.
