But I wascrawlingwith hormones.
What was wrong with me?
After all, I was supposed to be considering Finn’s offer. Finn was everything every woman would want—movie star good looks, talented, filthy rich, massive muscles, heavily tattooed, thoseforearms, devoted to me, thataccent.
So why was I sat here on the couch at 10:30 pm trying to watch a movie and ignore Ambrose mixing up formula for baby bottles in his sweatpants?
There had always been some particularly unholy attraction to Ambrose in sweatpants and a T-shirt, like seeing him out of his starched-up proper clothes just reminded me of that coiled passion underneath his proper exterior.
I glanced over as he bent down to empty the dishwasher, his long stronger fingers moving deftly to stack bowls and plates, swipe a few clean bottles.
There was a muscle that flexed in his broad shoulders, and I couldn’t help the way my eyes dragged down the V-shape of his back to the way his sweatpants sat low-slung on his hips.
What was wrong with me?
I wasnotsat here carnally desiring my cheating ex-husband!
It took me a while to get to sleep, and then when I finally did I had to wake up again in an hour to pee. After stumbling to the bathroom, I heard Julian start to wake up.
Half-asleep, I stumbled down the hall and into his room, thinking only that I’d help Ambrose for once since I was already awake.
As I opened the door, I collided with my ex, Ambrose’s arms going out to steady me, his fingers sliding under my thin tank top to keep me from stumbling.
I gasped at the contact. I was barely wearing anything—only a thin little tank top and boy shorts to sleep, and his touch seemed to make my already overheated skin burn, my nipples suddenly hardening so fast I felt the tips of them sting. Was I starting to produce milk already?
I was breathless suddenly, and Ambrose gripped under my hair.
“You ok?” he asked. “Fuck, didn’t see you there.”
His voice was rough with sleep.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, trying to make my pounding heart relax. “I can rock Julian to sleep if you want. Since I’m up already.”
“Of course,” Ambrose said. “Let me grab his bottle.”
I sat in the chair and fed Julian. He was getting big, strong, his tiny newborn arms filling out with plump rolls.
He was a loved baby.
Julian snuggled in and fell asleep in my arms.
I looked over and saw that my ex-husband was crying on the bed, his head buried in his hands.
“It’s fine,” I said. “You know I’m over it, right? You don’t have to worry that you’re hurting me. Or about what happened.”
“It’s just—” Ambrose said, his voice shaky, and then he choked and had to start again. “It’s just that—seeing you with a baby— it’s everything that I had ever—have ever dreamed of.”
“Ambrose—” I began, but I didn’t know what to say.
“And all along, it was me.Iwas the reason that you couldn’t get pregnant right away. It wasmyfault. If it wasn’t for me, you would have had babies a long time ago. The whole time it was me.”
I felt my heart constrict so tightly I could barely breathe.
“It was no one’s fault,” I said firmly, “It doesn’t mean you can’t ever be a father in the future.”
Ambrose shook his head.
“But I want to have a baby withyou. You and me. Now I fucked everything up. And I don’t know how to unfuck it.”
