“The house is big enough for you to have your own space. I don’t want you to think…” He swallows hard as his eyes search my face. “I want you to be comfortable here. No expectations.”
“Except trying to get me to fall in love with you,” I tease because he needs it—we both do because opening this door is about to change everything.
“That’s a goal, not an expectation.”
“Get inside, Heartthrob. You’ve been about as sweet as I can handle.”
Chuckling, he pushes the door open and steps aside, waiting for me to enter before following in behind me.
“Here we go,” he says, flipping on the light, revealing a sparsely decorated space. The walls are a light gray, the kitchen flowing into a living room with a vaulted ceiling and a massive stone fireplace.
It’s very masculine and surprisingly cozy but it’sempty.
“Where’s all your stuff?” I ask, looking around, the rug in the center of the living room having obvious indents where a couch used to sit.
“I want you to be comfortable here and I know you like the stuff from your house.” I gape at him, but before I can respond, he grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs. “Here, look. That’s my room,”—he points at the door at the end of the hall—“this one is the office, and this is the guest room.”
The guest room is painted a soft blue with a large bed in the center, and the office is a crisp white with a wooden desk against one wall. “And where would you like me to be?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes,” I answer automatically, watching as he swipes his palm over his mouth.
“I want you in my bed and the guest room will stay the guest room and we’ll transform the office into the nursery.”
“I’m not ready for that,” I admit, thankful that I don’t need to addI’m not ready to be in your bedbecause he’s already nodding. The worst part is that at my core, Iwantto be in his bed. It’s just not a good idea.
“You can take my bed or the guest room, and then we can move your furniture in so you’re comfortable.”
“You don’t—” I start, rubbing my hand over my forehead because this is so much.
Too much.
But do we even have a choice?
“I want you to like it here,” he says softly, the words slipping through the walls I’m desperately trying to build around my heart. “And hey, I think Pen left you something downstairs—like a welcome basket or something. And there’s stuffed shells in the fridge because?—”
“Because they’re my favorite.” He nods, his dark brown eyes imploring me to throw him a bone. Slowly reaching for his hand, he lets me take it, his gaze following the movement as I press his palm to my belly. “Baby likes stuffed shells too.”
“Yeah?” he asks, the word choked with emotion that feels so incredibly intimate I can’t help but lighten the mood.
“Yeah, and Beau?”
“Hmm?”
“We’re starving.”
11
BEAU
The day after bringing Indie home with me, I got on a plane bound for Tennessee and left Reid and Pen in charge of keeping her company. I told her my father had previously arranged for me to take an overnight trip to pick up material, but in reality, it had nothing to do with my father at all.
Just hers.
We’d kept news of the baby private other than to our families, and regardless of whether or not things between us would last beyond the baby being born, this is something I need to do. I’d rehearsed my speech countless times but everything seemed to fly right out of my head the moment the plane touched down in Blackstone Falls.
My phone buzzes in my hand the second I’m allowed to turn it back on and I can’t help but laugh.
