It’s the weekend after Thanksgiving, and I’m lying on the couch flicking mindlessly through Netflix while bub dances up a storm in my belly. I’m just praying it gives my bladder a break for a little while. I think I’ve gone to the bathroom at least three times in the past hour. After showing Millie the screenshot I took of Zeke out at the movies, I listened to her rant and rave about how he has to be lacking brain cells and other certain genitalia that make a real man. And if he isn’t, then if he ever showed his face in town again, she’d make sure he was.
The post had vanished from his timeline by the time I got home and flexed my knuckles, ready to get my stalking game on. But too late—it’s burned into my retinas now. Since then, I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that weirdly wired brain of his, which causes me to feel even more exhausted than I already am these days. Did I contemplate getting in the car and furthering my stalking skills by hunting his ass down in Crestal Lake? Maybe, for about three point five seconds longer than I should have. But he doesn’t deserve the kind of effort that that would take anymore. That doesn’t change the fact that it still hurts like a motherfucker every time I think about him out with someone else. Like someone is raking their nails over the already bruised tissue of my heart. I wonder if he feels any guilt whatsoever. If not, it must be pretty nice to walk around life not giving a crap about what anyone thinks. Least of all the woman you spent six years of your life with and swore to love forever.
I roll my eyes, sick of listening to my own thoughts. Thoughts that will only lead me in a continuous circle when what I need, what I’m already trying to do, is continue on in a straight line forward. I might not be able to control what he thinks, feels, or does, but I can sure as hell control what I do.
I really should get my ass up and into the nursery to fix the mess of a crib that Mil and I left sprawled all over the floor. Or call Beau and maybe take him up on his offer to help. I settle on re-watching the second season of Supernatural instead. I could do with a healthy dose of Jensen Ackles right about now.
Just as I’m turning onto my side and getting comfortable, there’s a knock on the door. Damn it. I need a do not disturb sign. Then again, that would only give Mary Simmons more juice to spill. I push myself up and make my way to the front of the house. Looking through the peephole, I see a profile that’s becoming all too familiar to my senses these past few months.
Shit.
I don’t think I even put a bra on under my long-sleeved, purple cotton maternity shirt. Because no one likes to wear a bra when they’re chillin’ at home on the best of days, but when you’re pregnant? That’s a kind of torture I’m not putting myself through when I don’t have to. I’m also still in my “time for baaaa” pajama pants with cute little sheep on them. I consider running to change or at least throwing on a bra, but he knocks again. It’s louder this time, which makes me yelp like a startled puppy.
“Shit, you there, Liv?”
Busted standing at the door like a noob. Great. I quickly undo my top knot, letting my long hair hang over my chest in an effort to cover the girls up a bit. Then I open the door. “Sorry, was just walking to the door and you kind of scared the crap out of me.”
He rubs his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come over unannounced, but I was heading home and I, ah, well, I have something for you.”
Something for me? “Oh okay, come on in.” I step back and push the door open further, closing it behind him after he enters. I turn to find him holding a large gift bag. “How was your Thanksgiving? Want a drink or something?”
“I’m good, thanks. It was pretty awesome. Always nice to get back home and see everyone.”
I lead the way to the living room. Waving a hand behind me for him to follow, I plop down on my favorite couch while he takes the armchair next to it. “How was yours?”
“Quiet but good. Pigged out on leftovers that Millie stole from her mom’s and brought back here.”
“Supernatural, huh?” He nods toward the episode still playing.
“Yep, I’m kind of addicted. I’m watching season two again.”
“Back to the beginning. Is this the season where Dean makes that deal with the demon?”
I think I just swooned a little. I stare at him for a beat before finally saying, “Uh, yeah. It is. You watch it?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen all the seasons. I’m not as much of a diehard fan as you, though, I’m afraid. Haven’t got around to rewatching yet.” He smirks.
Cue the dimple, oh Lord.
“That’s okay; we can fix that.”
That smirk turns into a full-blown smile at my words. “I’ll make sure to hold you to that.” He looks like he’s just remembered the gift bag between his spread, jean-clad legs.
“Shit, my mom would clip me around the ear if she saw me right now.” He laughs but genuinely sounds slightly afraid. That’s all kinds of cute. “Here. This is from her, actually.” Looking a tad nervous, he passes it over.
Why would his mom, a woman I’ve never met, be giving me a gift?
I take it from him while he explains. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’re kind of close, and well, she knows about you. I’ve talked about you to her a couple of times now. When I was leaving home, she made it pretty damn clear that I made sure you got it.” He laughs again, shaking his head a little. “And I learned very early on not to argue with that woman.”
I smile and place it on the couch next to me. It’s actually kind of heavy. All the while I’m wondering how I feel about Seb talking about me and my situation to his mom. In the end, I shut my brain up and tell it to just be grateful.
“Thanks. That’s really sweet of her.” I open it up and start pulling out miscellaneous baby items. A pack of diapers, two packs of wet wipes, bottles, a thermometer, pacifiers, baby blankets, neutral gender colored rompers, beanies, and mittens. I’m sure my jaw is sitting on top of my beach-ball-sized belly as I pull each item out and survey them. I look at Seb then back at them all—speechless. Shocked that a stranger would do something so nice for me. I look for a card, but there’s none. Huh, weird. I put the items back inside the bag, trying to stop the tears from filling my eyes. I look over at Seb when I’m done with what I’m sure is a huge watery smile on my face.
“I honestly don’t even know what to say. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, let alone a stranger. Would you make sure to tell her I said thank you like a million times? If she ever comes to town, I’d love to do so myself.” I laugh and sniff a little, not able to stop myself from babbling further. “So make sure you let me know when or if she does. Better yet, I’ll write her a thank-you note.” I go to stand to take the bag to the nursery, but Seb stands and stops me.
“Here, I got it. Where do you want it?”
“Oh, um, just in the nursery down the hall there on the right. Thanks.”
He takes the bag from me and walks off before I remember the mess that Millie and I left in there. Shit.
“Uh, Liv, what the hell happened in here?”
I get up and walk to where he’s standing in the doorway to the room.
“Millie and I happened.” I laugh and cross my arms over my chest.
He looks over at me as I do, his eyes darting to my chest briefly.
Crap, shit, crap.
He clears his throat. “Right. Well, I’ll leave this here for now then.” He walks over to the dark timber dresser I already had in the room and places the bag next to it, dodging wood planks along the way. He looks at it lying on the ground for a few seconds while he scrubs a hand over his jaw. He mutters what sounds like, “Jesus Christ,” before turning back toward me. I move back a bit to let him exit then follow him into the living room where I take a seat again, and he does the same. Right. Next. To. Me.
He turns to me, completely ignoring the startled look on my face. “Mind if I watch?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, no. Of course, you can.” I scramble for the remote and hit play. And then proceed to sit awkwardly for about ten minutes before I remember with a nudge to my ribs that I’m pregnant, and stiff doesn’t exactly work well for us. I slouch down and put my yellow, sock-covered feet on the coffee table. Seb seems to relax too, spreading his legs open. Leaning an elbow on the armrest, he rests his head on a fist. We watch a whole episode in silence before my stomach starts moving—a lot. My hand is resting there when it feels like the baby does a cartwheel, making me a bit uncomfortable for a second. It must show because I look up to find Seb watching me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, bub’s just choosing now to start gymnastics practice.”
He watches my stomach, and I look down to see a foot, elbow, or something appear through the thin cotton of my maternity shirt. I must admit, it does look a little freaky sometimes.
“Holy fuck, I can see it.” He practically breathes, which makes me laugh.
“Yep, it’s pretty cool. Even if it’s a little uncomfortable at times.”
He leans closer, a hesitant hand drifting midair until I nod. I’m not even going to ask myself why I don’t question allowing him to touch my stomach. Besides my ob-gyn, Millie, and me, no one else has.
He gently places it where we saw the protruding limb seconds ago and rubs a little. I can feel the heat from his palm and marvel at not only the touch but the size of it on my already huge stomach. The baby must feel it too as he or she starts wriggling around. A slow smile forms on his handsome face as he feels it; I think I stop breathing when he directs his dark gaze up at me as he gently keeps rubbing.
“That’s fucking incredible,” he whispers.
I just nod, not trusting myself to speak. Something about this moment has struck me right in my already damaged chest. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Zeke should be where Seb is right now, but everything to do with the fact that it is Seb here right now. The fact that I like it, I like his hand on me, the way he’s smiling at me, the way his eyes are lighting up in complete awe every time he feels my baby move inside me.
Oh, no.
“Have you thought of any names?”
That startles me out of my head.
He sits back a bit but still has that warm look on his chiseled features that I think might stay etched in my memory forever.
“Some, but I’m not entirely sure yet.”
“Tell me. I can keep a secret.” He mimes zipping his lips like a complete dork, which has me giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Maybe that’s what this feeling is. I ignore the crazy thought.
“It’s not a secret, but I’m just really not sure. I was thinking of possibly trying to keep it in the family. Maybe name him or her after my grandparents. But my grandfather’s name was Ernest.” I scrunch my nose up a little. “I’m not entirely sure my child would thank me for that.”
He chuckles, nodding his head in agreement.
“What about your grandma?” he asks
“Her name was Rose, which I love. I just don’t know; it’s kind of common, which I feel dumb for worrying about.” I shrug.
He looks at my stomach for a minute.
“I can see you with a little Rose, actually.” He smiles as if imagining it.
“Yeah?” I think about it too and find that I kind of like the thought.
He nods. “Yeah, and you don’t have to stick with Rose. There are plenty of different variations you could use. Rosa-lee, Rosie …” He scratches at that broad chest that’s wrapped in a gray hoodie for a second, thinking. “And that’s all I got.”
We both laugh. He’s right, though. I mentally add Rose to the top of my list to discuss with Millie later.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom then I might make a tea before we get back to the next episode. Do you want something?”
“I got it; you go do your thing,” he offers before walking into the kitchen and leaving me with little chance to protest.
After doing my business, I quickly run into my room to throw on a bra. When I walk into the kitchen, he’s finishing up the drinks.
“Sugar?”
“No thanks, just milk.”
He finishes then takes them to the living room while I follow behind. I admire his ass in those jeans, not even feeling slightly embarrassed about my ogling. A girl takes what she can get, and right now, I’m getting very fucking little. My poor vibrator has gotten the workout of its life for the past couple of months with these crazy hormones.
I swing my eyes elsewhere when he takes a seat after placing our drinks on the coffee table in front of him. I thank him before sitting down and asking, “Ready?”
He nods as he picks up his coffee, lifting it to his mouth to blow air through his slightly parted, perfect looking lips, then sits back. Jesus, maybe Mil’s onto something, and maybe I do just need to get laid. I grab the remote and go back to where we were up to, clicking play before setting it between us on the couch. I grab my tea, settling back into the cushions and once again lifting my feet up to rest on the table.
I should be thinking so many different things about this situation right now; it’s not even funny. But the sole thought running through my head all too easily is that I could get kind of used to this.