All right. Now she was really crying. Also incredibly embarrassed.
She said, “My bikini top doesn’t fit, so I can’t swim,” and tried to laugh. “Last … straw. Low … low point.” She grabbed a bunch of tissues from the bedside table and mopped up. “I’ve cried … around you so much.” Another sniff. Yep, she was irresistible, all right. “You weren’t supposed to … see this one. It was just … I missed my mom.” Which made her tear up some more.
“Well, I can’t be your mom,” he said, “but I can solve the bikini problem. We do some more shopping, that’s all.”
“No time. I’ve got so much homework. It’s … I’m not an assistant, it turns out. I’m an assistant logistics manager. How did I get to be a manager? How do I be a manager? Why didn’t Blake tell me?” She did her best not to be self-conscious, but it wasn’t easy. She wasn’t just a blotchy, weeping redhead now, she was a blotchy, weeping, half-naked, pregnant redhead with swollen breasts and a belly that seemed to get bigger every day. Whereas he was also half-naked, but looked like he should be on a firefighter calendar.
She said, “Why do you have to look that good? It’s unfair.”
“Aw, baby.” He was laughing, and she was, too. In a watery sort of way, but she was laughing. He said, “I was just thinking that today, when you came home. I’m thinking it now, if you want to know the truth. Not quite as good as when you’re all fired up and hot at me, because that’s still my favorite, but on the other hand …” His hand landed on her thigh and held on. “Not wearing much at all. Here’s a thought for you. It’s a private pool. It’s indoors. Ever swum naked?”
“Uh …” She did her best to look sidelong at him. “No.”
“Totally different experience. Stimulating, too, you could say. The kind of daring thing a logistics manager might do. And of course you can be one. If you ask me, you already were one. Blake’s just putting a ring on it. So to speak.”
“Not what you said today. What did you say to him? He looked kind of stunned.”
“He’s got to learn that you don’t always get to be the quarterback, that’s all. Also, there’s this online-shopping deal nowadays, and all it takes is a credit card and a one-click finger. We could do some of that together. Another date. Call it—Saturday, over breakfast? Maternity lingerie shopping? Sign me up. Also—body-conscious. That’s your word.”
“You’re a sick, sick man,” she told him. “Maternity undergarments are not hot. You’re also strangely metrosexual. Body-conscious? They’re going to kick you out of North Dakota.”
This time, he laughed for real. “Yep.” He got up, pulled her to her feet, and said, “Put on a robe or something, come on over, and get that swim. You’ll feel better. Something about all that rhythmic breathing. Meanwhile, I’m making wild salmon with roasted root vegetables and crispy kale. I do a mean crispy kale. You know you want to work up an appetite for that.”
“I see what Annabelle meant. About the extremely healthy cooking. Seriously? Kale?”
“Omega-3 fatty acids. Folate. Vitamin A. All essential nutrients for pregnancy. I looked it up. I have menus now. Wait and see.”
“You know,” she told him, “for a ridiculously hot guy, you have a definite mom side.”
“Nope,” he said. “I’ve got a dad side.” And while she was still reacting to that, added, “Also a daddy side. By which I mean … a daddy side.” He smacked her on the butt, and when she jumped, said, “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long. Be even better on your bare ass, though.”
“I said date,” she said. “I didn’t say kink.”
“Aw, baby. That’s not kink. Now, a padlock and chain …” He lifted her hair and kissed her neck. “That could be kink,” he murmured in her ear, and then went back to kissing her neck. Right … there.
Oh, yeah.
Somehow, her arms were around his neck, and she was saying, “I thought you said it was just …” She gasped as his mouth found the best spot. Why had it taken her thirty-four years to discover the thrilling roughness of a man’s scruff of beard on your most tender skin? “Uh … edgy. So if I wear the padlock …”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I might have to get edgy with you if you wear the padlock. So come on. Swim naked in my pool. Give me something else to dream about. Oh, wait. Whoops.”
“What?” she asked, pulling back.
“Uh …” He scratched his jaw. “I was supposed to be tender tonight. I forgot.” He grinned. “Oh, well. What the hell. Go with what’s working.”
50
Ward and June
It was Friday night, and Jennifer was swimming.
She had a new swimsuit now. It was appropriate. It was one piece. It had come two days ago in one of the boxes.
One of the many boxes.
She had it. She just wasn’t wearing it. Because she was alone, which was novel in itself. She was never alone. She was alone in a house that had a private pool, and she’d wanted to find out what it felt like to swim naked.
Outside the wall of glass, the late-afternoon June sun slanted over the Forest Park. Somewhere out there, Harlan was running endless, impossibly fast miles, probably bench-pressing random logs along the way, just because it wasn’t hard enough.
She’d seen him run. That one hadn’t been a date. It had been her taking a lovely, cedar-scented stroll in the trees, and him starting out with her, running something ridiculous like eight miles, then turning to walk back with her.
Well, he’d held her hand on the walk back, so maybe it had been a date. She was honestly getting a little confused.
She knew where he was tonight, because he’d left her a note, along with the fresh-as-summer smell of homemade tomato-basil soup on the stove and the promise of chicken paninis when he came home. Dyma and Annabelle, one week away from the end of the school year and feeling freer every single day, were off at an outdoor concert featuring the genre of music generally described as “the kind that hurts your ears.” Dyma, Jennifer hoped, would dance hard and sing loud and possibly even howl at the moon. By this point, she was like a puppy who hadn’t been to the dog park in too long.
That could be due to the upcoming end of her high-school career, which she’d been anticipating for at least three years, champing at the bit for that freedom that she was positive would be wonderful. It could be the thought of seeing Owen next week at her graduation, and the fact that he was coming to Portland the next week for a Devils minicamp. It could even be the fun that was hanging out with Annabelle, doing their PE on trail runs on which Dyma complained the whole way, her shorter legs moving like a terrier’s, and Annabelle strode like a Valkyrie, and having daily gym sessions supervised by Harlan, where he’d stand over them holding a clipboard and dressed in football shorts and a T-shirt, giving calm orders and correcting their form in an assured sort of way that made Jennifer go weak inside.
Especially yesterday. She’d broken down, was the only way she could put it. She’d come home from work, changed into an actual pair of maternity shorts and a sports bra that fit, seeing as she now had an entire closet full of new clothes, thanks to Harlan’s one-click finger, and found the three of them just like that. Dyma was doing chest presses with a barbell while Harlan stood at the end of the bench above her head, his hands under the bar, counting off reps and telling her, “Keep your whole back flat. Suck in your abs and press the small of your back right down there.”