“Okay. I won’t ask again.”
“Thank you.”
“You look beautiful, by the way.”
My glare was back. I had bed head and was wearing a robe over sloppy pajamas, and I’d done nothing but frown and glare all morning.
Once again, he raised his hands in surrender. “Hey. It’s not my fault you’re always gorgeous.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, taking my bowl to the table where I could sit on a padded chair.
“You mind if I grab something to eat?”
“Please do. I’m surprised you bothered asking, what with your home invasion act this morning.”
“I’m happy to knock from now on.”
“Don’t bother.” I didn’t actually care if he came in. It was almost comforting, but I still had to give him a hard time about it, because I was me and he was him.
♪♫♪
I came home from work exhausted and hungry, grumbling as I jammed my key in the lock and shoved my door open. I didn’t want to have to stand around and make dinner.
How was it that such a tiny creature could suck my energy in such a profound way?
As I closed the door behind me, the smell of something cooking caught my nose and I looked up to see Sean standing at my stove, stirring something in a frying pan.
“Aww.” My shoulder relaxed and my throat got just a little bit tight. “You’re cooking for me?”
He looked up, a proud grin on his face. “Don’t get too excited, it’s nothing fancy. Just stir fry from the frozen section and some rice.”
I dropped my purse and walked over to him. “You cooked for me.” I raised my tired arms and he had to turn quickly to catch my hug when I sagged into him. “You’re my favorite right now.”
He patted my back with the hand that wasn’t holding the spoon and laughed into my hair. “You should probably give me a few more cooking classes if this is the thing that’s going to make you happy.”
“Good idea,” I said as I pulled away and headed toward the living room. “If my body is going to morph into something unrecognizable, I might as well enjoy the food.” I sank down onto the couch that faced the kitchen.
He stirred and glanced at me, then back at the food and back at me again. He must have been deciding whether to speak up or not. I cocked my head, curious to see what he would decide.
“You really are gorgeous. I wasn’t just saying that.”
I let out a startled laugh. “Whatever you say.” I didn’t need to rehash this morning’s conversation. I’d been feeling insecure, and he’d been nice enough to try to draw me out of it, but I really didn’t want to be a whiny baby about this subject. Yes, the whole inflated figure was frustrating, but I was grateful for it, and also fascinated that my body could accommodate such a thing as growing a human.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”
My smile was tired. “Oh, Sean.” I lay down on the couch, putting a pillow under my belly. “That’s very sweet of you.”
He glanced over at me, probably wondering why I was accepting the compliment graciously. “We grew up with plenty of people who would agree with me, too.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I closed my eyes. Hopefully I wouldn’t fall asleep while waiting for dinner. In my dozing state, I thought back through high school: the boys I had dated, the girls Sean had dated. I rewound over our relationship—his big break, the first time I’d pried him from a bar, his first tour—and most especially the last few months before I’d left him on his own. But I tried my best to refocus on the sober times.
I blinked my eyes open and asked in a sleepy voice, “Why did you kiss me that night?”
I didn’t have to clarify which night. There had only been one time. The anniversary of his sister’s death. When he had been sad and I had accused him of using me just because I was there. I’d always wondered if that had been the real reason. Had he just been really sad and needing comfort?
He gave a little shrug, focusing on the stove. “Because I couldn’t stop myself anymore.”
I squirmed, trying to get more comfortable on the couch, and furrowed my brow at his odd answer. “Anymore?”
“Yeah,” he said as he continued to stir. “I’d been not kissing you for so long that I guess the effort of resisting wore me down.”
I pushed myself into a sitting position so quickly that I pulled a muscle in my side. “Ow.” I clutched at my side as I sat on the edge of the couch, staring. The noise made him look up and notice the shock that must have been evident on my face.
Concern and a little bit of his own shock blanketed his features. “Libby,” he said, disbelief coating his words. “This can’t be news to you.”
I didn’t know what “this” was. Maybe I was misinterpreting his words. “I—” didn’t know where to start.
He gave me a frank look. “You always knew I wanted more from you.”
My diaphragm shuddered as it fought between an inhale and an exhale. He had always wanted more!? Like more-more? My eyes were wide as I blinked furiously. “I always knew? How? How would I know that, Sean?” My mouth gaped as I tried to order my thoughts into something that made sense. “You never…you never made a move. You never asked me out. You never acted like you wanted more. And now—now—you’re telling me this? Now? When my husband died and I’m pregnant and—”
“I thought you knew!” Panic took over his features. “It never crossed my mind that you had missed the fact that I adored you.”
“I have to—” I stood up and headed toward my room. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Libby,” he called after me.
But I went to my room and shut him out. I couldn’t stay out there. I couldn’t stand and look at him knowing that my perception of our relationship had been so wrong.
Was I that clueless? That unobservant? And how could he think that I knew the whole time? When he had never said anything? I flipped back through my memories, searching for anything he might have done, anything he might have said, anything I might have not heard, or missed, or ignored because I thought he was joking. We’d said “I love you” to each other plenty over the years, but that had always been a platonic, best-friend “I love you.” And yes, there had been several times when he had joked about us getting married later, or about him doing anything I asked because he was a slave to his love for me. But it had all been in jest. Hadn’t it?!
I paced and worried and rubbed at my belly until he knocked on my door and quietly called, “Libby?”
I stalked over to the door, like I’d been expecting the knock, just waiting for the opportunity. I threw the door open. “You never said anything!” I shouted.
“I did,” he insisted as he stood with both hands leaning into my door frame.
“No.” I cut him off with a swipe of my pointer finger. “You joked and you mocked and you made it all seem very funny, this silly idea of us being together. If you had really wanted me to know then you would have found the ten seconds required to say the words and make me hear them.”