Rae’s throaty laugh lingered as they hurried out of the house, calling out goodbyes as they went.
No sooner had the door closed than Beau was pulling me into his arms and lifting me, his mouth on my neck as my surprised giggle filled the kitchen.
Placing me on the edge of the island, he stepped between my legs and ran his hands up my thighs to grip my butt, pulling me as close as possible. “Is it later?”
“I sure hope so,” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in to press my mouth to his.
When the doorbell sounded through the house, a whimper of frustration rolled up my throat, and Beau’s forehead fell heavily to mine.
“I’m not ready,” I mumbled and let my fingers gently trail along his neck.
“We were waiting for them to show,” he reminded me even though his tone said that he agreed, that he wished we could have another hour to ourselves.
“I know, and I love it. I just—” I sighed and leaned back, studying all that sexual frustration bleeding from him that only amplified my own.
But that was just how our lives went.
Savoring the very rare moments we were truly alone and trying to steal private moments between Blossom guests and three kids and family stopping by at random. The latter happening more and more often with the fracture between the Dixon family finally healing.
“Later?”
“Looking forward to it,” I said, repeating my earlier words.
He pressed a quick kiss to my mouth and helped me down from the island. “Let’s live that dream.”
A whispered moan teased my lips when Beau’s large hand gently curved over my swollen stomach and his mouth passed across my neck.
“You need to sit down.”
I swatted at his chest dismissively at his umpteenth request. “I will when we eat.”
“Savannah.” My name was all a rumbled disapproval.
“Bear, I’ve had three kids, and I practically lived in here with each of them too.”
“Not doing this,” he argued softly, gesturing to where our kitchen was filled with Thanksgiving desserts and dinner prep. The hand on my stomach moved in a slow circle. “Not with this.”
I let out a breath, trying to be understanding even if he was being unreasonable. Well, my version of unreasonable.
“I let you put the turkey in the oven, and I’ll let you take it out,” I said as if that had been a great sacrifice for me.
His midnight eyes searched my face, showing exactly how much he wanted to force me to do what he was asking.
I lifted a brow. “Are you gonna finish making all this food?”
A laugh scraped up his throat. “Yes. If you’d just let me.”
“Well, I’m not letting you. So . . .” I gave him a look, daring him to make me leave my spot in the kitchen.
“If you’re not helping, you’re in the way,” my mother-in-law said as she came back into the kitchen, shooing at Beau. “Go on and get.”
I smiled to assure him I was fine and asked, “Where are the kids?”
“Levi crashed about ten minutes ago. Quinn and Wyatt are watching a movie.” He took a few steps back but gestured to me. “Mom, Savannah needs to sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Why?” his mom asked, then looked to me, shrugging. “She’s fine. She’ll sit if she needs to.”
“It’s like I’ve never been pregnant before,” I muttered as I went back to prepping the dressing.
“You’ve never been this pregnant during a major holiday,” he said. “Your doctor also said you needed to take it easy.”
I pointed at him, sucking in a gasp at the betrayal. “You said you wouldn’t say anything, and she also said I was okay to host Thanksgiving.”
He gave me a look that was a perfect mixture of adoration and frustration. “Babe, she’s never seen you host anything. And she only said host. Not bake and cook all day.”
“Wait, what’d your doctor say?” his mom asked, turning to look at me. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” I said just as Beau said, “Mostly.”
I stomped my foot and gave him a wide-eyed look. “Beau Dixon, you are in so much trouble right now.”
He lifted a brow, the action so subtle but saying so much. He didn’t care because he wanted to take care of me.
His mom pointed between us. “All right, someone tell me what’s going on with my daughter-in-law and grandbaby.”
Beau waited to see if I would explain, and I knew if I didn’t say anything, he would.
So, with a sigh, I said, “I sort of—”
“Did,” he claimed.
“I went into early labor this last weekend. But,” I hurried to add, “they stopped it, and we’re both fine. My doctor said I could still carry to full term.”
“But you’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Beau said firmly.
“And you’ve been—Savannah,” my mother-in-law chided. “Go. Get.” She gestured to Beau. “Get her on the couch. I can’t believe you’ve let her be in this kitchen all day.”
Beau looked at her like she’d missed something important. “I’ve been in here all day trying to get her out of it, and y’all keep making me leave.”
“Well, now she’s leaving.” She grabbed a hand towel and smacked him with it. “How dare you keep these kinds of things from your mother.”
He lifted his hands, then let them fall to his sides as he followed me out of the kitchen.
“You are in so much trouble,” I repeated once we were in the living room.
“I don’t care,” he said easily as he helped me onto the couch and then sank to my side, his hand tenderly resting on my stomach. “I know you want to, but you shouldn’t be doing all that. You can’t, Savannah.”
“I feel fine,” I said for what had to be the thirtieth time that day, then gestured to my stomach when the baby hit just below where Beau’s hand rested. “We’re fine.”
Beau’s hand shifted lower, his eyes tracking the movement. “He rolling?”
“Yeah, I think that was an elbow.” A sound of discomfort rose in my throat before I could try to swallow it back, and Beau’s stare snapped to mine.
“You’re not fine,” he said softly, confidently. “You wanna be because you thrive on these kinds of days. But I see it in your eyes when you think I’m not looking at you, and I hear it in your voice. I heard that.”
“You don’t understand . . .”
“I do. You wanna be running around, taking care of everyone once they get here. And you wanna make sure everything’s done and perfect before they do. I know.” He placed his other hand on my stomach so he was cradling it. “But right now, I need you to take care of him and take care of yourself.”
“Okay, I will sit down for the rest of the night if you just let me finish—”
“No.” When my lips parted to keep pleading my case, he said, “My mom’s here, she can do it. I’ll help.”
“Your mom is a really amazing cook, but she doesn’t make things the way I do, and I left a bunch of things half-done without telling her what I’d done to them.”