Yeah, like I’m going to let that happen. Luckily, we arrive at my place and the subject is dropped. I’m not an idiot. I know she’ll bring up paying her way again. But she’s not the only one who can be stubborn.
I jump out of the car and start directing Jackson and Roman on where to put the boxes. I hear a scream from inside the house and start running. When I arrive in the living room, Violet is standing in the middle of the room with tears running down her face. Oh fuck. What now? I pull her into my arms.
“What is it, Petal? What happened? You’re not hurt, are you? Baby Bud?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. But you—” She points to the new bookshelves I built to house her stuff. “You made those for me?” At my nod, she starts sobbing. “That’s so sweet.”
Grandma walks by and whispers, “Rollercoaster.”
Like I care if Violet gets emotional when I do something nice for her. If I’m being honest, I love any excuse to pull the woman into my arms and feel her close.
“You’re putting those in the wrong place!” Grandma shouts. I sigh as I pull away from Violet.
“You take care of your books and DVDs. I’ll go check on Grandma.”
Upstairs, Grandma is directing everyone towards the master bedroom with Violet’s clothes. I stop them. “Her clothes go in the other bedroom.” I point to the door at the end of the hallway.
“What? She isn’t sleeping with you?”
I feel my cheeks blaze with heat. “Thanks for telling everyone, Grandma.”
“You haven’t sealed the deal, yet?”
Shelby snorts as she walks by. “Obviously, he sealed the deal. Have you seen the nursery?” When Grandma rushes off to check out the baby’s room, Shelby winks at me. I mouth thanks.
By noon, we’ve emptied most of the boxes. Moving is a hell of a lot easier when furniture isn’t involved. Everyone collapses on the sofa in the living room where Violet has been sleeping for the past hour. I brush the hair out of her face. When she wakes with a sleepy smile, I ask, “Do you want me to order pizza?”
“Pizza! What’s wrong with you, boy?” Grandma slaps my shoulder. “It’s Sunday. The roast has been in the oven since I woke up.”
“I guess we’re going to Grandma’s for lunch,” I whisper to Violet.
“As long as she doesn’t talk about sperm count, I’m in.”
Violet giggles at Brodie’s announcement and buries her head in my shoulder. I hold her close. Step one in my plan to have everything I want complete.
Chapter 32
If I want to make a situation into a drama, hold onto your hats because Drama is coming your way. ~ Violet’s Secret Thoughts
Getting ready for a date when you live in the bedroom down the hall from the man you’re dating is weird. What hasn’t been weird? Living with said boyfriend. I expected things to be awkward with a capital A. To my surprise, they haven’t been, although the lack of weird may be the result of having my own bathroom. Sharing a bathroom is the true test of a relationship. Despite not sharing a bathroom, Luke has been there holding back my hair whenever I’ve gotten sick. Which, thankfully, is a lot less now.
Whoever says they love being pregnant is a big fat liar. Big. Fat. Liar. If I’m not being sick, I’m hungry. I haven’t had any weird cravings, although I do like to put chocolate syrup on everything. And I do mean everything. On eggs, on hamburgers, on fries. You name it, I’ve drowned it in chocolate. And then there’s the hair. Shiver. Not going to think about how I’m starting to resemble Cousin It from the Addams Family.
Luke knocks on my door, but he doesn’t enter despite the door being open. The man has been a perfect saint. Seriously. A saint. Dating him is like dating a Mormon at this point. I’m starting to think he’s involved in a study on blue balls because he hasn’t made a move on me since I moved in – not once! Kissing is as far as he’ll go, although his kisses do cause my legs to wobble.
“You ready?” At my nod, he walks in. His hand immediately goes to my belly. “How’s Baby Bud doing today?”
“She’s quiet.” Huh. Now I’m thinking about it, she’s been quiet all day. Ever since she started making her presence known at the start of the month, she’s been an active baby. Kicking and punching constantly. I’ve already started researching women’s professional kickboxing because it’s clear this baby is tailor-made for the profession.
Luke rubs his hand over my belly, which usually causes Baby Bud to kick up a storm.
“She must be sleeping,” I say, although I’m not convinced I’m not lying.
“Or he is.”
I roll my eyes. We agreed not to find out the sex of the baby at the mid-pregnancy ultrasound. I’m convinced Baby Bud is a girl. Don’t ask me why. Although I won’t be disappointed if she turns out to be a he. As long as he looks like Luke with those dark green eyes and auburn hair, I’m in. Of course, I’ll need to stock up on condoms the minute the boy hits puberty.
“You hungry?”
My stomach growls in response to his question. “Do you need to ask?” If I’m not sleeping or working, I’m eating. It’s a miracle I haven’t gained a gazillion pounds during this pregnancy. Hell, maybe I have. I refuse to step on a scale at home. Dr. Barnes says my weight gain is within the limits. Good enough for me.
“What do you feel like eating? Please don’t say tacos.”
“Okay, I won’t. How about nachos?”
He groans. “More Mexican food. Yippee.”
“I can hear the sarcasm in your voice, you know.”
“Wasn’t trying to hide it, Petal.” He grasps my hand. “Come on, let’s get you and Baby Bud fed.”
We drive to the Mexican restaurant where we ate on Valentine’s Day. We’re on a first-name basis with the owners since Luke put his foot down – no more fast-food tacos for me. Now, the restaurant is on speed dial. I’m pretty sure the owners are planning an around-the-world cruise paid for by yours truly.
Luke ushers me towards a table in the back. I drag my feet. “But our booth is over there.” Because of course, we have our own booth. It’s close to the restrooms for those times Baby Bud decides she likes the taste of Mexican food but doesn’t want to actually digest it. She can be a stinker like that.
I stop complaining when I see the table. Instead of the usual somewhat garish table covering, a white tablecloth covers the table and two tall candlesticks bathe the area in a soft light. Luke pulls out a chair for me. “What’s this for?” I ask as I sit.
“It’s the celebration of our one-month anniversary of living together.”
My eyes widen and my mouth drops open at his words. Men aren’t supposed to remember things like one-month anniversaries! He’s cheating. What he’s cheating at I don’t know, but he’s definitely cheating.
The owner, Isabella, arrives with a bottle of alcohol-free wine. “Congratulations!”
Her husband, Juan, sets a plate of nachos on the table. “Enjoy your evening.”
“I didn’t remember. I didn’t get you anything.” I bite my lip as moisture builds in my eyes.