Bas gets up and reaches for my hands and pulls me up off the couch. “I have something that will cheer you up.”
“What is it?”
“Dresses for New York. I got two for you to try on,” he says, disappearing into my office. He returns with a couple of garment bags and lays them over the arm of the couch. He unzips one and pulls out a long, flowy, creamy-white dress with a delicate crocheted top. “It will be warm in New York. I thought this would be perfect with the open back and your hair swept up.”
I stand up and hold it out in front of me. “It looks a little like a wedding dress, Bas.”
“Pfff…not your wedding dress. I’ve got much bigger plans for that.”
I shake my head. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“Nope. Now go.” He waves his hands. “Try it on.”
I carry the dress to my office and change into it, glad to find that it’s fairly easy to get on by myself. I slide my arms through the thin spaghetti straps and adjust the crocheted top. I pull my long hair up into a loose bun and walk back out to show Sebastian.
“Oh, my God, it’s even better on.”
I turn around and show him the back.
“I love it,” he gushes. “You look like an angel.”
I drop my head to the side and give him an incredulous look. “A pregnant angel? When did I get kicked out of heaven?”
“Stop it, you look beautiful.” He reaches for my bun and messes with my loose locks of hair. “Maybe we can add some delicate little flowers or something…give you a Mother Earth vibe.” He looks at me and says, “Kind of fits your current situation, don’t you think?”
“What’s in the other bag?” I ask, not feeling the vibe.
He drops his hands and reaches for the other garment bag. He unzips it and pulls out another creamy-white dress, but this one is simple and elegant. He holds it up and I know without even trying it on that it’s the one I want to wear to the Aurelia Snow exhibit next month.
“This one is chiffon,” he says, handing it to me. “I thought the airy material would be good for warm weather.”
“I love it,” I say, taking it from him. I hurry to my office to try it on, and it literally slides over my body like a slip. The top dips into a soft V just above my newly developed cleavage. And the light, airy material flows over my round stomach and falls gracefully to my feet with room to grow. I turn around and look at the back. The straps are an inch or so wide on my shoulders like a tank top, and it dips down into a U just above the small of my back.
I gather the material in my hands and hurry out to show Bas. “What do you think?” I ask, smiling.
“Turn around,” he says, and I follow his instruction.
After a few silent seconds I turn back around. “Hello?”
Bas pulls his fist away from his mouth and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think…you really are an angel.”
“Bas.”
“It’s like it was made for you. You have to wear this one.”
“Do you think it will still fit in six weeks?”
He tugs on the loose material that’s covering my stomach. “Yes, you have plenty of room.”
I pull my shoulders up excitedly and smile. “I love it. It’s beautiful but, more importantly, comfortable. You did good.”
He presses his lips together and nods. “Guess what the color is,” he says, and then he presses his lips together again.
“Um…” I look down at it again. “Cream?”
He shakes his head, keeping his lips tightly sealed.
“I don’t know.” I laugh. “Ivory? Off-white? Vanilla?” I shrug. “I have no idea, Bas. Just tell me.”
“Wedding cake!” he finally says, putting his hands over his mouth.
I can’t help but smile at his excitement. “Tell you what, freak. You can pretend that this is my wedding dress, because it’s the closest you’re going to get to the real thing anytime soon.”
“I’ll wear you down eventually. And if I can’t, I’ll get Sam to.” He raises his eyebrows and gathers the garment bags off the arm of the couch.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He pauses and looks up at me. “Wouldn’t I?”
“Not if you’re not speaking to him,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Slow down, killer. Who said anything about not speaking to Sam? I support you and I want him to get over his funk, because it affects you, which ultimately affects me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a fan. I’m always a Sam Cole fan.” He narrows his eyes and whispers, “Always.”
I purse my lips over a smile. “Figures.”
* * *
“Something smells good,” Sam says, walking into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and chugs it down.
I smile tentatively at him over the ruminating ache in my heart left over from our fight and say, “Jambalaya.”
He walks up behind me and reaches around my stomach, pressing his hand to my bump. “I’m sorry about last night,” he says, kissing my neck.
“It’s okay.” I pull my shoulder up to my jaw. “You’re sweaty.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He leans against the counter and watches me sauté the diced onions and green bell peppers.
“Did you have a good workout?” I ask, glancing up at him.
“It was okay. The new guy just isn’t Tristan. He’s got my circuits all switched up and it’s really throwing me off. I just want to get back to my old routine.”
“Looks like you worked hard,” I say, eyeing his sweat-soaked T-shirt.
“He’s kicking my ass, just not the way I like.”
“Well, maybe it’s a good thing. A new challenge. Can you hand me that bowl?” I ask, pointing to the little bowl of garlic I chopped up.
He hands it to me and I add the garlic to the pot. As soon as it hits the heat, the aromatic scent fills the kitchen.
“What all goes in jambalaya?”
“Chicken, smoked sausage, onion, celery, peppers, garlic, tomatoes, spices…”
“It’s making my mouth water. I’m starving.”
“Good.” I smile softly at him. “But it’s not going to be ready for another half hour or so, so you’ll have to wait. You have time for a shower,” I point out.
“I think I’ve proven that I’m pretty good at waiting,” he says, showing me his dimples, and it makes me grin.
“Yes,” I say, pushing the onion and peppers around the pan, “you have.”
“Luc, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
I look up at him tentatively. “Okay,” I say, but it sounds like a question.
“I want to buy a house. For us.”
A hopeful smile spreads across my face. “You do?”
“Yeah. I think it would really help things.”
Help things. As in, fill the void Joe left, not move past it.
I nod and work to keep the smile on my face. “Yeah.” I tend to my pot, trying to keep my emotions corralled.
“Would you like that?”
I press my lips together and glance up at him. “Mm-hmm,” I squeak, trying to appreciate the gesture, even if it’s for the wrong reason.