“Where’d you go?” I can see the concern on his face, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it.
“Nowhere,” I lie.
“I don’t believe you.”
“And I don’t know what I can say to change your mind, so maybe we should just change the subject.”
Shaking his head, he rounds the table then drops to his knees in front of me. His calloused fingers tickle against my skin as he cups my face with his strong hands.
“Marcy.”
“What, Ben?” I breathe, trying to sound indifferent even though I know he can see right through my defenses.
His sigh is heavy. “I don’t expect you to trust me again easily. And I sure as hell didn’t come over here for sex, so I don’t want you to think that I’m telling you this because I’m hoping to get into your pants. Even though I would definitely love it if you’d let me touch you again.” If I weren’t close to breaking right now, I’d find his rambling endearing.
“But I need you to know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I found you sitting in my exam room. You,” he emphasizes while brushing his thumb against my cheek. “Not Kate. You. You’ve been able to drown out my pain––and my haunting memories––better than anything or anyone else since Kate died. When I called you her name, it wasn’t because I was thinking of her. It was because I wasn’t, and some shitty subconscious defense mechanism stepped in to remind me of the pain I’d been drowning in. To remind me of the loss of my wife. Because when I’m around you, all of that shit starts to fade away. And that scares me. I am begging you to please stop comparing yourself to her. Because you’re not her. And that’s okay. I want you for you, Marcy Holden. For your quirks, and your giving nature, and your talents. And even your shitty cooking. Just…you. In all of your genuine glory.”
With a gentleness I don’t expect, he brushes his mouth against mine before pressing a second kiss to my forehead. “And I hope that someday, I can prove it to you.”
His touch disappears from my cheeks as he reaches for my plate and steals another bite of pancake like he didn’t just knock me on my ass. Like a scorned woman, he drops the fork back on my plate and pouts. “Well, now, they’re cold. Get some shoes on. We need some fresh pancakes, and this time, I’m getting my own short stack.”
And because I’m a sucker for the man in front of me, I slip on some moccasins then grab my keys.
“Fine, but you're buying.”
20
Marcy
His sigh of contentment, combined with the lazy smile on his face, might just be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen as Ben leans back in his chair and pats his six-pack as if it’s a giant beer belly.
“That’s the stuff.”
“Told ya,” I tease.
“That you did, Marce. Definitely worth the second helping. Those were amazing.”
“Agreed, but you might have to roll me home after all those carbs.” I mirror his movements and rub my stomach for good measure. Only mine is much rounder. And much more pregnant.
Ben’s mouth stretches into a playful grin. “Or I could just carry you in my arms like a gentleman.”
“Or toss me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” I quip.
“I have a better idea. You can toss me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“We wouldn’t make it past the exit,” I laugh. The imagery is priceless.
“Alas, I guess we’ll have to go for a walk or something so I can work off this food coma.” He pushes himself up and offers his hand to me while bowing at the waist like a nineteenth-century Duke. “M’lady.”
The heat of his hand swallows mine whole as I take it and stand up from the booth. “Why thank you, kind sir.”
“I like it when you call me sir.” He bounces his eyebrows up and down.
“I’m sure you do, horn dog. Don’t we need to pay before we leave?”
“Already took care of it while you were in the bathroom.”
“Ben, you paid for the first set of pancakes that are currently sitting on my kitchen table. You were supposed to let me pay this time,” I argue, though I already know it’s a losing battle.
“No deal. Come on. Let’s go.”
Without another word, we bob and weave through the packed diner before moseying down the sidewalk like a legit couple. Just me and him. I pray he can’t hear my galloping heart as I glance down at our entwined fingers. It’s funny. For most people, holding hands doesn’t seem like a very significant gesture. But for me? The girl who’s always been the one-night stand, or the let’s keep things casual type of date…it’s huge.
“You okay?” Ben’s thumb gently brushes across the back of my hand, pulling me back to the present.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds a little rusty from lack of use even though we’ve been talking all afternoon. I falter and let out an oomph before pressing my other hand to the top of my round belly.
“Ouch, Little Miss,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong?” His concern is palpable as he leads me to the side of the path to keep us out of the way of other pedestrians and inspects me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
I wave him off while loving how easily he slipped into doctor mode. “I’m fine, Dr. Bennett. Promise. Little Miss over here is gonna be a soccer player, though. Pretty sure her foot is stuck in my ribs.”
“Do you want to sit for a minute?” That same concern is shining out of his dark gaze and makes me melt a little more.
“I’m okay––ouch. Girly!” I scold before chuckling under my breath. “Give me a break, will ya?”
“One of the joys of being pregnant. Or so I’m told,” Ben adds with a smile.
“Right? Do you want to feel?”
He pulls back a few inches and assesses me carefully. You’d think I just offered to let him touch my hoo-ha in public with the look on his face.
“Or…not?” I backpedal.
“You sure that’s okay?”
“To feel the baby? Yeah, of course.” I grab his hand and nudge it beneath my boob and the top of my stomach, where Little Miss is kicking her heart out.
I don’t have to wait long before his face lights up, and he stares back at me with the sweetest expression I’ve ever seen. “Holy shit.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Why do you look so surprised right now? You work with pregnant women all day long.”
“Yeah, but I never get to feel the babies kick,” he divulges. “Because that would be weird.”
Chuckling at the prospect, I concede, “Good point.”
“Exactly. The last time I felt a woman’s stomach was when Krista was pregnant three years ago, and Kate pulled me over to the couch to feel my nephew hiccuping.”
“They can hiccup?”
“Yeah. You’ve probably felt it before. It’s kind of like a kick, but a lot softer. More rhythmic. And it feels like it’s happening in your whole stomach, not just one spot. Does that make sense?”
Nodding, I filter through the last few weeks inside my head. “Yeah. I think it does. That’s awesome.”