Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,93
placing them alongside the dishes on the table. I hesitate at the cabinet that holds the glasses. “Do you want wine tonight?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m on the wagon, remember?”
“You don’t have to stop drinking just because of me.”
He slides the sauté pan off the fire and puts it over on an unlit burner. He turns and looks at me as he leans against the counter. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”
I shrug and pull out two water glasses, filling them at the sink before bringing them to the table. I can feel him staring at my back. I take a seat and look at him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I was just taking a little look. I can see your belly now, you know.”
I look down and rub my tummy. There’s a decent-sized bump there now, I have to admit. I thought I would hate it, but I don’t. “I’ve really started noticing it. My jeans are getting tight.”
“We’re going to be able to find out the sex of the babies in a couple weeks. Do you want to do that?”
I shrug. “Sometimes I think I do, and other times I think not. What about you?”
I try to read his expression as he speaks because I know a lot of times he says what he thinks I want him to say and not what he really feels. I want to be sure I’m hearing the actual truth from him when he answers this question. I’ve slowly come to terms with the fact that even though this is my body and I’m growing these babies, they’re just as much his as they are mine, and he needs to make decisions with me. It’s a fifty-fifty deal.
“At first I was thinking I would like for it to be a surprise, but then I was thinking it would be kind of nice to know so we could buy a couple things,” he says.
“That’s what I was thinking, too. But we could always just buy neutral things to get us started and then get more stuff later.”
Lucky turns around and goes about putting a pot of water on to boil. “Did you read the book that talks about scheduling? I’m worried that we aren’t going to have any free time to shop after the babies are born.”
“I did read that. But I also read that other book that was saying how we shouldn’t let our lives change too much. We should still go out and do stuff and just bring the babies with us. Or get a babysitter sometimes.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I worry that I’ve overstepped, that he’ll look at me funny and ask me why I think he’ll be here doing stuff with me after the babies are born. I say “we” too much for someone who hasn’t defined whether there actually is a “we” going on here.
“Yeah.” He nods, giving me no indication that what I said was too presumptuous. “I read that too. It seems like there’s so much information out there, it’s almost getting hard to sort through.”
I nod because I know exactly what he’s talking about. At this point I feel like I’m suffering information overload. “The only thing I’m looking at now is that book that has the weekly update on what’s happening with the babies and their development.”
“That’s probably a good idea. You can read me this week’s information tonight after dinner.”
Normally after we eat in the evening, he goes up to his room or he leaves the house entirely to go back to work or hang out with Thibault, keeping his promise to stay out of my hair and not put pressure on our situation. It’s starting to wear on me, though. I find myself growing more attached to him as the weeks go by.
Last night as I lay in bed alone staring at the ceiling, I decided that I want more of his attention than he’s giving me now, but there’s no way for me to express that desire without sounding weak, and I hate losing my strength even for a second. This pregnancy already makes me feel somewhat outside of myself. I’m tired a lot, and my memory pretty much sucks these days. I’ve started putting Post-It notes all over the place to remind me of appointments and other things I’m supposed to remember.
Needless to say, the idea of us being together after dinner makes me really happy. “Maybe we could play