Page 62 of When She Needs Them Most

Lunch consists of turkey and cranberry sandwiches with a side of mashed potatoes, but Chelsea doesn’t come down, even with the scent of the gravy heavy in the air.

Cutting off the burners, I rub my hands together.

Arden said not to bother her…but lunch doesn’t count, right?

I also would love to casually walk her through the living room, where I stored all the assembled baby stuff.

Do we still need to quietly court her when she and Linc bonded? Can’t we just loudly accept that she’s going to be ours?

Goddammit.

Times like these are when I wish I better understood human emotions.

Sometimes, I even struggle to determine which emotion I’m feeling.

It’s frustrating.

It isn’t possible to dissolve bonds, but they can be chemically eased. You’re still going to be tied to that person for the entirety of your or their life. I don’t see her going to one of those places to have that done.

Wiping my hands off on my jeans, I head up the back stairs to go searching for Chelsea. I’m sure Arden means well, but he’s not the end-all be-all for knowing how Chelsea will react. And, also, I just want to check on her.

Chelsea looks a little like an angry drowned rat when she makes her way out of the bathroom to find me sitting on the edge of the bed in the primary suite. Her bare shoulders slump as she tries—and fails—to pull her towel closed to cover her stomach.

“My back hurts. I thought the hot water would help, but it didn’t,” she mutters, stepping over and separating the clothes she left on the bed.

It’s not the dress she was in earlier, either.

Those are my sweats and Lincoln’s shirt. I’m not sure when she snagged those, but if she keeps it up, I’ll need to buy more clothing for her to continually steal.

Not that I mind.

I could do with some more clothes. I tend to buy repeats of my favorite things, so I have the same T-shirt or pair of sweats in every color they offer and backups somewhere in my closet.

It’s just one of those quirks of my personality. I always like to have an extra set ofeverything, just in case something happens to the first. Companies like to stop carrying my favorite products, and it has led me to more than one meltdown.

“I can rub your back for you after we have some lunch,” I offer, stretching out on the bed.

Chelsea’s gaze migrates to study my chest and torso as I lean back on my forearms.

I’ve got a growing addiction to the hungry look on her face.

See, things aren’t hopeless.

We’ve just got to be patient and play our cards right.

“I don’t even know if I should eat,” she says, dropping the towel and grabbing the T-shirt.

Holy fuck.

It looks like her skin is stretched to its literal capacity. I’m baffled how women carry multiples, but I guess it’s a miracle of the female body.

She sighs, shakes out the shirt, and pulls it on before moving to get herself into my sweats. She keeps them tucked under her stomach and glances at me.

I hate that she looks so uncomfortable, and my mind races through ways to help her feel better. “I have a surprise for you downstairs. How about we check that out, then I’ll rub your back while you try to have at least a little lunch?”

Her head tilts, and it feels like an eternity passes as I wait for her to nod her agreement.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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