Page 4 of Henhouse
“Do you . . . Do you love him?”
Hope giggled. She actually giggled, and Effie knew before she said, “I do. So much. I feel, well . . . I am a bestselling author and have met thousands of my readers and bared my soul in my books and never have I felt as seen as when he looks at me. I don’t know if he loves me as completely as I love him,” Hope confessed.
It was impossible not to love Hope. Behind the witchy weirdness, she was sweet, compassionate, and so attentive. It made her an excellent observer of the human condition, even if she was rarely as aware of herself as she was of her fictional characters.
“I suppose you won’t know if you don’t give him a chance,” Effie said.
“And you won’t if you don’t giveanyonea chance,” Hope deflected, though she happened to be right. But they weren’t talking about Effie.
Effie hoped this man, the one that she had heard about in hushed tones late at night, whose name tasted like butter and made Hope’s eyes glow as if he himself had hung the moon, was worthy of her dear cousin. Because if he wasn’t, Effie would be sure that Brayden What’s-His-Name regretted ever meeting her for the rest of his life.
Effie emerged from her vengeful musings when Hope handed her a photograph. No, not a photograph, a sonogram. It instantly became real. “You’re going to be someone’s mom,” Effie said, marveling.
“I know,” Hope replied, the apprehension heavy in her voice.
“I’m so happy for you.” Effie wrapped Hope in a hug. She’d never tell her that happy didn’t taste quite the same. The word was usually smothered in floral-noted honey. In that moment, happy honey mixed with the metallic tang of loss.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
2
Hope sank into her bed and rubbed her face with her hands. Her mind was spinning, and she didn’t want to let it land anywhere but on the word count deadline that loomed before her. Somehow, sharing the news of her pregnancy had unleashed a level of distraction Hope hadn’t even known was possible. On top of that, she missed Brayden. He’d been traveling and training for weeks. The phone was little substitute for his tender kisses or the feeling of his strong chest against hers.
A gentle tapping at the window had her perking up. She was a bit disheveled as she hadn’t yet showered. Thankfully, she still wore an oversized T-shirt proclaiming her love for the fictional city of Velaris tucked into her flannel pajama bottoms. Anything else and her secret might hint at itself to the man crouched on the porch roof outside her window like he was little more than a lusty fifteen-year-old and not a full-grown man of almost twenty-eight.
Hope smiled in spite of herself and went to the window. She threwup the sash and settled onto the window seat. The wall became a backrest, and she clutched a pillow to her stomach. Brayden slipped in beside her, planting one of those tender kisses on her full lips while he took her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Hello, beautiful,” he crooned as he slid back against the opposite wall, the bench barely big enough for both of them. He pulled Hope’s feet onto his lap and started massaging them, to her delight.
“Hi,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I you,” he asserted. “You know, it might be nice to use the front door every once in a while. Your family may hate men, but I don’t think they’ve warded the entrances against me. Obviously,” he said with a smirk, eyes cast at the open window.
It pleased Hope immensely when he referenced her books—the wards, the magic. “No, but they’d be waiting to grill you.”
“I can take it.” He spread his arms wide welcoming the challenge. Hope took the opportunity to scoot between his legs. Leaning back against him, head on his chest, she felt safer than she had a right to, lousy wretch that she was for withholding information. She kept the pillow hugged in front of her. Brayden leaned in, his breath tickling her ear from behind. The kiss he planted on the hollow of her neck sent shivers up her spine. He breathed in deeply. “Good God, you smell amazing.”
“I haven’t showered since yesterday,” she deflected.
“Doesn’t change the fact that you do.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her hands, the pillow, and unbeknownst to him, their baby, close. Hope tensed at the slight pressure around her abdomen. She squirmed free, retreating to the other side of the bench, her knees now hugged to her chest. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his darkbrows immediately creased.
Hope hated that look on his face, the one that was all concern. Especially since she’d found out she carried his baby. She felt ill at ease receiving any worry from him. She didn’t deserve it. Not with this secret between them. She started playing with the gold tassel that hung from the corner of the brocade lilac pillow she held.
Her eyes reluctantly met Brayden’s. His brow had relaxed, but he held her gaze with steely intent. His dark brown eyes were depthless. His features were warm and calm like the Mediterranean beaches he imagined the sperm donor that gave him his thick black hair hailed from. Hope stared back a long moment before blinking away the sting in her crystal-blue eyes. “I win,” Brayden gloated. “You blinked.”
Hope’s smile was weak, which had him leaning forward to brush a curl away from her face. He held his hand to her cheek. “What is it, Hope?”
Looking at him then, she knew he was everything she ever wanted to make her life complete. His was the face she wanted to wake up to every morning. He was the one she wanted to experience the world and parenthood and partnership with. The only person worthy of the heartache that would come from leaving their crazy home of Thatcher women. It was easy to fall for him. Easy to play and romance with him over weekly date nights, hours-long phone calls, and clandestine couplings in this very room. It was the most joy she’d ever felt, but they’d never taken things too seriously.
A baby was serious.
Hope should have laid her secret bare. She should have bet on Brayden to be right for the job. Her heart sang its undying support of him, but thecursealways shadowed her. Her mother had been happy.Louisa and Ellen too. Why did Hope think she could evade their fates?
So, instead of telling him what he really needed to know, Hope said, “I love you.” And it was still a truth that needed to breathe.
That other secret had given her the gumption to utter those three words as if they were child’s play compared to the baby in her belly. It felt right to say them; shecould share the rest. But before she could, Brayden said, “I love you too.” Pure joy carried in his deep voice. He kissed her with the passion of the thousands ofI love you’sthey’d left unsaid these last months. Hope couldn’t find a thought or a word if she tried, lost to the lifeline of Brayden’s lips. Her fingers curled in the hair at the nape of his neck, and she surrendered to the moment, soaking up the taste of him.
His hands roamed across her shoulders and down to the small of her back as he swept his tongue against hers. Hope arched into his touch, her stomach brushing too close to his, and, against her will, she remembered exactly what she had to share.
Brayden pulled away with a sharp inhale, resting his forehead against hers. “I really only had time to drop in,” he lamented. “But I’m glad I did,” he murmured against her parted lips. He kissed her again. “I love you.”
