Page 45 of Henhouse
Slowly, too slowly to suggest anything but fear, Brayden laid his arm around Hope’s middle, his hand landing softly on the stretched cotton of the Keene State T-shirt she wore. She had wanted to be stylish in her pregnancy but alas, tees and leggings were much simpler.
Brayden’s fingers curled over her belly, stroking it with a reverence that had her wanting to spin in his arms and steal a kiss beneath the maple trees. She let herself rest on him, let herself believe that it would all be okay. Hope tried desperately not to acknowledge the voice in her head that told her that every afternoon could have felt like this if she hadn’t been so goddamn scared. Instead, she let the buzz of bugs in the tall grass and the errant chirps of songbirds remind her to be here now.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Brayden observed.
“I’m sorry, it’s the only one I have that fits besides my Velaris one.”
“Don’t be sorry. I, uh . . . it’s good.” He cleared his throat, and Hope tried not to latch on to the need she felt behind his words.
“Brayden . . .” He tensed as a swift kick met his hand. Hope flinched a little herself. It was a big one. “Bug, settle down please.” She smoothed her hand over her stomach in comforting circles. The kicking subsided, but Brayden had already jerked his hand away and shot to his feet. Hope would have fallen over backward if he didn’t have the presence of mind to place a hand between her shoulder blades to steady her before he started shaking in what Hope feared was a fit of rage.
Hope spun around to face him. She hated herself even more for the warring emotions painted on his face. “Bug?”
“It’s what I’ve been calling the baby . . .”
“I gathered that,” Brayden said through clenched teeth, but he sounded more sad than angry.
Hope got to her feet and met Brayden where he stood. She placed her hands on his chest and took a deep breath with him. “I’m so, so sorry.” She took his hand and guided it back to her belly where Bug did somersaults or maybe a full vault performance; it was difficult to discern, but it was definitely some kind of amniotic gymnastics. Hope melted at the smile that it brought to Brayden’s face.
“Does that feel weird?”
“Very, but I think in a good way.”
Brayden swallowed hard, nodding his agreement. He kept his hand still, gaze fixed on the baby he wouldn’t truly see for a few more months. “Bug,” he said. “It’s weird but I like it.”
Hope laughed. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Hope reached for the nape of his neck and pulled him close. She softly brushed her lips against his. He broke free from the restraint he’d been showing and cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her like he needed it, needed her. Like he could live off her kisses alone.
For a few too-short moments it felt like everything was fixed.
Brayden broke from the kiss first. He ran tense fingers through his hair, while Hope waited for the shoe to drop. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, not when—”
“Not when you didn’t come here to get back together.”
Brayden looked at his feet, not wanting to confirm her suspicions like it somehow made it hurt less.
“We could just choose to be happy instead,” Hope offered, and the idea seemed so simple that it might be the right one. “Start from hereand choose each other. Choose our family.” Hope’s voice cracked, and she hated how much it made her sound like she was begging.
“I need you to tell me why you stayed away after Effie told you about Chloe. I need to understand.”
Fair. Hope owed him that much. She had planned to give him every sordid detail of the fears that drove her to madness when she first suggested they meet here.
She could do it.
She could ignore the fault line forming in her heart and tell him what he needed to know. She could do that for him, especially if she had any hope of ever winning him back.
25
Louisa, if you tell me one more time he’s had croissants in Paris, so these need to be perfect, I’m going to kick you out of my kitchen. Respectfully,” Effie scolded as she laminated butter into her pastry dough to get the perfect level of flakiness.
Louisa had the good sense to retreat to the breakfast table where a rack of finished plain croissants let off steam. The ones Effie worked on now would be chocolate.
“I’m sorry,” Louisa huffed from her seat at the table. “I just want things to go well.”
“I know.” Not that a pastry would suddenly make their vagabonding sire put down roots and prioritize his family, but Effie supposed it couldn’t hurt.
Louisa brought her forehead to the table and rapped it lightly against the worn wood. “This is the first time he’s meeting Hazel,” she mumbled.
Ellen took it upon herself to field that one as she entered thekitchen, laptop in hand. She sat beside Louisa and patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, she won’t remember being disappointed.”
