Page 83 of Accidentally Falling
Instead of dealing with that, she poured her energy into setting up the nurseryjust rightafter Deacon and I painted and repainted the walls.
It was a long weekend.
“No,” she snaps and I wait, her shoulders slumping as she absentmindedly rubs her belly. “Did I make the wrong choice? Am I going to regret that she’s missed everything?”
“Do you want a solution or support?”
“Both.” I watch as Arden leans against the edge of the counter, the weight of so much more than the little one growing inside her weighing her down.
“Well, I think you’re right to want to set boundaries with your mother. And it’s understandable that you’re hurting without her here, because she’s always been the one to save the day.” Pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, I smile when I pull back. “But that’s my job.”
She laughs, the sound surprised and watery but also relieved.
“So what do I”—she narrows her eyes when I glare—“uh,wedo?”
“Let me think about it. I’ll figure something out.”
“You’re being awfully logical about this,” she hums, pressing her palms against my chest before popping up on her toes and kissing the corner of my mouth.
I love when she’s like this.
Playful and relaxed, moderately at least.
“One of us needs to be the adult today,” I tell her with a small shrug, placing my hands on her belly and grinning when our little girl moves.
“I should probably be offended by that but I’m not.”
“Well, good. Let’s get you over to the couch and I’ll rub your feet while you figure out what dessert you want tonight.”
“It’s truly obscene how sexy you are when you say things like that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
It took allof thirty minutes for Arden to fall asleep on the couch, her hands tucked under her chin after she rolled onto her side.
She’s beautiful and I let my eyes roam over her in the way I don’t always get to do when she’s awake. The woman who came into my bar and sat down with a laptop and only requested fry refills was cool, calm, and collected.
The woman who demanded entry into my bar after hours looking for whiskey was full of fire—unhinged in a way that humbled me to my very core.
But this version of her is my favorite.
She’s all of those things—hot and cold and absolutely out of her mind while still being sweet and caring and so damn thoughtful it hurts.
I just hate that she’s so hard on herself, as if she could have predicted her past would be so intertwined with her future.
“You’re staring,” she whispers, her voice scratchy with sleep as Dez looks up at her from the floor, his tail thumping quietly on the rug.
“I like seein’ you relaxed. Sometimes that only happens when you’re sleeping.”
“I just feel so out of control, like I’m not doing the right thing or I should be doing something else.”
“The only thing you need to worry about is growing our little girl.”
She rolls her eyes as she sits up and stretches, her shirt pulled tight against her belly. “Ugh, you know it’s not. I mean, seriously, how am I going to be a mom if I can’t get my own shit together?”
“You’re going to be a great mom. And you’re gonna let me help you with the hard things,”—pausing, I wait until I know she’s paying attention—“and the easy ones.”
“We still haven’t picked a name.”
