Page 40 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Um. I think you might be confused, Bacon. I just said you’re going to be a father. Well, the word father is probably presumptuous, being that we barely know each other, and I just got finished groveling at your feet for lying to you, but?—”
“Are you lying about this?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then let’s get past all that and move forward. You’re serious? You’re pregnant?”
“Very much pregnant, yes.”
“And you know it’s?—”
“A hundred percent yours, yes.”
He positively beams at me. Of all the reactions I thought he might give me—anger, frustration, detachment, worry, resentment—I did not anticipate his sheer joy.
“You’re happy about this,” I marvel.
“Fucking ecstatic, yes. I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”
“Wow…” I pause while I process that. “Do you, uh—Would you like to see?” I nod toward my belly, still cloaked by my heavy winter coat. It strikes me that the last time I sat in this kitchen, I was completely naked, and now, here I am, all nervous and covered from head to toe.
“Please,” he says. “If you’re comfortable.”
“Sure. Of course.” I stand and slowly unbutton my coat while he watches my every move. It feels like a bizarre fully clothed strip tease. And it is ten times more vulnerable and nerve-wracking than if I was actually showing my bare skin.
Getting physically naked is easy. Emotional nudity is a whole other ball game.
I’m left standing in my plaid winter dress and thick tights, my small baby bump protruding just enough to be obvious if you’re on the lookout for it. I fan myself with my hand. “Whew, I was getting hot in that thing. You weren’t kidding about the steam heat in these apartments.”
Bacon gets to his feet, his face soft and his eyes trained on my midsection. “So why did you just sit there then, all swaddled and suffering?”
“Well, I felt like I should keep my belly under wraps until I officially gave you the news. Plus, I felt a little shy about my second first impression with you being one where you think ‘wow, she’s been packing on the pounds!’”
“I would never think that. Look at you,” he says on a reverent sigh. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any more gorgeous. But here we are. Here you are.”
This guy. He is something else.
He lowers to his knees right in front of me and reaches his hands out. “May I?”
“May you…? Oh, touch my—? Sure, go right ahead. Touch, touch.”
Is it wrong that the second his big, strong hands land on my belly, my arousal goes through the roof? I hadn’t realized until this moment that the feeling was steadily building since I first saw him turn the corner and walk up to me sitting outside his apartment. I’m starting to think as long as Bacon is around, my internal temperature will be set to hot.
“You’re very sweet, Bacon, but listen, I have no expectations here. You can be as involved or uninvolved as you want.”
“Involved,” he says emphatically. “I want to be involved.”
“Really?” I ask, voice breathy.
He rises to stand and cups my cheeks in both hands. “Unequivocally.”
“Well, okay then,” I whisper.
He leans in and kisses me.
And for the first time since I ran out of his apartment that summer morning, my shoulders relax, the tension in my forehead eases, and dare I say, I feel hopeful and happy.
“I have good news and bad news,” Bacon says softly when he releases my lips. “Which one do you want first?”
