Page 137 of Pucked Up Plans
A devilish smile graces his lips. “Yeah, those won’t be coming next week. I’m hoping the ones I brought today make up for it.”
Elation lights me up. “Those are the ones I wanted. Something very similar in size, but after the holidays, I couldn’t justify the price for something bringing me such joy but eventually dies.” Once the words are out of my mouth, I realize how awful they sound. Unappreciative, almost, of the gift he brought today, but also the many arrangements he’s brought the last few months. Placing my hand over his, I exclaim, “That sounds horrible. Ilovethe flowers, Walsh. Please don’t think otherwise.”
“If I thought you didn’t appreciate them, I wouldn’t bring them. But I understand your logic. I may not be rolling in dough—now or ever—but there will always be money for the things you love, Tate. Always. And that goes for Lennon and Aubrey too.” He pauses a moment. “Within reason. Especially for my kid. She’s quite the expense with skating gear, lessons, ice time—” He ticks each item off on his fingers, and I chuckle.
I don’t allow my brain to travel to a future too far beyond a few months. No matter he implied otherwise, we don’t know what the future has in store for us. For the present, I’m living in the here and now, enjoying my time with this hunk of a man while I can call him mine.
“Thank you. Flowers have always had a way of making things better, turning a bad day around. Their beauty is never a waste, no matter how long they last before they shrivel up and die.”
“Most eloquently put,” he drawls.
“I try.” My smile’s wide, matching his.
I try to hold the rest in, but my mouth gets ahead of my brain. “I love you.”
If I had any reason to worry about how my words would affect Walsh, I shouldn’t have. Because he squashes every doubt, every insecurity swirling through me the past few weeks with three words and my name.
“I loveyou, Tate.” Total emphasis on you. “Damn, that feels good to get off my chest. Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to give you those words?”
I shake my head, unable to speak around the lump lodged there. I want him to repeat the words, to make sure I didn’t misunderstand him.
“A long fucking time.”
“How long?” I whisper. A part of me needs to know.
“The Sunday after Thanksgiving. When it didn’t faze you how Lennon practically dragged you to her bedroom because she ‘had to talk to you.’ And you went willingly. No qualms. Just went with her and listened to her talk about whatever she was going on about. And as much as there was something so special about the act itself, I was so freaking jealous she got to you first. That she could capture your attention when I wanted all your focus on me.” As he speaks, his hand reaches out to mine. “Ifigured the only real reason I was jealous of my daughter was because I had fallen for you.”
“Wow.” I have no other words. Emotions, yes, but no way to express them.
“And Aubrey too.” Not an ounce of sarcasm or fabrication accompanies his declaration.
Which scares the shit out of me, but I hold in my gasp. Because yeah, I could see this ending that way—Walsh, Lennon, Aubrey, and me. But we still have so many hurdles to overcome, things to learn about the other person, growing up to do. It’s been five months, and we’re twenty-two years old. That seems damned fast to be here.
Except for both of us, we were thrown into the fire as teens, parents to a newborn baby. We’ve made it this far independently. Imagine where we could go together.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but stopover-thinking it.”
“Don’t take it back,” I plead, afraid he’ll retract it because he thinks it’s upset me.
“I wouldn’t dare take it back.”
Another question has been on my mind for some time, and it seems as good a time as any to ask now. “Are we at the stage of telling them about us?” I don’t have to quantify who “them” are.
“No. At least I don’t think so. Do you?”
“I don’t know. This is all unfamiliar territory for me. And they’re at an age where they could kind of understand it. Maybe. Or maybe not. But I don’t want them to get any ideas in their heads about what it means or anything.”
“New territory for me too. Lennon knows something’s up, ’cause she overheard Meg mention something a few weeks ago.”
I nod, the idea not sitting comfortably with me, which solidifies we aren’t ready to tell them. Although maybe it’sbecause someone else told her and not us. That’s the part making me uncomfortable. And it doesn’t help it’s Walsh’s ex.
“So you told Megan then? About us?”
“I swear I didn’t. She assumed but hasn’t directly addressed it with me. I was going to talk to her about the fact Lennon overheard her, but with the holidays and then the…”
“Babygate,” I supply for him.
“Babygate?”
