19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Shira
I’d just pulled my first-ever lasagna from the oven when Roman let himself into my place.
“Heeyyy, Goldie,” he called, and my stomach swooped. Hearing him say that nickname reminded me too much of our night in room ten. He really had to stop calling me that, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him not to. Then again, I’d never been good at asking for what I wanted.
“In the kitchen,” I returned, grateful there was no tremble in my voice.
A moment later, he strode in, placing a bag of oranges on my island. “What’s cooking?”
“Lasagna.” I peered at my creation. The cheese was bubbly, but this pregnancy had caused my sense of taste and smell to be more than a little off, so I wasn’t sure if the aroma was mouth-watering or tear-inducing. “I’m teaching myself to cook. Well…trying. I’m not sure it’s going well. I didn’t have a chance to learn to cook from my mother, and Frank had a chef, so I never got around to learning.”
“Are you learning for our boy?” he asked.
I nodded. “It feels like a skill I should have before he’s here. I can’t feed him grilled cheese for every meal, and that’s the extent of my culinary skills at the moment.”
My nerves went haywire as Roman picked up one of the cranberry gingerbread muffins I’d made the day before. “Did you make this?”
“I did.”
I bit down on my bottom lip as he peeled the wrapper off and popped a piece into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his eyes flaring. I couldn’t quite decipher his expression, but my breath caught in my throat as I waited for his verdict.
Finally, he swallowed. “Wow, that was gingery.”
“Oh no,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. “Was it that bad?”
His mouth fell open, his eyes rounding, stricken with panic. He really didn’t like it when I cried. Neither did I, for that matter. What kind of mother would I be if I couldn’t even make a simple muffin?
“Absolutely not.” He stuffed another piece of muffin in his mouth, chewing and swallowing faster this time. “Delicious, Shira. It’s like a taste of Christmas.”
My cheeks flamed. I thought I might’ve messed up royally when I’d accidentally tripled the amount of ginger, but if he thought my muffins were delicious, I couldn’t have screwed up that badly.
“Thank you. You’ll have to try my lasagna. I hope you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”
“I came straight here from the office. Feed me.”
He cleared his throat a few times as he took a glass from my cupboard and filled it with water from the refrigerator. I almost got distracted by the way his throat bobbed with each deep pull but forced myself to turn away and plate lasagna and salad for us both.
I dug into my salad first, watching Roman as he took a bite of the lasagna. He was a careful chewer, but once he got started eating, he really shoveled it in. Curious if it was as good as he was making it seem, I tried a piece and immediately grimaced. I’d spilled a little—okay, a lot —extra from my jar of minced garlic, but I’d thought it would probably cook off. Plus, I loved garlic. There was no such thing as too much. Except maybe there was. And the pepper I’d added to even it out hadn’t exactly done the job.
Roman seemed to be enjoying it immensely, though. It had to be my screwy taste buds lying to me. I wished I could enjoy it as much as he obviously was. He’d barely taken a breath in between bites, scarfing it down like he was starving.
I ate my salad with the same gusto and broke off pieces of the fluffy French bread I’d bought on the way home. Apparently, my palate wanted bland and simple. I’d make the lasagna again after I had the baby so I could enjoy it.
Roman was almost finished with his meal, but I couldn’t imagine he was full. A man his size surely always had seconds. Probably thirds. He might not ask for more, thinking he should leave it for me, but I couldn’t possibly eat another bite. If I did, it wouldn’t stay down.
“Turns out I’m not in the mood for pasta tonight.” I picked up my plate and held it out to him. “Here, you seem like you’re starving. Eat mine.”
Roman looked up from his plate, which he’d just scraped clean. The protest registered in his eyes and open mouth, but he clamped it shut and accepted, transferring my lasagna to his plate.
Once he’d cleaned his plate a second time, and I’d eaten half a loaf of bread along with my salad, he insisted on cleaning up. Since I knew he wouldn’t allow me to help, and I was tired, I settled on my new couch.
Roman had bought me a pale-gray sectional that felt like angels had filled it with clouds. It had arrived three weeks ago, and I’d fallen asleep on it more times than I cared to admit.
He strode into the living room a few minutes later, his jaw working as he chewed a piece of gum and settled on a cushion beside me.
“You were right,” I said.
“Oh, yeah? About what?”
“The couch. I love this one.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his face split into a wide grin. “I’m glad. I have a larger version at my place. It’s been tested by all my brothers and withstands us.”
“I’m sure the other one would have been fine, but…I like this one better. Thank you.”
His knee nudged mine. “What’d I tell you about thanking me? Not necessary.”
“And didn’t I tell you there was no way for you to stop me?”
His chuckle was like a marble on wood, rolling through the room and over my chest.
After a beat, he grew serious. “So, you have a new job?”
“I do. I’ve been working at Building Dignity for two weeks. It’s not going to be full time, which is perfect for right now. I love Kit, and BD is doing really incredible work. In fact, I was going to ask you for a favor.”
“Anything,” he replied.
“A lung?” I joked.
“Do you need a lung?” He was nothing but serious.
“No, I don’t.” I bit down on my bottom lip, formulating how to ask him for what I truly did need. It would have been easier to email him my request, but since he was here, watching me expectantly, this would have to happen now. “Building Dignity is hosting a silent auction next weekend—”
“Wells Investments bought a table. We’ll be there.”
“Oh, good. That’s really good.” I tucked a stray tendril behind my ear. “We’re still seeking a few more auction items, and I thought, since you are part owner of the Mountain Lions, perhaps you would be willing to donate a—”
“I’ll donate fully-catered box seating for ten people. How does that sound?”
I wrinkled my nose. “It sounds lovely. Thank you. Kit and I really appreciate your generosity.”
“Then why the face?”
I touched my nose. “Oh. I didn’t mean to make a face. Sometimes it just happens.”
“Okay, but why did you?”
This was difficult. With Bea and Clara, speaking my mind had become second nature. It was becoming like that with Kit as well. But I wasn’t there with Roman. I doubted I ever would be. His presence was too overpowering, and my cowering instinct, leftover from a childhood where becoming invisible had been the only thing to protect me, came out all too often around him.
“Shira?” he pressed as gently as he was capable.
My hand went to my stomach, and so did his eyes. Not having them on my face made it easier to tell the truth.
“You interrupted me twice,” I pushed out in little more than a whisper. “That’s why I made that expression.”
His eyes shot back to mine. I braced for anger but didn’t find it. “I did?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right, I did. I didn’t mean to barrel over you. I’m sorry about that, Goldie. Do you want to finish what you were going to ask me?”
“Well…no.”
“No?”
The corners of my mouth twitched. “I was going to ask you for regular seats. In this case, I’m sort of glad you barreled over me.”
“Ah. It worked out for the best, but I won’t make a habit of it. Thanks for pointing it out.” He nodded toward my stomach. “Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about the other reason I’m here. Can I see?”
“My stomach?”
His brow crinkled. “Is that too much to ask? You can tell me if it is. I won’t be mad. I’m just…curious. Fascinated.”
I rubbed my lips together nervously. This man had seen every inch of me, yet I was internally balking at showing him this—a small part of me that was home to his son.
With a deep breath, I opened my sweater. The tank I wore beneath molded over my curves like a second skin. My stomach was still pretty small but distinctly round and firm.
Roman grunted, his hand gravitating toward me. At the last second, before he made contact, his eyes lifted to mine. “Can I?”
Speechless, I nodded, and his huge hand engulfed my belly. His palm was almost bigger than my bump, and the warmth of it seeped through my shirt.
“I thought it would be soft,” he murmured. “I remember you being soft here.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Before now, we hadn’t done much talking about what we’d done in room ten.
“He’s the size of a mango.” Roman’s gaze trailed up my body to meet mine. “Have you felt him move yet?”
I shook my head. “Sometimes I think I might feel a flutter, but I’m not sure.”
“I bet you’ll feel him soon. Will you let me know?”
His hand hadn’t left my belly. He was moving it in small, slow circles, his fingers occasionally pressing into me. And I liked it. If he’d asked, I would have let him pull up my shirt so he could be skin to skin with me. But he didn’t, and I would never, ever offer.
“I’ll tell you,” I promised.
“Thank you.” He exhaled and settled back on his cushion, his hand still on me. “I’m not mentally prepared to drive across town yet. Mind if I hang out for a while?”
“I don’t mind.” It would be nice to have some company for a change. “Should we watch a movie?”
Roman’s head was back, his feet were kicked up on the ottoman in front of him, and his breathing had slowed, more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.
“Anything you want, Shira.” His fingers drummed on my stomach. “I’m good here.”
He stayed just like that through an entire movie. I got up once to use the bathroom, and when I returned, so did his hand to my belly. When he got up to leave, it was late, and Mary was meowing for me to come to bed. He stopped at my front door, locking eyes with me.
“Set the alarm after you lock up.”
“I always do,” I assured him.
With a deep sigh, he hooked an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. My cheek hit his chest, settling into the spot that alarmingly felt like mine. “Thanks for having me over. And for everything else. It was a good night.”
“Anytime.”
He let me go and grinned down at me. “I’ll hold you to that, Goldie. See you soon.”
The next week went by in a flash. Kit and I had been working like madwomen to get ready for the silent auction. I’d had my anatomy scan—Beanie was still big and his organs were developing just like they were supposed to—and I’d continued my foray into learning to cook. Roman had dinner with me several evenings, scarfing down my experiments just as enthusiastically as he had the lasagna. When I knew he was coming, I made sure to add extra garlic and pepper to the dishes. It didn’t taste good to me, but judging by his continued scraped-clean plates, he seemed to love it.
The first hitch in the week came when I got home from work Wednesday afternoon to discover a moving truck in front of Bev and Donnie’s house.
“We had no plans of moving, my dear, but we got an offer we simply couldn’t refuse,” Bev explained.
“I’ll miss you.” My heart plummeted, and my brain whirred. I wasn’t the best with change, and I’d just gotten used to having Bev and Donnie living next door. “I hope my new neighbor is as nice as you.”
She patted my shoulder. “There won’t ever be another Bev, but I’m sure you and Beatrice will be just fine without me.”
So much for her promises to babysit.
The following day, things went even more haywire. Bea and I had gone out to dinner with Clara, and when we returned, there was another moving truck in front of Bev and Donnie’s former home.
“Someone’s moving in,” Bea remarked as we stopped on the sidewalk to watch the movers going in and out of the house. “They better be as cool as my girl Bev, or they might wake up to their house TP’d.”
“You can’t toilet paper someone’s house just because they’re uncool.” I held up a finger. “Actually, you can’t do it because you’re not a teenager and it would be sad.”
Bea folded her arms and hmphed. “Fine. Eggs it is.”
Bea had to get ready for her waitressing job, so she left me sitting on the swing on my front porch. If the new neighbors saw me, hopefully they’d be convinced I was an innocent pregnant woman enjoying an evening swing and not the Nosy Nellie I was.
The movers left the house one final time, closed their truck, and drove off. A massive, silver SUV pulled up to the curb in their place, and two men got out. My breath caught in my throat when I spotted the wild, curly hair, followed by an even wilder smile. The second man wasn’t as big in stature or smile, but their resemblance was undeniable.
“Ben?”
His name escaped my mouth without thought. It couldn't have been loud, but his head swiveled in my direction, and when he found me, his entire being lit up.
“Shira!” he called. “Get over here.”
Confused, I rose from my swing and made my way down my porch steps. Ben had my gate open for me by the time I made it across my small front yard.
“Long time, no see.” He alighted on my bump and gasped. “Holy shit, look at you. I was half convinced Roman had made this baby thing up. Seeing is believing.” He looked over his shoulder. “Nate, get over here and meet Shira.”
The second man, who shared Roman and Ben’s dark curls and square jaws, was almost as tall as the twins but nowhere near as broad. He was more sleek than rugged, and if I had to guess, I would say the eldest of the Wells brothers.
He offered me his hand. “Shira. It’s nice to meet you after hearing so much about you.”
His hand engulfed mine in warmth, his shake neither weak nor overly powerful. Often, men barely gripped my fingers. I appreciated Nate giving me a real handshake.
Still, I was confused about why they were here.
“Did Roman send you to check on me?” I asked.
Ben rocked back on his heels. “No, he did not. Boy, do I have a surprise for you.”
“Ben…” Nate groaned.
“Will you come next door with us?” Ben asked.
I glanced at Bev and Donnie’s former home. “Are you my new neighbor?”
He waggled his brows. “Not me.” He put a big hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let me show you.”
The brothers surrounded me, and seeing the two together, I understood why Roman had been worried about my first couch. Add two more of these guys, it probably wouldn’t have survived.
I walked next door with them, a million thoughts whirling around my head. One kept trying to make its way to the forefront, but I refused to believe it.
Until Roman stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, amusement tipping his lips.
“Heeyyy, Goldie. Aren’t you gonna welcome me to the neighborhood?”