Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I AWOKE WITH a start, my muscles tensing. Something had woken me up.
There. A faint knocking. What in the world?
A quick glance at my phone told me it was too early for Colt to have finished his morning workout, and no part of his exercise regimen had made this sound before.
Not that I’d put waking me up early past him, but the man wouldn’t break from routine even if death was on the line.
Ever since the first morning here when I’d whacked him with the pillow, he’d made sure to grab his workout clothes the night before, which he’d done last night while I’d been pretending to sleep.
Considering he didn’t come up to shower before work until seven-fifty, this interruption was about thirty minutes too early.
When another knock sounded, I didn’t bother hiding my groan.
Colt wouldn’t get the door, since he was still in the basement working out, likely with headphones and music.
Or a podcast about fine etiquette, since he’d seem the type to get pumped up listening to that sort of thing.
That left me and me alone to open the door for whatever persistent jerk was knocking on our door inhumanely early on a Monday morning.
I scrambled out of bed, tying my robe around my pajamas.
More to hide the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra than because I was cold or ashamed of my pajamas.
They were freaking cute, actually. Soft cotton pants with printed llamas wearing party hats and sleeping masks.
And, yeah, the shirt said “Siesta Fiesta” with a large llama wearing a sombrero and clutching a pillow.
So what? Shamelessly wearing puns on one’s clothing was the mark of a true adult.
I was halfway down the hall before I remembered my belly. Believe me, not a thought I ever anticipated myself having if you’d have asked me two weeks ago, but here we were. I stumbled in my haste to retrieve the offending item as more knocking pounded on the door.
Seriously, what was this person’s deal? Just because we were home didn’t mean we wanted to open the door at seven-freaking-twenty in the morning.
“I’m coming!” I called, just in time to trip on the threshold to the bedroom.
I hit my knees on the ground with a painful thud, which only worsened my mood as I shot back up and frantically strapped the belly on under my precious llama shirt.
The shirt which barely stretched over the stomach, but that’s what the robe was for, right?
I tugged it tighter, practically jogging to the door. At least whoever it was had stopped knocking. Finally— finally— I pulled the door open, a touch breathless from my mad scramble. My growl died in my throat as I caught sight of the elderly faces smiling back at me.
“Ooh, I heard our new neighbor was expecting! Good morning, dear. I’m Colleen” —the woman thrust a pound cake at me and inclined her head at the elderly gentleman beside her— “and this is my husband, Joseph.”
“Uh” —I slowly took the pound cake, my residual grogginess rendering me oh-so-eloquent— “hi.”
Apparently that was enough for Colleen. Her face lit up like the Fourth of July. “My, Liam said you were pretty, but he didn’t do you nearly enough justice.”
My brain moved in slow motion. Liam the lumberjack guy? Had he gone door-to-door announcing our arrival to the neighborhood or something?
She nudged her husband. “I’ve never seen eyes so green, have you, Joseph?”
Joseph, the more reserved of the two, had the good grace to blush—and avoid answering his wife’s question.
“So sorry for the early intrusion. We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood and figured you’d be leaving for work soon.
” He took in my bedraggled appearance with a cringe.
“Though it appears we caught you on your day off. Our apologies.”
I looked down at the pajamas and robe, maneuvering the pound cake to the side.
Yeah, not my best look. And I didn’t even want to think about what my hair looked like.
On a good day, it was like Hagrid with the faintest aftertaste of Maybelline.
Right after waking up? Probably offensive enough to get canceled on Twitter-X.
Was it just me, or was the belly bigger today? It definitely looked different. Rounder and higher…
Oh.
Oh no.
I quickly returned the pound cake to block some of my midsection, discreetly pulling the robe around to cover the belly better. In my scramble to open the door, I’d somehow managed to put the belly on upside down.
Yup. I wish I was kidding. But no. This was painfully, horribly real.
“Oh, no need to be bashful, dear,” Colleen assured. “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”
Something told me she wasn’t talking about the llamas. I pulled the robe to cover my chest better, too. I needed a bigger robe. Or maybe a wearable tent. That sounded good.
Joseph cleared his throat. “We’re Liam’s parents. He mentioned something about having you and your husband over for dinner. But no rush.” A wide smile cracked across his wrinkled face. “That’s what the pound cake is for—to tide you over until we can feed you properly.”
“It’s a raspberry lemon loaf.” Colleen beamed with pride. “Is your husband home?”
“Uh.” Wow, I was really killing it in the conversation department today. “He’s in the basement. But I can get him if you’d like to meet him?”
If I had to socialize at unholy hours of the morning, so did Colt, dang it. And, this would give me a chance to turn my belly around. Win-win.
“Oh, no, that’s fi—” Joseph began.
“Yes, please!” Colleen cut him off. “Liam didn’t tell us much about him, so I’d like to see what man landed you.”
Ha! If only she knew the half of it. Not that I looked like a catch for anyone besides a Bigfoot hunter right now, but it was kind of her to think otherwise.
“In that case, come on in.” I gestured to the couch in the living room. “Have a seat and I’ll go get him.”
I didn't even stop to put the pound cake in the kitchen. Nope, this thing was in it for the long haul right along with me. Consider it a shield of delicious, sugary goodness to help conceal my blunder.
Thankfully, Colleen didn’t try to follow. I didn’t know what to expect next from her but finding her trailing behind wouldn’t have surprised me much.
I burst into the workout room, only to stop short.
Colt paused in the middle of his pull-up, his long, muscled, shirtless torso tensed and sweaty.
I’m not proud to admit it, but I stared.
And maybe my mouth got a little dry. I will neither confirm nor deny.
But when your brain was still addled by sleep and a sculpted, freckled torso was on display in front of you, all shiny and hotter than anything associated with Colt had any business being, your common sense took a minute to catch up, okay?
Colt finished the pull-up before dropping to the ground on lithe feet. “Is there a reason you stormed in here with a cake, Lex?”
Right. The cake. The neighbors were waiting upstairs. Focus .
“Uh, yes.” I reluctantly tore my eyes away from him, my common sense only returning when I caught the smirk on his lips. Then annoyance quickly spurred my thoughts back into gear. “Liam’s parents are here. Like, up in the living room.”
Confusion wrinkled his brow as he pulled his abandoned t-shirt back on. “Why?”
Okay, I admit it. I had to hide a sigh of relief once he was covered and I could think clearer again. So sue me.
“They want to meet you.” I raised my brows, conveying the absurdity of the situation in the sarcastic twist of my mouth. “Now hold this.”
I thrust the cake at him, which he reluctantly accepted, and pulled my shirt up to fix the belly. He recoiled, shielding his eyes. “Whoa! A little warning, Lex.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I’m adjusting my stomach. I put it on upside down.”
He snorted. “Does that have anything to do with the loud thud I heard earlier?”
Great. So he’d heard that. And he didn’t come to check on me?
Psh, some husband.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’d like to see you do this when your beauty sleep is interrupted by neighbors knocking on the door.”
“Beauty sleep. Right.” His eyes slowly panned down the length of my body, lingering on my hair and my midsection as I finished adjusting the stomach and pulled my poor, abused llama shirt tighter over it.
Heat crawled up my neck like fire ants. Of all the times to see him perfect and glistening, apparently with the physique of a pro soccer player, it had to be today.
While I had bedhead that would give a tornado a run for its money, an upside down fake pregnant belly, and no bra.
At least my pajamas were bomb. I refused to feel embarrassed about those.
The fact that he made me feel self-conscious at all only increased my annoyance. I shouldn’t care what he thought. I didn’t care what he thought.
I tightened the robe around me once more and grabbed the cake back. I’d take whatever shields I could get at this point, even if they were of the sugary confection variety. “Yes, beauty sleep —a concept I’m sure you’re not familiar with.”
If he woke up at five-thirty every morning and still looked perfect, then he never needed beauty sleep.
Must be nice.
He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips once more.
Ugh. Between the two of us, would it kill him to be the frazzled one just once? I was used to being the unflappable one at work. But here I was, completely flapped. Stupid Colt with his stupid muscles and stupid composure.
I split off from him at the top of the stairs to finally part ways with the cake. Not for long, though. The lemon glaze on top called to my soul. It would be just what I needed after a morning like this. Sugar and carbs: the perfect therapy replacement.
And, sure, maybe I took the brief reprieve from Colt to tame my wild mane into a semi-respectable bun. Picking through the tangles would hurt like no one’s business later, but for now, my priority was containment.