17. Ellie
Chapter seventeen
Ellie
Hunter and I step onto his front porch. He unlocks and opens the door, but he doesn’t step inside. Instead, I’m swept up into his arms.
“Might as well do things right,” he says as a happy little buzz ripples through me.
Might as well, indeed. I could get used to this. I could also get used to kissing him. Our wedding kiss really did a number on my hormones, and left me wishing I could say, “We’re married; we should kiss for fun every once in a while.”
But I’m not one to make things weird, so I’ll keep those particular thoughts to myself.
“We might as well. It’s our wedding night after all,” I say, then think about what I said. Oops. So much for not making things weird. I meant to say wedding day. Good grief, Ellie.
Hunter’s steps falter as we cross the threshold. I want to hide from embarrassment, so I almost tell him to take me straight to my bedroom. Thankfully, my brain seems to be waking up and I refrain.
“Not a usual wedding night.” I laugh and it couldn’t sound more awkward if I tried.
“I mean, you know, maybe we can watch a movie or something, nothing else. I mean, we’re married, so it would be fine.
But um … yeah, this is … we’re friends, and friends don’t …
you know … probably no hanky-panky. I mean for sure no hanky-panky. ”
I’m sure I would have called us friends and said “hanky-panky” at least twelve more times, but I close my mouth when Hunter sets me on my feet and smirks at me.
It’s borderline rude for him to be cool, calm, and collected as always.
“A movie and no hanky-panky will be just fine.” He turns and locks the door and I take the opportunity to draw a calming breath and gather myself.
“Okay. Good. Now that’s settled, I think I’ll go change. It’s hot in here.”
Hunter smirks again. “It’s not hot in here.”
All the talk about hanky-panky and my husband standing there all gorgeous in his uniform ... I need to fan myself, but I will not give in to that need. I can’t lose all my dignity.
“Sweetpea is like a built-in heater.” There. Problem solved.
“Mmhmm.” He walks in the direction of the kitchen as I head toward my room. “Want popcorn?”
“Only if you want to stay married,” I call over my shoulder.
“I’ll make two bags.”
I’m tempted to shower, but I’m so ready to be off my feet. Plus, my hair and makeup still look so good. I pull out my pajamas, but when I go to unzip I realize I can’t reach the zipper. Every time I’ve taken it off, Cleo has been here.
Shoot.
After all this hanky-panky talk, I’m gonna have to ask him to unzip me? No way. I scramble to grab my phone.
Ellie
Can you come unzip me?
Cleo
Are you serious? Have your HOT husband do it.
Ellie
Stop. You know this isn’t real.
Cleo
He would find it super strange if I showed up to unzip you.
Ellie
You could come in the window.
Cleo
I love you, but you sound insane. Ask him to do it.
Well, that wasn’t helpful.
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands over my dress. It’s fine. We’re adults and he can unzip my dress on our wedding night without weirdness.
I step out into the hall. “Hunter? Could you come help me?”
“Sure,” his voice floats down the hall. “I’m listening for the popcorn to finish, then I’ll stop it and be right there.”
I step back into my room and sit on the edge of the bed. I’m admiring the details on the skirt of my dress when Hunter steps through my door.
He pauses, and I see him swallow. I could be wrong, but I think he likes how I look in my wedding dress. It really is stunning for how quickly I altered it.
“Can you help me with my zipper? I can’t reach it.”
He nods and I hear him exhale as he crosses toward me.
I turn and have to fight a shiver when I feel the backs of his knuckles on my neck as he holds the dress taut.
I hold my breath as he slides the zipper down, wanting his fingers to brush down my spine.
They don’t. Still, my entire body is on fire.
Hunter lingers for a moment at the bottom when he’s finished, and I shiver as I feel a soft exhale on my newly exposed skin. The movement causes my dress to fall from my right shoulder.
I expect Hunter to step away; instead, he presses his lips to the top of my shoulder. He lingers for a moment, then straightens, clearing his throat. “Happy wedding day, Ells.”
I feel him step back as I stand there stunned, trying to figure out what to say or what to do. I don’t hear him leave, only the clicking of the door closing behind him.
I spin and stare wide-eyed at the dark wood door.
I don’t know which of these feelings I can blame on this pregnancy, or which are just me, but consider me entirely confused. Hunter is Hunter. Like an older brother.
Only he isn’t my older brother at all. He’s an attractive and truly exceptional man.
And he’s my husband.
It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving, and our wedding, and Hunter and I are at my 37-week checkup.
He hasn’t been to any of the appointments, and I thought he might like to come.
When I asked him, his response was much more enthusiastic than I’d expected.
Then he talked about hearing her heartbeat almost the entire drive.
How clear is the sound? Does it beat at a different speed from an adult’s?
How amazing it is that I have two hearts in my body right now.
Is this Hunter as a dad? Because holy cow, he’s invested. I love it.
“Everything looks great.” Dr. Greene smiles as she sets aside her tablet. “Let’s take a listen to her heart.”
She presses the wand to my belly and the most wonderful sound fills the room. I look over at Hunter and he’s staring at my bump with wonder. He turns and meets my gaze, and his smile reminds me of his smile from when we were kids. Pure joy and excitement.
I’ve always known Hunter loves me. And I assumed that care extended, at least somewhat, to my baby, but I think it may extend completely. I think he loves her too.
Hunter leans in and kisses my forehead. Tears fill my eyes. He’s so good. Sweetpea deserves a dad like him. A thought that’s popped into my head often since our wedding night resurfaces. I wonder if he could ever see me as anything more than a friend.