24. Matt #2
She blinked at me before picking it up and reading it aloud herself.
“ ‘Sienna-Safe. Roasted carrot with cumin and maple, served warm.’ ” She turned her attention back to me, her eyes narrowing.
“You’ve taken me on a picnic with food made by a private chef when I was literally crying in a Wendy’s drive-through this morning.
You realize I’m going to get whiplash, right? ”
I huffed a laugh and popped the lid off the hot flask, picking up the two little mugs sitting empty in front of us. “Are you going to tell me why you cried in a Wendy’s drive-through or…?”
She shot me a glare. “They weren’t selling Frosties yet. Obviously. ”
I’ll buy you a fucking Frosty machine , I almost said. But I bit my tongue and poured her out a mug of cider before setting it down beside her like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Tragic.”
She thwacked me lightly with the back of her hand as she sat forward, picking up her mug. “This is non-alcoholic, right?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
“Did you genuinely think I’d give you alcoholic cider when you’re carrying our kids?”
She shrugged. “It’s not a comment about you,” she offered, her lips quirking up a little. “I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been overly cautious lately. And considering you’ve got a whole Sienna-Safe section of the charcuterie, I thought maybe you’d have a Sienna-Safe flask and Matt-Only flask.”
I nudged her shoulder with mine. “Nope. I’m not drinking.”
“Aww, you’re showing solidarity with?—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off. I reached out absentmindedly, tucking a stray hair of hers that kept blowing across her cheek behind her ear instead. “I just didn’t want to drink. That’s it.”
The temptation flared to tell her that almost every time I’d been real with her, I’d had at least one drink to loosen myself up.
From the flight, to the dinner in Cancun, to the night of Ryan’s wedding, to the night she’d agreed to come over to hear me out.
The only exception was right after the scan.
I didn’t want to drink with her.
I wanted to be with her.
“All right, weirdo,” she huffed, but her cheeks warmed in that way that made my chest ache, her gaze darting from me to the sprawl of the trees around and below us.
We fell into a comfortable silence, her sipping at her cider with a mumbled complaint about it being the best cider she’d ever had, me plucking off bits of fruit and handing it to her so she didn’t need to reach. It was easy. So goddamn easy with her.
Her hand twitched on her stomach.
“You feel okay?” I asked, keeping my voice level even as my brain began to turn. Nauseous? Pain? Perceived a threat like a startled deer?
She glanced down at her stomach, at her twitching fingers, and lifted them away. “Yeah. Sorry. I keep… touching it. Them. Like, subconsciously,” she murmured. “I’m not nauseous or anything, if you’re worried. That’s usually just the mornings now.”
“That’s an improvement, right?”
“Yeah. It was constant the first two months.” Her legs folded in as she sat forward, picking up another glass container with her name on the bottom.
A little laugh crept out of her as she spoke again.
“I still cry at commercials, though. Especially those stupid SCPA ones. And I swear, my boobs have gone up a cup size and are actively getting in the way of everything right now. But, hey! I’m not throwing up ten times a day and I haven’t sobbed over anything but a lack of Frosties since last night, so that’s progress. ”
My lips twitched up. “Still can’t believe you cried over Wendy’s.”
She shot me a look that said do not start with me. “I was emotionally compromised.”
I grinned wholeheartedly and shoved a grape in my mouth. “And now you’re emotionally compromised in the woods with an overpriced picnic. You’re welcome.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “True. Now I can cry surrounded by a curated charcuterie board that I can’t even eat half of .”
I chuckled. “All right, all right, that’s my bad. Next time, I’ll make sure I just get Frosties and cider.”
She beamed at me. Fully, ridiculously, beautifully beamed . “ Next time ?”
“Don’t push your luck, sweetheart.”
————
She didn’t even make it through takeoff.
One minute she was yawning, teasing me about the twins ending up thriving on dinosaur-shaped nuggets instead of formula if Zach had his say, and the next, her head was slumping gently to the side before landing on my shoulder on the bench seat of the jet.
Her legs were tucked up to the side, her seatbelt done loosely around her waist, boots off, and arms half wrapped around herself.
Her breaths evened out. Her face relaxed in a way I’d only seen once that morning in Cancun — no barbs ready behind her teeth, no fire in her eyes, just calm , just soft, and unguarded sleep.
The small bump of her belly pushed against her sweater, rising and falling in a rhythm that matched mine without even trying.
I didn’t move. Not a single inch.
Some selfish part of me hoped we got stuck in a queue waiting to land just so I could stay like that, with her curled against me like she, for once, trusted me not to ruin everything.
But outside the window, Atlanta glowed under the night sky, a scatter of white and gold lights over blackness.
The hum of the engines was steady and low, and even through the change in pressure, she didn’t stir once.
Not even when the wheels hit the tarmac.
Not even when I popped her seatbelt buckle open.
I waited until the jet parked up near the hangar before gently brushing my knuckles across her cheek. “Sienna,” I said, my voice soft. “We’re home.”
She stirred slightly, her brows twitching, her body naturally curling into me just a little bit more, her eyes blinking quickly but blearily in a daze. “Mmm,” she mumbled. “Fuck, I drooled on you.”
I did my best to chuckle without my shoulders shaking. “It’s fine. It was cute.”
“Liar,” she muttered, pushing herself upright and rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Late. Let’s get you home.”
She didn’t argue with me. Instead, she let me help her up, her sweater slipping off one shoulder until I righted it, her eyes still heavy as she looked up at me without a single bit of fight behind them, just bare honesty, and exhaustion.
Her movements were sluggish, her voice calm, and she nearly zonked back out in the car on the short drive.
She leaned against the window of my Maserati, watching the streetlights blur past in silence.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t ask her to come back with me, didn’t even let the temptation show on my face.
I could have easily talked her into my bed, touched her quietly, lost myself in her before inevitably finding my way to another soft surface in my house to sleep, but today wasn’t about that.
That wasn’t my end goal. She was quiet, and comfortable, and still letting me be a part of this, and that was enough .
When we pulled up to her place, I got out first, opened her door, slipped an arm around her back to help her up the stairs.
She didn’t ask why I wasn’t trying harder to come inside, and I didn’t explain.
Just pressed a single kiss against her forehead before helping her unlock the door and urging her inside with a “Text me in the morning.”
And as she turned and shut the door, locking it behind her, I didn’t feel like she was shutting me out.
For the first time in a long goddamn time, it felt like progress in a direction I never usually tried to go.
It felt like this could be real , and more importantly, it didn’t scare the hell out of me.
It felt like words I had always been terrified to use with anyone except Zach, felt like the world was finally letting me breathe, felt like I hadn’t ruined everything.
It was enough.
She was enough.