Chapter 15 Julian
FIFTEEN
JULIAN
Renard had kept the destination a secret until we were in the car.
"The coast," was all he'd said when I'd asked, and then he'd connected his phone to the speakers and refused to answer follow-up questions. But when the trees opened up, I caught my first glimpse of the ocean.
The resort was small and quiet, tucked into a cove away from the main tourist strip.
There were low white buildings half-hidden in greenery with a private path down to the beach.
It was the kind of place that existed to give you an excuse to do nothing.
Our room had a private patio overlooking the water.
Renard had requested the ground floor so I wouldn't have to manage stairs at seven months pregnant.
He always thought of everything.
"This was a good idea."
Renard brought the bags in and I stood looking at the ocean. "You've said that three times since we got here."
"Because it's true." I turned to look at him. "When did you plan all this?"
"A few weeks ago. I wanted us to have time together before everything changes."
There were two months left before the baby arrived. Rita had moved me off dog walking at seven months to desk work that included client scheduling and bookkeeping. I could barely see my feet, but I missed the dogs, the routine and being outside.
He kissed the top of my head. "Dinner reservations in an hour."
I showered and changed into the one good outfit I'd packed that still fit. I studied my huge bump in the mirror and when I emerged, Renard was buttoning his shirt. I admired his dark slacks and charcoal button-down. The combination made his eyes look almost silver.
"You're staring," he said, catching my eye in the mirror.
"Can you blame me?"
He crossed the room and slid his hands onto my hips. "You're the beautiful one." He crouched and kissed the bump and said something quiet to the baby that I didn't quite catch.
"What about me? Don't I get a kiss?"
He straightened and kissed my face, my neck, pressed another to my forehead, and I laughed and thought about the man I'd first met in the park. The man I mated was not the same as him and yet he was. Underneath he was still the kind, generous loving individual I fell in love with.
The restaurant was open-air with tables at the water's edge. Water lapped at people’s feet and I tossed off my slip on sandals and paddled in the warm water. Maybe there were tiny fish who’d nibble our feet while we ate so I wouldn’t need a pedicure.
Renard had paid attention to what I could stomach lately and ordered without consulting the menu too carefully. While I prided myself on being able to make my own decisions, sometimes it was nice to hand that responsibility off to someone else.
When the food arrived it was exactly right and we feasted on fresh fish, roasted vegetables and a pasta dish so good I asked the waiter if they'd share the recipe.
"Better than my cooking?" Renard asked.
"Different." I reached across for his hand. "Restaurant fancy versus home comfort. Your pasta tastes like you made it for me. This tastes like a chef made it for customers." I squeezed his fingers. "Yours is better."
He smiled in the way he did when he was pleased but didn't want to make a big thing of it. "You're just saying that."
"I mean it."
After dinner we walked along the beach. The moon was up, casting a shimmery silver light across the water. Renard had his arm around my shoulders and I had mine around his waist with my other hand on my belly.
Our little one kicked. "The baby’s active tonight." I guided his hand to where I'd felt the movement. The baby kicked again and on Renard's face was pure joy with no trace of the careful person he'd been when I met him.
"That never gets old," he said.
"Wait until the baby’s doing it to my bladder at three in the morning."
We found a spot above the tide line and settled on the sand. Renard was behind me with his arms around my middle and his chin on my shoulder. The sand was still warm from the day.
"What if I'm not good at this?" The question slipped out before I'd decided to ask it.
"At what?"
"Being a parent. What if I mess them up?"
He wdidn’t answer right away. His arms tightened. "Then we'll mess them up together. But I don't think we will."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because you're already worried about it. That means you'll try not to." He kissed my temple. "And I've watched you with every dog you walk. You’re patient, consistent and you never give up on them. You'll be the same with our baby."
"Dogs are different from children." I laughed as he compared a four-legged bundle of energy to a baby.
"Not as different as you'd think."
I leaned back into him and decided to believe it.
The next morning we explored the small town near the resort. We meandered along looking at art galleries, craft shops and a bookstore where I spent twenty minutes while Renard occasionally picked things up and read the back cover.
We stopped in front of a shop with a sign reading Handleys Handcrafted Wood. Inside, sawdust covered the floor and the room smelled of wood oil. On every shelf there were bowls and boxes while dotted around the place were small pieces of furniture.
An older man came from the back, wiping his hands. "Can I help you find something?"
"Just looking," Renard said.
But I'd already seen a mobile hanging near the window with wooden animals suspended on a nearly invisible wire. There was a whale, dolphin, sea turtle and a starfish and the breeze from the open door caught it and the pieces turned in a slow dance.
"They’re made with driftwood from the beach." The craftsman ran his hand over the sea creatures. "Each piece is different. I only made it last week."
I reached out and trailed a finger along the curve of the whale. The wood was silky smooth and warm from the sun coming through the glass.
"For the nursery?" Renard appeared at my shoulder.
"Can you imagine it over the crib? The baby could watch it while they were falling asleep."
"We'll take it." Renard reached for his phone. "It's perfect for the nursery.”
That afternoon we lay on the beach under a rented umbrella. My back was grateful for the rest. Renard was on his side facing me with his hand on my hip. And the waves coming in and out were almost hypnotic.
"We should do this every year." He nuzzled my shoulder. "Or somewhere new. Just the three of us." He paused. "Then maybe four, someday, if you want."
I looked at him. "You want more kids?"
"Maybe if you do."
Doing this again with the questions, worry, excitement and me not seeing my feet seemed impossible from where I currently was. But the thought of a sibling for our baby, of a bigger table, of more noise at Christmas gave me the warm fuzzies so I wasn’t ruling it out.
"Ask me again in a couple of years." I puckered my lips and he kissed me.
He laughed. "Fair enough."
That night we ate on the private patio while the stars came out over the water, and after, we lay in bed with the patio doors open and the curtains moving in the breeze. The sound of the ocean formed a backdrop to the evening.
"I don't want this to end."
"It won't." He rolled toward me, careful of my belly. "We'll always have each other."
The baby kicked as if they were agreeing with Renard and he placed a hand on my bump as our little one jiggled. But when the baby quieted, my mate kissed me and his hand came up to cup my jaw. Neither of us was in any hurry to sleep.