Chapter 26
I’m restless.
We’ve had a long day with my family. After the scan, we walked them around the ranch. Grandma went absolutely gaga over Santi and Rio, who happened to be tacking up horses for a trail ride. There was a cougar in her eyes at the sight of two tattooed Latino cowboys, fully in command of their steeds.
She’s insatiable.
As for my mom, the safety of the ranch, the impressive nature of what Santi and Rio explained they do—the interrogations didn’t stop with Anton—and the lunch we had at Café Luna all worked together to relax her. Enough that she might actually believe I’m okay. For now.
It’s only eight o’clock, but my feet are ready to be off the floor, and my back is ready to be horizontal. Still, all I can think about is Anton.
Everything about him at the scan today screamed he’s worth it. I think I’m ready to talk.
He’s in his room. I could knock, but my mom and grandma might hear from the guest room. I should probably wait until tomorrow, when my family leaves and we’re alone.
I decide a snack is in order. Something chocolatey to offset the swirl of emotions and hormones today kicked up.
Why I’m checking how I look in the mirror before heading downstairs is another question entirely.
But honestly? I’m glowing. The stress of the scan has washed away. I’m wearing the fitted maternity nightgown Grandma gave me, and somehow, my hair hasn’t frizzed despite the humidity. I smell like my vanilla body lotion.
Plenty cute enough for a date with the fridge.
Not wanting to disturb my mom and grandma, who turned in early because of their ridiculous flights in the morning—my mom actually has court tomorrow—I pad down the hall in fluffy socks, past Anton’s closed door.
There’s a sliver of light beneath it.
I want to knock. Invite him for a midnight snack. Talk about our girl. Names again. He was so damn swoony today with that promise he made to her. I’d even be proud for her to have his name.
But maybe he needs rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Still, I walk a little louder than usual past his door, even though I know that as an ex–Navy SEAL, he could hear a butterfly out here. He’ll know it’s me by the cadence of my stride, by the weight of my steps.
God, I love that about him.
I head downstairs into the quiet kitchen. The air still smells faintly like breakfast—muffins, citrus, Anton.
I open the fridge and take out the plastic container of muffins and set it on the counter. The lights are low—just the pendant over the sink casting a warm glow. I peel back the plastic and wince when it crinkles too loudly.
Hopefully, my mom and grandma are settled in upstairs because they’re not the ones I want hearing me and finding me down here.
Today showed me every reason Anton is more than a friend, whether I want to resist that or not.
I’ve fallen.
After today, there’s nothing about us that feels scary.
No fear of losing my independence.
No fear of my career suffering.
No fear of being overlooked or disappearing inside a relationship.
The only thing that lingers is my own history with myself. I’m thirty, and I’ve never really been in a long relationship. But damn if I don’t want to try.
Anton is the full package.
Then, I hear a floorboard creak behind me.
Anton’s bass tone is quiet. “Couldn’t resist the muffins?”
I look over my shoulder and pretend to be startled. “Guilty.”
He’s leaning against the door frame in a t-shirt, and those damn sweatpants, barefoot. His hair’s a little tousled. His mouth is soft. I make myself look at his face instead of his forearms.
“Didn’t think you’d be up.” I slowly unwrap the muffin case.
“Okay…”
He gives me a doubtful smirk because he knows I knew he was up.
I lean back against the counter, trying to look casual, but I think he sees right through it because there’s curiosity in his every feature, and he really has no need to wonder about a pregnant lady snacking.
“I was thinking about today,” I say, taking the casing off the muffin and pulling a chocolate chip off the top. “It must have meant a lot to you to be in the room—to stick up to Faith Johnson.”
He makes his way toward me in masculine strides, leans against the breakfast bar next to me, and crosses his arms, making his biceps bulge even more.
Heat fills his eyes. “It did. But as with most hard things in life, it was worth it.”
My stomach twists in that fluttery way, and I try not to let it show. I take another chocolate chip off the top and pop it in my mouth. With him all tall and broad in those damn gray sweatpants, I’m not hungry for this muffin anymore.
I tilt my head. “Believe it or not, I think we both won her over today.”
His eyebrows furrow.
“You…because you proved fatherhood is important to you by being in the room. And me…” The thought hits deep and is weirdly proud. “Because I think she finally believes I’m the woman she’s been training me to become.”
Anton gazes at me with an intensity that steals my breath, then steps closer and smooths my hair behind my ear. The admiration in his touch is one thing. The hunger in his blue eyes—the same as the other night—is another.
I came down here ready to make a confession.
But standing this close to him, with his attention steady and unguarded, I realize I’m not revealing anything he doesn’t already know. There’s no hesitation in him. No waiting to be convinced.
He knows what he wants.
I do, too.
I laugh bashfully. “Though when I said goodnight, she did call you a fortunate accident.”
“Oh, yeah?”
God, I love how easily casual comes to him. So damn confident.
And around him, I am, too.
“I told her you weren’t an accident.”
At that, an amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You admitted to throwing yourself at me?” He jokes, but his voice isn’t light; it’s lethal.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Not those exact words but…kind of.”
“That’s bold.”
“That’s me…” Most of the time.
But the way he’s staring at me, blue gaze full of heat and meaning, the words I was so ready to say become a mere peep in the back of my throat.
“If we’re being bold,” he takes my hand gently, the feel of his fingertips smooth on my palm. “Then I need to admit something, too.”
My heart races.
His thumb smooths the top of my hand, becoming more serious. “I meant everything I said the other day.”
The lamplight catches every gorgeous angle of his features. “You’re supposed to be mine, Freya. Not just my friend. Not just the mother of my child.” His jaw tics. “Mine.”
My heart drops straight into my fluffy socks. My underarms prickle, heat building under my nightgown. This feels so right, I hardly know what to do with it.
But as much as this makes my heart swell and feel too big for my chest, this is the talk, and I need to be real. “I want you, too. But…”
His eyebrows furrow at the word.
I hurry my words. “But with what you’ve been through in the past, and my history of never having been serious with anyone…”
“You’re not sure about me.”
“No. I’m not sure about me.” I sigh. “I don’t know how to be in a relationship.”
He runs his thumb over the front of my hand. “Is that because you don’t want one?”
“No, I do… Well, I never did before, but…” I squeeze his giant hand in mine. “Now I do.”
But I take Anton’s happiness seriously. “I just sometimes wonder if I’m not good at long-term. If maybe my decision-making is too selfish. I don’t know what’s coming and…”
At that, he chuckles lightly.
“What?” I ask.
“Honey, I don’t know what’s coming either.” He links his pinky through mine, serious again. “All I know is that happily-ever-after is a choice.” He lifts our linked fingers and kisses them. “I’m choosing you, Freya.”
I should be scared. I would have been in the past if something like this happened.
I’ve never been someone who leaps before she looks.
But that’s when it clicks.
This isn’t me leaping. This is me standing still long enough to see what’s right in front of me. And he’s right; we’re not choosing certainty. We’re choosing intention. And for the first time in my life, I have no intention of returning the man in front of me.
I gaze up into his eyes. Even though the kitchen is shadowed, they shine.
At me.
For me.
He’s choosing me without needing guarantees.
I don’t feel guarded anymore. What’s left is the part of me that only ever seems to surface with him—the one that’s light, unafraid, and entirely myself.
“Well, Easton.” I rise onto my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. “I guess we’re calling it what it is then. This stopped being surveillance a long time ago. We’re running a joint operation.”
He smirks. “I might be an ex-SEAL, but I’m warning you,”—Anton’s mouth curves— “this time, I don’t have a backup plan.” His gaze drops to my lips.
“Looks like we’re breaking protocol. Because I’m choosing you, too.”
His gaze sweeps my features again, seeking permission, and God, I hope he sees it there, because I want him to take me now.
He wraps his palms around my hips.
“I like the nightgown.”
“Yeah?” I stare up at him from under my eyelashes and ease myself into him, breasts pushing against his rock-hard muscle. “You know, seeing you all protective and then soft for our baby all in one day is a real turn-on.”
“Yeah?” He throws me a wicked grin. “What are you planning on doing about it?”
He doesn’t move. Just looks at me like he’s waiting to see how far I’ll go.
My fingers slide beneath the hem of his pants, brushing the solid wall of muscle.
“Any suggestions?” I murmur.
“Depends…” He captures my wrist in his hand. “How quiet can you be?”
He cups my jaw, and his lips whisper over mine. “Think you can keep that pretty mouth shut while I fuck you with my tongue?”
There’s heat in my cheeks and fire in my chest, but I manage to invite him to play or call his bluff with the quirk of an eyebrow.
That’s all he needs.
He drops to his knees with an intent that makes my pulse skyrocket. Like worship. Like punishment. Like I asked for this and he’s going to give it to me, slow and dirty and thorough.