Chapter 19
Nineteen
Addie
I don’t plan on this happening. It just does.
That’s the lie I tell myself yet again when I open the door to greet Luc.
He’s standing there, jacket over his arm, overnight bag in one hand, and my house key in the other.
I didn’t even give him a chance to use it.
Over the last few weeks, Luc has stopped being a guest in my apartment and started living here, with a key in his pocket to prove it.
I don’t know why I keep pretending otherwise.
We haven’t talked about it, but we’ve definitely fallen into a routine. And as much as it makes me nervous, I like it.
Most nights follow the same pattern now. He comes over. We eat. We talk about nothing too serious. Then we end up in bed.
“Hey.” He holds up the bag. “I brought Chinese.”
“Hi.” I smile. “Thank you for picking it up. I’m starved.”
We unbox sweet and sour pork, cashew chicken, steamed rice, and fortune cookies.
I open my fortune cookie and read it. The truth waits patiently. The longer you delay, the louder it becomes. I tuck the slip of paper under my napkin. It almost feels planted.
“What did your fortune say?” Luc asks.
“Good news will come to you by mail,” I lie. “Maybe it will be a giant commission?” I shrug, but it feels flimsy. It doesn’t convey any of what’s actually sitting in my chest. And I should share that with him. I know I should.
So I take a deep breath. “Evie stopped by again today.” I hear the edge in my voice and don’t bother smoothing it out.
“Same conversation. Move to the vineyard. Let her help.” I sigh.
“Like I’m one visit away from handing everything over and calling it stability. ” I pick at my food, not really eating.
When I look up, Luc is very still. But I forge ahead.
“And then there’s you.” My fingers tighten around my chopsticks.
“You keep talking about a house. Renting something. Making space.” I shake my head.
“Like this is something we can just…set up and step into.” I glance at him.
“I haven’t answered you because I don’t know how to answer you without it turning into something I didn’t agree to. ”
That’s closer to revealing how I feel. I hate that I’m still struggling with all this. But how can I not?
“It’s like every direction I turn, someone’s already decided what my life is supposed to look like.” My voice drops, but it doesn’t soften. “Evie has a plan. You have a plan. And I’m standing in the middle, trying to figure out where I actually exist in any of it.”
My throat tightens, but I push through. “I’m pregnant, Luc. I get that this changes things. I’m not pretending it doesn’t.” I look at him now and manage to hold his gaze. “But it doesn’t mean I stop being the one who decides what happens to me.”
Luc sets his chopsticks down, not looking at his food anymore. “I’m not Evie.”
I open my mouth to protest but then close it again.
“I’m not trying to decide your life for you.
” He looks away. “What we have is shared. These decisions need to be made together. But I can’t tell what you want.
So I guess I’m trying to present some ideas.
” He drags a hand over his jaw, thinking.
“But I can see how it looks from where you’re standing.
I brought up the house because I have to find a place to live before my uncle returns, and I’m trying to make room for what’s coming.
I thought you might want to do that too, but my goal is not to trap you somehow.
” His gaze lifts back to me. “There’s a difference. ”
He lets that sit, and my mind spins as I try to figure out how to respond.
“But I suppose I didn’t ask you what you want,” he continues after a moment. “I just…started building around you.” A small shake of his head. “That’s on me.”
He doesn’t move closer.
“So tell me where you are with this,” he says. “Not where I think you should be. Not where Evie thinks you should be. You.”
I let out a breath. “I don’t know.” I hate how that sounds. I’m complaining about all this, but it’s not like I have solutions of my own.
I shake my head, pushing my food around like I’m going to find the answer there. “I’m here,” I add, like that explains anything. “In my apartment. In my life. Trying to keep it from…shifting under me every five minutes.”
I glance at him, and then away. “And every time you try to move us forward, it shifts faster. Like I’m already behind on something I didn’t agree to.”
My fingers tighten around my chopsticks.
“I’m not saying I don’t want you here. I just—” I stop, frustrated with myself.
“I need things to feel like I’m still choosing them.
Not catching up to something you’ve already decided.
” I finally meet his eyes. “But I do know there are things that have to be decided…”
He manages a smile, and I nod. “I promise to think about this, to come back with something better than I have now. But is it okay if I turn on the hockey game?”
His eyes widen, but then he nods in return, and relief flows through me. It’s a reprieve. I’ve shared more than I wanted to this evening already. It makes me feel naked, vulnerable in a way that’s not entirely safe.
We finish our dinner and do the minimal dishes together. Then we’ll move to sit on the couch to continue watching the game. I’ve come to know our pattern, mostly because I’m its architect.
“Are you okay?” he asks, drying his hands.
That’s my opening. This is where the conversation could continue if I let it.
But I don’t. I’m not sure what I want for our future.
Sometimes, I think I do, but then everything unravels into confusion.
Here’s what I know. We’re having a child together, and I like having him around.
But I’m not ready to call it anything more than that or take steps to make it permanent.
I don’t know how I’m going to feel about things once the baby is here.
And I certainly have no idea how he’s going to feel.
It’s not like we’re building on a firm foundation here…
And it seems far too risky to tell him any of that right now.
I turn and step into him instead, close enough that my chest brushes his. I slide my hands under his shirt, and his breath shifts. His hands come to my waist, like his body knows what to do even if his brain might still be catching up.
I tip my head back and look at him. “I am feeling very okay now.”
He studies my face. I know that look. It’s him checking to see if he’s reading the signals correctly.
I slide my hands up his chest as I kiss him, slow and unyielding, not giving him room to lead.
He makes a low sound against my lips and kisses me back, deep and open, like he always does. Then he pauses. Not pulling away. Not stopping. Waiting.
I deepen the kiss, nip his lower lip, press closer until there’s no space left between us.
When he begins to move again, he seems to understand that I’m the one setting the pace.
Good. I need some semblance of control. I walk him backward toward the couch.
He goes easily. There’s something powerful about that, knowing I can pull this out of him whenever I want, that he doesn’t question it.
For a few minutes, there’s nothing else.
Evie falls away. The pregnancy, the future houses with yards—gone. There’s only heat and friction, the relief of being wanted without explanation.
I climb into his lap and feel him groan against my mouth. The sound settles low in my chest and does exactly what I want it to. I roll my hips, and his hands tighten like he’s bracing himself.
I smile against his mouth. This is the part I understand. Bodies make sense. Desire is honest in a way people rarely are.
I don’t think about the baby. I don’t think about money or support or whether leaning on Luc will feel like freedom or a trap. I don’t think about how Evie must have looked standing in his driveway, casual like she hadn’t just crossed a line she didn’t see as a line at all.
His lips become rougher, needier, and I feel it everywhere. I push into him, feel the solid press of his body, the pull low in my belly that tightens quickly once we stop pretending we’re pacing this.
We stop long enough to undress completely. My breasts are swollen, and he zeroes in on my nipples, which are achingly hard.
“You were beautiful the night we met,” he breathes. “You’re even more beautiful tonight.”
He suckles my breasts, biting and pulling. I arch my back and sink onto him. I feel so deliciously full. I rock forward, testing, and then again harder, chasing the heat building between us. He grips my hips, steadying me, urging me closer instead of holding me back.
Me breathing turns sharp and uneven. Movement gets messy, urgent. His fingers work my clit, and the room fills with the sound of skin slapping skin. I only know the burn, the pressure, the way my body spirals toward release.
“I’m going to come,” he grinds out.
And that’s all it takes for my climax to hit. He follows me right over the cliff, making a broken sound in my ear, his hold tightening like he needs something solid to hang onto. My head drops against his shoulder, breath gone, body shaking.
For a few seconds after, heat still pulses. My skin is too sensitive, and my heart races like I ran straight through something instead of stopping at the edge.
In this space, I don’t need to explain myself.
I don’t have to justify why I’m not ready to make plans with someone just because we’re having a child, why taking it slow feels safer than promising something I’m not sure I can continue, why I need this to be my choice and not another expectation handed down to me.
I let myself stay here, desired and spent, until I feel quiet enough to breathe again. The room doesn’t rush back. It just settles. Luc’s still beneath me, one hand resting at my hip. His breathing evens out slowly, and I stay where I am, letting the quiet stretch.
This is usually the point where someone speaks, brings up something substantial.
But that’s not what I want tonight.
I slide off him and sit back against the couch, tugging my dress back over my head and finding my panties. The lamp by the window is on. The streetlight outside throws a soft stripe across the floor.
Luc sits up beside me. “You want some water?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He heads to the kitchen, pulling on his boxers. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, staring at the blank TV screen like it might offer commentary.
I feel good. Loose. Warm. Untethered in a way that only lasts a little while before real life starts tapping at the glass.
Luc returns and our fingers brush as he hands me the water. We sit there in silence, hydrating. But I can feel him thinking beside me. Eventually, he’s going to have something to say. So I beat him to it.
“That wasn’t a conversation starter,” I tell him.
He glances over, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “I figured.”
“Good.”
I take another sip and set the glass on the coffee table. My pulse is still a little unsteady, but my head’s clearer now, which I don’t love.
He watches me for a second. “You don’t have to explain anything.”
I huff out a soft laugh. “That might be the most tempting thing you could’ve said to me.”
“Addison.”
I roll my eyes. I’m maintaining my space, but I don’t have to keep him at that kind of distance. “The only people who call me Addison are my grandmother and those who don’t know me well,” I explain. “I think you can call me Addie.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that.”
I shift, angling my body toward him. “I know you want to talk,” I say. “About everything.”
He nods. “Eventually.”
I nod too, like that’s a shared agreement instead of a delay tactic. “I just need tonight to stay simple,” I explain. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough to pass.
Luc nods. “Okay.”
No argument. No pressure. Which somehow makes it worse.
He reaches for my hand. I let him take it, but I don’t lace our fingers. I keep my grip light, temporary.
I lean my head back against the couch and stare at the ceiling.
Heat helped, for a while. But even as I sit here, wrapped in the quiet of my apartment with him beside me, I can feel it, the way everything I can’t be sure about is lining up, waiting.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep things this way.