Chapter 14 #2
His words touch a chord deep within me, and I find myself blinking back tears. I’m not going to subject him to any more tears after crying last night when he fell asleep watching a movie with me.
These hormones are turning me into a monster.
After a moment, he steps back, assessing me with a smile, holding my hands in his. “Do you want to do this? We can do something else.”
I don’t want to, honestly, but I need to start acting like the baby is coming. I made the choice to keep it, and it’s time to start acting like it.
I let out a shaky laugh, wiping away the last of my tears with the back of my hands. “Let’s go get some baby shit.”
“It’s cold out, so make sure you wear that big coat you have,” he informs me before reaching for said coat. I cast him a sideways glance before I turn as he helps me slip it on. He reaches for the zipper, and when his hands brush my belly, I exhale heavily.
Wordlessly, he reaches out, placing his palms on the firm mound under my sweater. Oddly, I swear, I can feel the life humming there, just under his touch.
“There’s a baby in there,” I announce the obvious, looking down at where his hands rest, as if this is the most natural exchange in the world. “Does that scare you?”
A smile flirts with the ends of his lips as he looks back up at me, eyes shining with an emotion I can’t quite place.
“I think you scare me more.” A quiet confession that knocks the wind out of me.
“ Me ?” I ask, shaking my head as he reaches for the large purse I’ve leaned toward using so I can hide snacks in it. “I’m scarier than a baby?”
“You’re in charge here,” he starts, opening my front door again, placing his hand on my back to usher me out. “You could decide any day that I actually don’t fit as neatly into this equation as you’d like, and that would be that.”
A solid fear for a man who jumped right into the potential of being a step-parent—if that’s what’s going on here. We haven’t fully had that conversation yet.
It feels like it may be something we’re both avoiding.
As we make our way to my car and head to whatever store Quintin’s decided to drive us to, my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. What kind of crib do I want? Do I even know what I’m doing? How did I get here, shopping for baby furniture with a man who wasn’t even in the picture a few months ago?
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing knee-deep in the chaos of motherhood. So many options, so little knowledge.
This place is a riot of colors and pregnant women followed by bored-looking men, cribs of all shapes and sizes displayed around us. Quintin walks beside me, his hand casually brushing against mine, as if to remind me he’s right there with me.
When I look at him, I notice an excitement I don’t see in the other men here. He is so fully invested, volunteering to spearhead this shopping trip, that it makes my breath catch.
“So, any preferences?” he asks, his voice gentle as my eyes widen. He’s tossing my big ass in the deep end with that question. I barely know what I’m going to feed the kid, let alone what it should be sleeping in.
I glance around, feeling like there’s far too many options for a person who hasn’t the slightest fucking clue.
Some of these options seem more for aesthetic purposes than anything, but what do I know?
Nothing. “I don’t even know where to start.
Should it be wood or metal? White or natural?
I mean, the baby won’t even remember it. ”
Quintin chuckles, guiding me toward a display of cribs, his hand reaching for mine.
Thoughtlessly, he grounds me with comfortable humor and his touch.
The latter is something I never thought I’d find soothing.
“I think it’s more for how you choose to decorate the nursery.
And for all the adorable baby pictures you’ll take. ”
I smile, suddenly imagining a tiny bundle of joy in a crib, surrounded by stuffed animals and soft blankets.
“Okay. Let’s find something cozy and not too.
..ugly.” I stare pointedly at the wooden brown one in front of us covered in frilly bedding that makes me think of plastic-covered furniture and floral dust ruffles, plus somehow the smell of pine oil and moth balls.
He leads me away with another chuckle, my hand still firmly in his, and I know what we look like: two excited parents purchasing a crib for their baby.
Rather than overthink, for once, I let myself enjoy the moment.
Even if he doesn’t stay, he’s here now, and right now, I need more moments like this to keep me afloat.
As we go through the different options, Quintin’s insight and patience surprises me. His involvement, his dedication…it causes a knot in my throat. He actually knows what he’s talking about—types of cribs, safety features, even how to put them together. Who knew he had this hidden talent?
Does he have babies I don’t know about?
After some deliberation, we settle on a simple, elegant crib in a soft gray. Its oval shape looks so romantic to me, and I imagine it in the center of what used to be my office. I can almost picture a baby sleeping soundly in it, wrapped in a soft blanket, the rest of the world quiet.
My baby.
The thought makes me shiver as he leans in closer, inviting me to lean on him. So I do, running my free hand down my stomach.
This is a lot.
“Good choice,” Quintin says, giving my hand a squeeze as we move to the next decision.
We navigate various changing tables until we find one that complements the crib.
I can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment as we check each item off the list. It’s like we’re building a little world for my baby, one piece of furniture at a time.
This baby will know love, whether Quintin offers it for a small amount of time and I have to pick us up when he leaves us, or if he stays.
But the fear that claws at me at the notion of him leaving me during the hardest transition of my life has my heart stuttering.
As we make our way to the checkout, a store employee wheeling the boxes and other items out for us, Quintin turns to me. With his brows lifted and his eyes crinkled with excitement, he says, “This is just the beginning. The nursery is only a tiny part of what’s to come.”
There’s that weird wisdom from him that makes me pause. He’s only known about this baby for a few weeks now.
“Lots of baby experience?” I ask, my heart thumping wildly as await his response. Would that be a dealbreaker for me? The pregnant harlot? I’m not sure.
But he merely grins, bringing my hand to his lips for a kiss before he speaks. “I’ve been busy doing a lot of research.”
“You have?” My brows are drawn; now I feel like I haven’t done enough. I need to get my shit together. I’m all this baby has. If Quintin were to leave me right here in this store, I’d need to know what else I need to do.
Fuck.
“Well, yeah. I’m taking this seriously.” He says it as if it’s obvious, but he pauses a moment before continuing. “But if I’m overstepping, let me know. I just figured… You seem overwhelmed, and maybe with my help, it’ll be less daunting.”
I look at him, fear seizing me before I blink it away, afraid of the idea of crying in the middle of this store at the kindness and support he offers so easily. “It’s been pretty lonely.”
It’s all I can muster.
“I’m here as long as you want me around,” he reassures me before the cashier beckons us forward.
It should be reassuring, but I can’t help the way I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I never thought I could sense fear, never thought that would be a superpower of mine.
But as I load the last giant box holding the crib she chose into the trunk, I can practically feel it wrapping itself around her, hugging her in a way she still hasn’t allowed me to.
She’s sitting in the passenger seat, and I stare at the back of her head, wishing she would stop apologizing for her vulnerability.
I wish she could just be without feeling like she’s too much. Because while she’s a lot, I’m appreciative of all of it. Her large personality fills every empty space I’ve tried to ignore for all these years.
I get in the driver’s side, not speaking while she sits in her head, no doubt overthinking.
The drive is silent, and it’s only after twenty minutes that she asks where we’re headed.
“I was hoping I could take you somewhere you could relax,” I start, not looking at her as I let her decide whether that’s something she wants or not. Then I follow with, “If you’re up for it.”
She’s silent, and when I chance a glance at the red light, she’s staring out of the window. The overcast sky looks gray, but it does nothing to dim her beauty.
She is radiant to me.
I catch the way her hands rest just under her belly, her thumbs stroking the bump thoughtlessly. While it’s been made clear she’s having a baby, sometimes, it still knocks the wind out of me.
A car behind us honks, and I realize the light turned green.
She whispers, “Show me what you had in mind.”
I love that she isn’t asking me to tell her, instead trusting me to show her. Maybe this is the first step in our trust journey.
Or maybe I’m looking into it too much. Once I chose to pursue her, I decided multiple things: to take care of her and to be here for her and her baby, in whatever capacity she feels comfortable.
I am determined not to make her think my empathy is pity. Her situation is nothing to be embarrassed or uncomfortable about. It just…is.
And we just…are. At least, I hope we are.
I pull up to the place Pepper and Willa mentioned, having looked it up myself a few days ago, and find street parking before I turn the car off. Daniela’s eyes peer up at the buildings, and she takes a moment before turning to me, her brows drawn.
“Where—”
“To relax,” I announce before opening the driver’s side door. She’s still looking out of the window when I make my way around the car and open the passenger door. I hold my hand out to help her out, and she grips it, hesitating a moment before she joins me.
“Spontaneity scares you?” I ask with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to the back of the hand.
“You scare me,” she murmurs, ducking her head before she lets me lead her to one of the buildings.
“I’m far from the big bad wolf.”
“You and these fairytale comparisons,” she says, and when I glance at her, she’s smiling. Thank goodness.
We enter the building, and the light music mixed with the scent of fresh oranges and lemongrass already has my tense shoulders relaxing.
Dani’s hand releases some of its pressure as she takes in the ambiance, the serene décor. It’s like we stepped into another world from the cold Chicago streets.
“I will book you whatever service you’d like,” I start, facing her fully. “A massage, a facial, whatever. If you’d like some time to yourself, I can take care of the baby’s things?—”
She shakes her head, silencing me as she steps back to look at the concierge desk. Then she glances back at me.
“I’ve never done something like this with a man before. I’d love to experience this with you.” Her hands find her belly, and I smile as I watch the fear in her eyes leave and comfort takes its place.
Something tells me Daniela doesn’t ask for people to stay. She doesn’t like to need people. While I think most men would find power in feeling needed, I find it in feeling wanted.
I know she can do all these things for herself, but being chosen is the closest thing I’ve experienced to love, and it’s far too intoxicating to let her go now.