34. Hugo
Chapter 34
Hugo
"It feels like an ice cream kind of day," I declare on our way out of Dr. Connolly's office.
Mallory is still crying. Happy tears, I know, but I'll do anything to make sure she keeps smiling.
"Mom and baby girl are healthy," Dr. Connolly had announced, rolling on her round stool. Mallory gasped, looking to me. A smile lit up her face, more brilliant than the sunrise. I didn't know what to do, but Mallory took over. She grabbed my hand, leaned into my side. I dropped a kiss onto her forehead. She'd smiled up at me, said, "I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for challenging me when I said I didn't mind coming to this appointment alone."
Now we have two reasons to celebrate. Mallory is having a girl, and I do believe I've broken down one of her walls.
I feel a jubilation that's been elusive to me. It's impossible, but Olive Township feels different. The sun burns brighter, warmer. The flowers are more vibrant, the air scented with orange blossoms.
I think I know what it is. I'm not in love, because it's only been a little over a month since I first set eyes on Mallory. It's too soon, right?
I can see it, though. Love. In the distance, but not that far. If we keep going on this way, that is most definitely my final destination. It's invigorating, not something to be afraid of. It's something to look forward to.
Mallory pauses on the sidewalk outside of the doctor's office, hands on her belly. "Well, little girl, what do you think? Vanilla ice cream?" Mallory pretends to listen, then she looks at me. "Baby girl says it's a brownie batter day. Two scoops."
I take Mallory's hand, pull her in close. "We better not delay."
Mallory video calls Jolene on our way to the ice cream shop. They speak in high-pitched tones, there are watered down screams, and Jolene announces plans to spoil the little girl rotten.
"Hey wait," Jolene says once the excitement has simmered. "What car are you in?"
Mallory trains the phone on me. I give her a quick wave before putting my hand back on the steering wheel. Something tells me I just became best friends with precautions and safety.
"Hugo went with you to the appointment?" Jolene asks, as if I'm not eighteen inches away.
"Moral support," Mallory explains .
Jolene isn't buying it. "Uh-huh. Be honest with yourself, Mal. You two are a thing."
Mallory opens her mouth, and I can tell by the set of her jaw she's getting ready to argue.
Or deflect.
So I get there first. "I'm still working on wearing her down," I tell Jolene.
A devilish grin curls Mallory's lips. "He has a breeding kink."
I shake my head. Pinch the bridge of my nose. I should have known Mallory would go toe-to-toe with me.
"I don't know what that is," Jolene sings out, "but I like it."
Mallory rolls her eyes playfully. "Of course you do."
"Jolene," I say, and Mallory turns the phone toward me. "For the record, I don't have a breeding kink, but I am craving ice cream."
"Hang up with me and get your ice cream," Jolene commands.
Mallory repositions the phone so it faces her. "I'll talk to you later, ok? We need to chat about work stuff." She blows Jolene a kiss, and ends the call.
Olive Township's hidden gem ice cream parlor is off the beaten path, tucked away in an eclectic shopping center called The Village. There's a post office, an antique store, a yoga studio, and various other stores all facing an outdoor courtyard with a large water fountain in the center.
"This is such a cute little space," Mallory says, stopping to inspect an old wagon wheel. "Very rustic." She peers into the window of the antique store, walking along slowly until we reach the ice cream shop.
I hold open the door for her and we step inside. It smells exactly as it always has, like fresh waffle cones, and sugar. Mallory points at the neon sign on the wall, a dripping ice cream cone with the words It won't lick itself .
I lean down, my lips ghosting her ear when I whisper, "I was in seventh grade when I realized that sign had two meanings."
"Who is the owner of this place?" she whisper-hisses.
As if conjured, Ruth dances from the back of the store. She stops, realizing the music isn't on. She goes toward a little box on the wall, presses a button, and '50s music fills the air.
"That's better," she says, and her dancing resumes.
I wave at the old woman. Vivi told me Ruth turned eighty-two on her last birthday. "Hi, Ruth."
"Thought that was you, Hugo. Who's your girl?"
My arm winds around Mallory's waist, my palm making its way to the side of her belly. I pull her in close. "Ruth, this is Mallory."
Ruth squints over the cold case holding rows of ice cream. "Are you having a baby?"
One thing about the old bird, she doesn't pull any punches.
Mallory beams. "A girl."
Ruth points at me. "Hopefully she'll have his eyebrows. Never thought it was very fair of God to put eyebrows like that on a man. Been drawing mine on my whole life, and he gets those shapely caterpillars? "
I can feel the way Mallory shakes with repressed laughter.
I could correct Ruth, but is it worth it? Like the afternoon we visited David Boylan, it's easier to allow Ruth to assume I'm the father of Mallory's baby.
We order our ice cream, and on our way out the door Mallory snaps a photo of the sign on the wall. "That's going to make Jolene cackle."
We sit outside under the shade of an umbrella, and as absurd as it sounds, it feels like today was made just for us. Mallory pushes her toes past the umbrella's shade, into the sunshine.
She wiggles her toes, and damn do I like seeing her this way.
Just looking at her makes me want to take her back to my house, back to my bed. The only reason I haven't is because I'm nervous about the baby. I have questions, none of which I'm willing to enter as a search query on the Internet. My best bet was to ask the doctor, and I almost did, but then I froze. The last thing I want Mallory to think is that I'm expecting sex from her.
What happened in the olive grove was amazing, but it was a far cry from all the things I want to do with her. To her. But I don't want her thinking I expect it, and asking questions about the safety of having sex while she's pregnant might make her feel that way.
Looks like I have another night of fucking my own hand in the shower to look forward to. The thought is depressing enough, but then it's followed up with a voice that elicits from me the same response as nails on a chalkboard.
"Mallory! There you are!"
Mallory straightens up as Liane Rooney stops in front of her. "Hi, Liane."
"I haven't seen you around town recently. I was wondering where you've been keeping yourself."
Mallory glances at me. She looks unsure of how to respond.
We've already set tongues wagging by being in the doctor's office together and kissing on the sidewalk. Might as well go all in. "Mallory is staying with me out at Summerhill."
Liane's eyes grow to the size of salad plates. "Is that right?"
"It's lovely out there," Mallory says.
"It sure is," Liane says, adjusting her purse on her arm. "I'll have to come out to visit you. I need to stock up on the prickly pear white balsamic. Wouldn't dare dress my arugula without it."
"Ooh, I'll have to try that," Mallory responds. She looks at me. "Can you bring a bottle home with you?"
"He has to check with the boss, right Hugo?" Liane taps my shoulder and laughs too heartily at her own joke.
I muster up a smile and nod.
"Speaking of things I wouldn't do, I better pick up the vanilla bean the mayor loves so much. Can't serve a warm butter cake without that ice cream."
Liane disappears into the ice cream parlor. As soon as she's safely inside the store, I push back my seat. "Let's get the hell out of here before she comes back."
Mallory is already pushing back her seat, falling in step with me as we hurry away. "She's nice, but she can be intense."
"Small doses," I say as we arrive at the passenger door of my car. "I can only handle her in small doses."
Mallory waits for me to climb in the driver's side, then she says, "Promise you'll tell me when I've worn out my welcome? I don't want to become someone you can only handle in small doses."
As much as I would love to get the hell out of here, her comment needs to be handled immediately. Setting my ice cream down in the drink holder, I reach over the console. I tuck her hair behind her ear, stroke my knuckles over her jaw. "The doses I want of you don't come in a big enough serving size."
Her lips tremble before breaking into a shaky smile. "You know eventually I'll have to go back to Phoenix. Eventually, I'll have this baby."
The reminder isn't necessary. I think about her, and everything it means to be with her, all the damn time. I drive myself crazy trying to figure out how to make all this work.
"I know. So can I please enjoy you now, while I have you?"
The look Mallory gives me is vulnerable. Fragile. She's tough and she's strong, and has survived unimaginable pain. I only want to be good to her. For her .
Her tongue darts out, swipes over her bottom lip. "I keep waiting for you to enjoy me."
Eyes on me, she palms my thigh. Her hand slides up higher.
I'm painfully hard in an instant. It's a familiar feeling these days. Everything Mallory does drives me up the wall. I walked in my house last week and there she was sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to her chest, while the other leg stretched for the ground. She looked cute as hell, not to mention the spectacular view. Now every time she wears those leggings, that's what I think of. I'm above pilfering them from her laundry and having my wicked way with them, but only barely, and not for much longer.
Mallory's fingernails graze the front of my jeans. "Every time we kiss, I come out of my skin. At this point, I'm desperate for you."
"Remember our picnic in the olive grove?"
"How could I forget it?"
My touch skims Mallory's throat, feathers over her collarbone. "The smell of you was on my fingers, and as soon as I got home that day I used that hand on myself and came in an embarrassingly short amount of time."
"I love that." She makes pass after pass over the tightened fabric of my jeans.
On a groan, I ask, "Mallory, are you trying to get in my pants?"