27. Sylvie
TWENTY-SEVEN
SYLVIE
Boy.
My eyes danced over the words You’re having a ____. Right there, in Dr. Hokum’s efficient handwriting, the word boy finished the sentence Duke had scrawled on a piece of paper at the appointment .
Duke read the words upside down as I held the paper between us. A thousand-pound weight settled on my chest as I soaked in the words.
Our baby is a boy.
When I glanced up, Duke’s strong features were pinched in concentration as though he was also processing the reality of our situation. I took in his dark eyes, sharp features, strong nose, and sharp jawline.
“I hope he is just like you.”
Duke blinked and looked up at me. “No.” He swallowed hard as he looked over my features, swiping a rogue hair from my temple.
“I hope he will be just like you . I pray he has your laugh, the kind that carries into the next room and radiates warmth. I hope he won’t lose hope for his dreams and he’ll let his imagination grow wild.
I hope he is as strong as you and that his emotions will run deep.
I hope he is exactly like you and loving him will be the easiest thing I have ever done. ”
Loving him will be the easiest thing I have ever done.
Tears welled in my eyes as I buried my face into Duke’s chest. The stress and worry that Duke might not be able to love the baby because it was half-King has gnawed at me for months.
But here he was, laying it all on the table and promising me that our child would be loved—that he hoped the baby would be like me .
Words eluded me, so I banded my arms around his strong neck and held on for my life.
Days later, I still caught myself smiling when I remembered Duke and I were having a baby boy. I’d already started a list in my phone of names that I liked, and as the list grew longer, I couldn’t help but wonder what I wanted to do about the baby’s last name.
Would he be a King or a Sullivan?
The original agreement between Duke and me had been that he would help me during the pregnancy and the first few months of the baby’s life, but we had yet to discuss what would happen beyond that.
If I was really going through with moving to Savannah, a deeply maternal part of me wanted to make sure that my baby shared my last name.
I also couldn’t even imagine the shitstorm waiting for me if my family found out I didn’t give him the King last name.
.. but when I imagined the crushed look that would inevitably cross Duke’s face if I told him I didn’t plan to name the baby Sullivan, my breath caught.
There was a painful pinch in my chest every time.
Standing in the doorway to the spare room, which would serve as the nursery, I sighed.
According to the internet, I was nesting, because after my shift at the Sugar Bowl, I had the intense urge to wipe down all the walls of the nursery.
That morphed into cleaning the baseboards and washing the windows.
I should have felt tired, but I had an inexplicable burst of energy and satisfaction.
From behind me, the floor creaked, and Duke enveloped me in an embrace, burying his nose into my neck. “Smells good.”
I let the wet rag plop onto the floor as I held on to the thick forearm that banded around my midsection. I loved the way his hand splayed low across my pregnant belly. Even on days when I felt bloated and fat, Duke never failed to make me feel precious and beautiful.
I breathed in, soaking in the buzzy warmth of his embrace. “I got on a cleaning kick today.” I leaned back into him.
“I was talking about you.” He grumbled in my ear, and tingles raced from my scalp to my toes.
Those second-trimester hormones were no joke.
I let my fingertip trace a vein in his forearm as my eyes wandered over the nursery room.
It still needed furniture and a coat of paint, but I had been having fun dreaming of possibilities and pinning all kinds of bougie nursery images to a Pinterest board.
“I’d like to paint in here, but I don’t think that I am supposed to.”
Duke’s embrace tightened slightly as his body curled around mine. “Leave it to me. I can take care of everything.”
I angled my head to try to look back at him. “You’re not thinking, like, deer heads and plaid, are you?”
A deep hearty chuckle rumbled from Duke, vibrating my back and filling me with warmth. “What’s wrong with deer heads? They’re masculine. Cool.”
“Oh god, never mind. I’ll risk it with the fumes.”
I was rewarded with another laugh tumbling from Duke as he swayed me slightly. “I promise I will make this room perfect for you and little Coot.”
My face twisted. “Coot?”
I felt his shoulders shrug behind me. “Just trying out options. Grenade?”
“Hard pass.”
“What about Athol? It’s a strong Irish name.”
A giggle crashed out of me. “We are not naming the baby Athol . It sounds like a bully with a lisp. Are you even Irish?”
“Probably.” Duke laughed with another shrug. “Somewhere down the line.”
My palms rested on the back of his hands while he rubbed my belly, and my laugh quieted.
“We’ve got some time. We’ll figure it out. But I promise—” Duke dropped a tender kiss in the spot where the base of my neck met my shoulder. “If you trust me, I’ll make this room perfect.”
If you trust me.
The deep rumble of his voice played on a loop in my head before I finally whispered, “I trust you.”
A happy hum sounded from behind me as Duke moved his hands from my belly down my back to cup my ass. “Good, now that we’ve got that settled, get ready.” His hand landed with a thwack on my butt. “I’m taking you out.”
I spun, facing him with big round eyes. “A date? Dinner?”
God, it was absurd how obsessed with food I had become.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “A date.” He ran the tip of his nose down mine. “But it will also include food. I’m no fool.”
I beamed up at him.
“Can you be ready in thirty?”
Excitement danced through me as the baby kicked in delighted agreement. “If it includes something fried, I can be ready in twenty.”
Duke’s hand smoothed down my cheek before landing softly on my neck as he plopped a kiss on my lips. “You got yourself a deal.”
The Fried Fisherman’s Feast sat in my delightfully full tummy as Duke held open the large wooden door to the Grudge.
Only days after Christmas, it still had the rustic charm of a honky-tonk dressed up for the holidays.
Garland swag adorned the stage. The mirror behind the bar held a large wreath, but if you looked closely, there were little skeletons matching the Grudge’s logo in Santa hats.
My eyes flicked to the east and west sides of the bar.
It was common knowledge that when townies entered the Grudge Holder, you picked a side.
I froze with the assumption that Duke would obviously pick the west side, nestling comfortably in a slew of Sullivans and their allies.
On the King side, cousins and family friends eyed us, their drinks paused midway to their mouths as they gaped.
The scene unfolded in a matter of seconds. Duke paused for only a fraction of that time before heading straight toward an open high-top table near the center of the room. Relief washed over me as Duke slid out the high-back chair and helped me into it.
“You good?” His eyes searched my face.
“Yep!” I chirped a little too loudly and grabbed the plastic menu to do something with my trembling hands. Duke folded his large frame into the seat across from me and leaned back, looking completely at ease in the tense surroundings, like a king in his throne.
A small laugh shotgunned out of me. The irony of that thought was not lost on me. Duke’s chin tipped in my direction in silent question. Instead of answering, I dropped my eyes to the menu and started scanning.
“Is Brutus ready for a snack?”
I shot him a bored look with steady eyes. “Hard. Pass.”
He chuckled as I settled against the back of the stool and absently rubbed my bump. “I think he’s still content with the fifty pounds of popcorn shrimp I just housed.”
His eyes flicked down, then back up as a waitress stepped up to our table. “Hey, folks, what can I get started for you tonight?” Nerves buzzed off her as her smile faltered and her eyes flicked between us.
He nodded for me to go ahead, and I ordered. “A strawberry lemonade with a splash of Sprite, please.”
His lips pursed before his attention drew back to the waitress. “I’ll have the same and a basket of fried pickles.”
She nodded and scooped up our menus before hurrying away.
Duke winked at me. “Just in case.”
Butterflies erupted in my belly at the same time as the baby kicked. Clearly, fried food was this kid’s love language.
It was early on a Thursday night, which meant a live band hadn’t set up yet, but music pumped from the jukebox.
My fingers tapped the rhythm to the old nineties country song as I watched couples two-step on the dance floor.
I watched as Annie and Duke’s brother Lee danced circles around everyone in town.
They had for years, but it was only recently they finally stopped denying the magnetic pull toward each other.
My eyes flicked to Duke, and I wondered if maybe we were doing the same thing—letting our names and family history define whatever this was between us when there was no denying there was an invisible string attaching me to him. A string I couldn’t imagine ever being broken.
Duke’s large hand captured mine, mid-beat. He slid from his chair and stood next to mine, pulling me to stand. He tipped his head toward the dance floor. “Come on.”
I looked up at him as his one arm circled my waist and the other held my hand in the proper dancing position. I had to tip my chin to look him in the eye. “I love to dance.”
It was a general statement as much as it was a warning to this stoic man whom I’d seen time and time again in the Grudge but never once out on the dance floor.
He smirked down at me, and a tug pulled low in my belly. “I know.”