Chapter 7
chapter seven
Daisy
I can’t sleep. Or rather, I’m awake again. Nugget is clearly taking after her Aunt Temple and is doing some aerial yoga in there. And I have to pee. Again.
Poor Mouse is so over me waking him up so often, he’s taken to sleeping in the hallway. In the space between my room and Beau’s. He lifts his head as I creep out of my room towards the bathroom. When he sees where I am headed, he just lies back down with a doggy sigh.
Tell me about it, pup. This isn’t fun for any of us.
After doing my business and washing my hands, I head out to Beau’s kitchen in search of a snack. Or at the least some water. Gotta keep hydrating myself considering I go to the bathroom every seven minutes.
My bare feet make little noise on the linoleum floor as I move to the refrigerator. Two days ago when Beau had brought me here—all indignant and fuming on my behalf, he’d got me settled on his sofa with a snack and a movie and had me text him foods that I wanted from the store. Then he’d headed out to the local H-E-B and stocked up.
There were no fewer than four types of Blue Bell ice cream in the freezer. That would likely not help with the heartburn though. I peer into the fridge, taking stock to see if anything jumps out at me.
“Can’t sleep either?”
I squeak and jump, then turn to face the direction where Beau’s deep voice had come from.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I say, my hand over my rapidly beating heart.
He gives me a smile across the LED lit room. His big body perches on one of the chairs at the kitchen table. His blond hair sticks up in every direction, but this is the first time I’ve seen him without his hat. He’s also wearing a tank top that reveals more of his sculpted shoulders and biceps than my middle-of-the-night-pregnant-brain is ready for.
Lord help me, I want to climb that man like a cat in heat.
I turn away, intent on finding myself some water. Maybe I should just pour it over my head though instead of drinking it.
It’s gotta be the hormones, right? I mean I’ve never reacted this strongly to a man before. There’s probably some anthropological reason why I look at him and see him as mate material.
Obviously!
Anyone with ovaries would do the same. He’s a big, strong, gorgeous man who could clearly protect our cave. Anthropologically, speaking, of course.
“What do you need, Little Mama?”
His voice comes from directly behind me. He started calling me that the day I moved in here, and his voice is so sweet and tender when he says it. I am in way over my head with this man.
The heat from his nearness makes my nipples harden into painful points.
“Water,” I croak.
Then he’s got a hand on my hip—which I’m now realizing is bare except for panties because I just walked my happy ass out here in nothing but a t-shirt and my underwear. Holy hell, what is the matter with me?
Anyways, big, meaty hand on my hip as he leans forward and around me to grab a glass from the cupboard. He gives my hip a squeeze.
“Go sit down. I’ll bring it to you,” he says.
I skirt out from under his arm and find my way to the kitchen table. I look up in time to see him walking towards me. Something about the dimness of the kitchen, the time of the night and his bare feet make this moment feel unbelievably intimate.
He hands me the glass of water. “You need anything else?”
I’m about to answer when there’s a sharp kick to my ribcage. I wince.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice urgent.
“Nothing. Nugget is busy tonight.” I gesture vaguely to my belly. “Doing yoga or parkour or something.”
“Does it always hurt?”
I shake my head. “No. Only when they hit an organ or something.”
He’s hovering, still concerned that I’m being hurt.
“Did you want to…” I leave the rest of the question unsaid because I don’t know how to ask. Did you want to feel up my big belly? How about you put your hands on me?
He falls to his knees in front of my chair. His hand reaches out, but he’s hesitant. So I grab it and move it to where my baby is kickboxing my ribs. The second his hand is pressed to the spot… Kick!
Beau flinches, then he looks up at me. Eyes wide, he keeps his hand on my stomach as my baby repeatedly kicks at him. An impossibly sweet, boyish grin spreads across his face.
“Holy shit,” he whispers. “You have a baby in there. Moving around and growing. That’s a goddamn miracle, Daisy. You’re a miracle.”
There’s something so earnest and pure in his words that tears spring to my eyes.
Somehow in the movement my tee has ridden up, exposing a swath of my belly, from my navel to the panty line hidden beneath the swell. In this light it seems like the stretch marks marring my skin are illuminated, like they’re fluorescent. I grab at my shirt, trying to cover them.
But Beau’s hand stops my progress. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
“It’s just that I know they’re ugly. And they’re just going to get worse as the baby grows.”
“There’s nothing ugly about you, Little Mama, especially not those. You are so beautiful. Every damn inch of you is beautiful.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Then he takes my hand and slides it under his shirt, giving me access to his back. His skin is warm, but my fingers meet rough, raised lines—scars that crisscross over his back. Deep and ragged.
I look up at him, not even bothering to hide my tears.
“Foster care wasn’t so kind to me,” he says. “I don’t normally tell people.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I’m not going to tonight. I just wanted you to know that we all have scars. Some more visible than others. You and me, we’re both marked by survival.” he says.
I swallow thickly and nod.
He looks down at my belly again. His hand settles there like it belongs. Like I belong. And I’m just not quite sure what to do about that.