Chapter 34
I Love Pasta
Griffin
Angie trails into the kitchen, sleep mussed and as gorgeous as ever.
She stretches her arms above her head, and her shirt rides up the barest amount.
I fleetingly wonder if I could get her pregnant again, but I tamp down that dangerous thought.
I’d love to have more kids, but pregnancy was hard on her, and I wouldn’t put her through that again unless she explicitly asked me to.
I already have everything I could ever want or need.
“How was your nap?” I ask, setting another bottle on the drying rack.
“Good, but I’m still tired down to my bones.” She comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist.
I capture her hands and hold her there. “You spent nine months growing another human being, now you’re up at all hours taking care of her. It makes sense that your body would need some time to adjust.”
She lets out a quiet sigh, then sidesteps me to get to Jessie, but she doesn’t have to go far since the sleeping baby is attached to my chest. Only her tiny, round face is visible between the fabric wrap holding her there.
“How long has she been out?”
“About an hour, give or take.”
Angie presses a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my little love.”
I smirk. “And what about me? Am I just the third wheel now?”
She quirks a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “You never asked me to be your Valentine.”
“I didn’t know there were rules for that.”
“Who doesn’t know how Valentine’s Day works? ‘Be mine’ is literally written on every card and piece of candy in the seasonal section.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers coasting down the side of her face. “Will you be my Valentine, Mrs. Hayes?”
“Rossi-Hayes. But yes. I suppose I will.”
“Good. Do you want your gift now or later?”
“You got me a gift?”
“Mhm. I have big plans for the three of us today.” I bring her lips to mine for a chaste kiss. “Now or later?”
She glances down at her attire, then back up at me. “Can I shower first? I feel gross.”
“You’re beautiful, but I’ll allow it.”
She heads toward the bathroom but stops in her tracks. “Wait. Where are my parents?”
“They’re on a weekend getaway. It’s just us for the next forty-eight hours.”
Angie’s parents are sticking around for a while longer, so I booked them a room at the Willow Creek Inn down by the beach. They’ve been a huge help over the last two weeks, and they deserve a break. Besides, I’m eager to have my girls to myself for a while. Both of my girls.
I swat her butt, spurring her into motion. “Go. I’m not a patient man.”
“I can’t believe you got us matching pajamas,” she says, doing up the last button on Jessie’s onesie. It’s pink with red and white hearts all over it.
“I figured since we’re gonna be having a quiet day at home, we could do it in style.”
Angie’s silk top and sleep shorts match Jessie’s onesie, and I opted for the matching pants with a plain red shirt.
She slides a large red bow onto Jessie’s head and adjusts the loops.
I pull out my phone and hold it at arm’s length to take a selfie, then I snap a few more of just Jessie and Angie to keep for myself. My heart squeezes at the sight of them in their matching outfits. They’re perfect, and they’re all mine.
The doorbell rings, and I excuse myself to answer it, returning with the large bouquet of sunflowers I ordered earlier in the week. Growing up, Pops always made sure Mama had fresh flowers on her table. I swore I’d do the same someday.
Angie’s eyes widen as I stride into the room and set the arrangement on the coffee table.
“You know I hate surprises.” She brings the bouquet to her nose and inhales. “But I’ll make an exception because these are my favorite.”
“You’re my favorite.” I kiss her cheek. “And we’re just getting started.”
Jessie lets out a discontented wail, which quickly turns into all-out screeching. I grab the breastfeeding pillow and set it on Angie’s lap as she unbuttons her top. Jessie latches without too much difficulty, and the room is quiet once more.
Bacon sizzles in the frying pan as the water for the linguini noodles begins to boil. Angie slides onto the stool at the kitchen island and props her chin on her hand.
“Something smells good,” she says. “Wait. Is that—”
“Chicken carbonara. Your dad’s recipe.”
She hops down and rounds the island. Her hands cup my cheeks, and she kisses me. “God, I love…” Her expression falters, and she clears her throat. “Pasta.”
That word, the one that almost tripped off her tongue, has been on the tip of mine forever. I’m not sure she’s ready to hear it.
I steal one more kiss and smile against her lips. “I love pasta, too.”
Her eyes turn molten, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. How the hell am I supposed to resist fucking her for four more weeks when she’s looking at me like that?
The grease splatters at the exact right moment, breaking the spell.
“What can I do to help?” Angie asks.
I point to the bread box with my spatula. “We need garlic bread.”
“On it.”
Angie sets her phone on the counter and presses play.
Soft, romantic music fills the air as we work together to prepare our dinner.
When the song shifts to a familiar ballad, I drop everything and pull her into my arms. She places her palm over my heart, and I trap it there, keeping my other hand on her lower back.
I sway us back and forth to the music, resting my chin against her temple. When the chorus kicks in, I whisper the lyrics against her skin.
I’ve dreamed of moments like this for as long as I can remember.
My parents always made time to dance in the kitchen—still do to this very day.
I promised myself if I ever found the one I wanted to marry, I’d show her the same love and devotion that my dad has always shown my mom.
We grew up surrounded by love, never wanting for much of anything. That’s all I want for my family.
Angie glances up at me with a soft smile. “Griffin Hayes, I think you might be a romantic.”
She giggles as I spin her away and rapidly pull her back into my arms.
“Only for you,” I say. “Only ever for you.”
The song fades out, and I reluctantly let her go.
When the oven timer goes off, I pull out the fragrant garlic bread and set it on the counter. Angie has two place settings ready to go in our usual spots at the kitchen island. We never use the dining room since it’s just the two of us.
I grab the bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses, setting them beside our plates. “Full disclosure, your dad picked the wine.”
She laughs. “He’s passionate about his wine pairings. Let me guess… pinot grigio?”
“Huh. So that's how you pronounce it.”
I pour two glasses and dish up the carbonara, setting a slice of garlic bread on the edge of the plates.
“Need anything else before I sit?”
“No. This is perfect.” She swirls the glass of wine and brings it to her lips. “Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t drink. What if Jessie needs to eat?”
“We have plenty of milk in the freezer. She’ll be fine with a bottle.”
Her shoulders relax, and she takes a sip. She sighs. “Ok.”
“I didn’t realize there would be so many little things I’d worry about. I thought it would be smooth sailing until we got to the scraped knees and broken hearts.”
“Great. Now I’m gonna be thinking about that.”
“One step at a time,” I say. “The first person to break my daughter’s heart will have to deal with me.”
A laugh bubbles out of her, and she covers her mouth to swallow around a bite. “You’re not as intimidating as you think you are. Like a giant teddy bear.”
I grumble a curse under my breath and turn my attention to my meal. Any minute now, Jessie could wake up from her nap, so I’ve learned to eat quickly.
We finish our meals, and I set the dishes in the dishwasher, making a mental note to run it later. Angie settles on the couch, one leg folded under the other, with her wine glass resting on her knee.
I stand behind her, massaging her shoulders. “I have one last surprise for you.”
She glances over her shoulder. “Griffin. You’ve done enough.”
“Never. I’d give you the whole goddamn world and every cloud in the sky if I could.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head and walk around the couch to sit beside her. I pull open the drawer to the coffee table and hand Angie the sealed envelope I’d left there for safekeeping.
She sets her wine glass on the table, then slips her finger beneath the flap to tear it open. Inside is a set of first-class tickets to Italy, then to Greece, for an all-expenses-paid two-week vacation to Europe this June.
His gaze snaps to mine, those dark chocolate irises glistening with unshed tears. “Why would you do this?”
“I think you know why.” I run my thumb along her cheekbone, capturing a lone tear. “I want to give you everything, Angel. Starting with this.”
“You’ve already given me so much,” she says, choking on the words. “This is too much. I didn’t even get you anything.”
“You gave me Jessie. Nothing will ever come close.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “This is a dream come true.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I say, needing to infuse a little levity into the moment. “We still have to spend hours on an airplane with a four-month-old baby.”
She backhands my chest. “Don’t talk about my daughter like that. She’s a perfect angel.”
Right on cue, a loud cry comes through the baby monitor.
“A perfect angel with very strong lungs,” I say. “I’ll get her.”