11. Can Confirm That’s A Hospitalizer
CHAPTER
CAN CONFIRM: THAT’S A HOSPITALIZER
ROSIE
Have
you ever walked into a space and been hit with the overwhelming urge to lock the door so you can live there, in that moment, forever?
That’s me right now, and it’s been me since Adam opened his front door and guided Connor and me inside.
Since Connor took one look at the wide staircase and started crawling up it, and then Adam spent fifteen minutes showing him how to go up and down, because we don’t have stairs at home.
Since he showed us the dining room table he and his dad built together when he moved in two years ago, and then played peekaboo with Connor around it.
Since Connor found the TV remote, handed it to Adam, asked for bus
, and the two of them watched and sang it on repeat three times.
And right now, as I run my fingers over the rustic brick backsplash, the marble countertops, along the edge of the oversized farmhouse sink, down to the cupboards.
From the pristine white siding mingled with large stone, the wooden pillars, the black framed windows, this oversized farmhouse backing onto the mountains in North Vancouver is just… perfection.
But it’s the olive-green cupboards that do me in.
“I’ve always loved the color of these cupboards, but they’ve become my favorite part of this house since I met you.”
My gaze comes to Adam’s as he strolls up beside me. “Why’s that?”
He brushes my bangs aside. “Because they’re the same color as your eyes.”
A happy warmth pools in my cheeks, and I watch my fingers slowly skim the muted color.
“My parents and I moved into our house when I was six. The cupboards were solid maple but old, and we didn’t have the money to renovate.
” I smile at the memory of my dad dragging us through Home Depot, holding paint chips up to my eyes.
“He painted them green to match mine and my mom’s eyes. ”
“Mmm…” Adam winds an arm around my waist, pulling me back against his chest, his lips at my hair. “Your dad and I would get along well, I think.”
They really would have. Lord knows he would’ve had my mom eating out of the palm of his hand too.
Connor squeezes between us, pulling on Adam’s shorts. “’nack?”
“Snack?” Adam asks, and when Connor nods, he pulls out peanut butter, bread, and a banana. “Yeah, dude. Let me make you a—”
“ Ba-na
!” he shrieks, marching in spot, clapping his hands. He reaches for the banana. “Ba-na!”
“All right, banana it is.” Adam chuckles, peeling the banana, breaking it in half, and handing it to him. “That was easy.”
“Where’s Bear?” I ask, suddenly realizing what’s missing.
“I tucked him in my room. I wasn’t sure if Connor would be nervous around him since he’s so big.”
“Oh no. Connor loves dogs.” I ruffle his hair. “Don’t you, buddy?”
“Dog,” he replies, shoving the last of his banana in his mouth. “ Oof, oof
!”
Adam crouches in front of him. “Do you want to meet my dog Bear? He’s my best bud.”
Connor shoves the last of his banana in his mouth and grabs hold of one of Adam’s fingers. The way Adam’s eyes light, the corner of his mouth quirking as he looks down at the connection, makes my heart flutter.
I follow as they trot up the stairs, Connor staring up at him with wide, wonderous eyes, like he’s enthralled with every word Adam speaks to him. Or maybe it’s the undivided attention Adam lavishes on him. Whatever it is, I think he’s in love.
Adam pushes his bedroom door open an inch, and a black nose nudges its way through, sniffing. There’s a solid, steady thump of a happy tail whipping back and forth, and when Bear’s tongue makes an appearance, Connor starts giggling.
“Bear, sit,” Adam commands, lifting Connor into his arms as he opens the door. “Good boy. Wait.” Bear’s brown eyes bounce between Connor and me. He shifts from paw to paw, whimpering, and Connor starts gasping, wriggling, just as desperate to touch Bear as Bear is to touch him.
“Dog. Dog!” Wild green eyes meet mine. “Mama, dog
!”
Adam walks into the bedroom, up to the pristine king-sized bed, and takes a seat. He pats twice and tells Bear up
before making him lie down. Then he sets Connor on the bed.
“We’re gentle with our pets,” I remind Connor, and he tentatively reaches for Bear, his eyes shining with love. Bear meets him halfway, one ginormous tongue that covers Connor’s whole face in a single swipe, and my little guy throws his arms around Bear’s burly neck. “Hi, dog! Hi, big dog!”
Adam laughs, and my attention wanders around his incredible space, how intimate it feels to be in here with him.
I walk across the chestnut brown planks, warm below my bare feet from the sunshine streaming through the double French doors.
They’re propped open, letting in the breeze, and I step onto the oversize balcony.
“Wow.” The single syllable escapes on a breath.
A sea of evergreens peers back at me, tracking their way up the lush mountain, wrapping me in its ethereal beauty, reminding me why I moved here.
Why, of all the places my family visited when I was growing up, Vancouver is the one I chose to make my home.
There’s a nostalgia in the green, the fresh scent of pine and earth that each gust of wind brings.
A peaceful calm that settles all my racing thoughts in this moment, the uneven beat of my heart.
Everything is still and quiet, and I feel… at home. With myself. With Connor.
With Adam.
Something warm brushes my back, and two strong arms cage me in, large hands clasping the stone balcony wall on either side of mine.
“Pretty, huh?”
“Pretty doesn’t begin to describe it,” I breathe out.
Soft lips ghost the shell of my ear. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Shrieks of giggles ring behind us, and I glance behind me to find Connor and Bear rolling around on the plush rug.
Adam chuckles, a warm sound that rattles down my spine. “Think my dog’s in love.”
Yes. The dog. Definitely the dog. Not the…not the human. No. That’s absolutely…no.
I watch Adam’s hand move, so slowly, fingertips trailing my forearm before his palm splays over my belly.
Instead of worrying about everything he might feel, the soft lines that speak of my love of Saturday mornings spent baking muffins and midweek batches of cookies, too many iced lattes in the summer and far too many hot chocolates in the winter, I sink into the touch.
I revel in the connection, firm fingertips that seem to tingle beneath the material of my sundress, like he’s touching bare skin.
My heart pounds in my ears, a steady thrum that both liberates and scares me.
I swallow the tightness in my throat, lick at my lips, and beg for a sudden storm to douse the heat singeing my skin.
“Your heart’s going a mile a minute,” Adam murmurs in my ear.
“I…” God, that’s embarrassing. I curl my fingers into my palms until my nails bite the skin. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Frankly, Rosie, I can’t tell you how good it feels to know that, for once in my life, I’m on the same page as someone.”
Our gazes collide, a silent question in mine: Are we on the same page? Really?
I’m too nervous to voice it, even though he’s just said the words. But what page is he on? What chapter? How does his book end, and who does he want standing next to him in his epilogue?
I don’t have a choice; my future is that little boy in there. And even if the decision were mine? He’d be my choice, day in and day out. I’ll always choose him.
How nice it would be for someone else to choose us too.
Adam cups my cheek, spinning me into him. Nerves grip my throat, stealing my breath, but he simply leans forward, presses the gentlest kiss to my forehead, and soothes every worry with eight words.
“I’m glad you’re here, Rosie. Both of you.”
* * *
I have to start doing yoga or something if I’m going to keep up with Connor, because how am I raising a kid as flexible as the fifteen-month-old who just essentially backflipped into the playpen in Adam’s spare room when I was still trying to explain to him that his nap would look different today?
Maybe the breathing techniques would also help not send me into a tailspin at the idea of changing our daily routine even just once.
“Did he go down okay?” Adam whispers, making me jump as I back silently out of the room.
“Yeah, went down like a…a…a…” My eyes roll down to Adam’s bare chest, the patch of dark curls that look so soft, I want to run my fingers through them. Down to the lines of thick, sinewy muscle carved so impeccably, and holy motherforking shit, I was right. It is
an eight-pack. And, oh fuck, the swim trunks. They’re tight in the worst way—because I can’t look away—bright, summery stripes that wrap all the way around, hugging every single inch of him.
And, ladies, trust me when I say this: there are a lot
of inches.
I mean, Jesus shit.
He’s bigger than the underwear guy at the bus stop; I’m sure of it. Or is it the stripes? I always avoid them because I think they make me look bigger. Does it work that way on cocks too?
Yes. Yes, it must. Because there’s no way that he…that he…there’s just no way, right?
This is it. I’m looking destruction right in the face. Obliteration. Total annihilation. That’s the only thing that can possibly come from a dick that big. No woman is surviving a dicking from this man, not without being wheeled out afterward, and possibly in a dick-induced coma.
Oh my God. Archie and Marco were right. I’ve been dickmatized.
“Sorry, did you say…total annihilation?”
My eyes snap to Adam raking his fingers through those tousled curls, a faint blush on his high cheekbones. “Pardon?”
“You were talking about putting Connor down for his nap, but you trailed off and whispered, uh… total annihilation
.” He swallows. “I think you were looking at my crotch.”
I force my jaw closed, ignoring the violent cracking sound it makes. My eyes twitch, desperate to coast down, just once more, but I’m not doing it.