16. That’s Not Fitting Anywhere
CHAPTER
THAT’S NOT FITTING ANYWHERE
ROSIE
I’ve lost
count of how many times I’ve wondered why loving ourselves is one of the hardest things we’ll ever do.
Most of the time I find I can do it well.
I remind myself of all the amazing things this body has done for me, the gifts it’s given me, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
And then somebody opens their mouth without reason, and they tear your work down in seconds.
You stand there in their wake, gripping the love you carry so tightly in your hands, unwilling to let it go.
But sometimes the harder you grip it, the easier it is to let it sift through your fingers like sand, falling to your feet.
As I stand in front of the oversized mirror in Adam’s bedroom, my eyes roam the length of my naked body, both the pieces I love every day and the ones I struggle a little extra with some days.
You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself. You’ve gained some weight. It’s been sixteen months. Hit the gym or something.
I close my eyes to words that try so hard to bring shame, hands curling into fists that shake at my stomach as I battle against the temptation to let them win.
Because at the end of the day, I know that self-love isn’t being happy with myself, all of me, every single moment.
It’s not realistic, and a recipe for failure.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I force my eyes open, force them to drink myself in right here in the mirror.
“I am not somebody else’s opinion of me,” I whisper.
“I’m strong. I’m resilient. My heart is big and kind.
I’m always learning. I’m the only one of me.
” With each word, the tension in my body slowly dissipates, shoulders dropping away from my ears, fingers uncurling as my body drinks in the affirmations like it’s been starved for them, waiting for me to embrace myself, because today, I need a little extra love from me.
Because, I think, self-love is as simple as giving myself grace on the hard days, loving myself extra when I need it.
The bedroom door opens, and I snap the towel off the floor, wrapping it around myself as Adam’s gaze finds me. Heat pools in my cheeks at the way his eyes dim as they rake over me, the curve of his mouth as his long legs eat the distance between us.
“Hi,” I whisper as he comes to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around me, his chin finding a home on my shoulder as he watches me in the mirror.
“Hi, pretty girl.” He chuckles, kissing the heat dotting my cheek. “Connor’s asleep.”
“Thank you so much for doing that. He really loves spending time with you.”
“He makes me feel like I’m doing something right in this life.”
Sizzling fingertips glide up my arms, over my shoulders, before dipping down to my collarbone where I clutch the towel to me. Fire stokes low in my belly, rolling in waves in every direction, the biggest blaze of all settling between my thighs.
I swallow. “You’re doing everything right.”
“Everything?”
I nod, gaze hooked on his reflection as he pries my iron grip from the towel.
The plush gray cloth slowly sweeps open, revealing my body inch by aching inch.
For a moment, uncertainty takes control, running through me as I scramble to cover my breasts, the softness of my lower belly, the stretch marks that haven’t entirely faded, a scar that never will.
“I nursed Connor for thirteen months,” I blurt as Adam’s fingers circle my wrists, gently opening me up to him. “So, they’re…they’re…”
“Perfect,” he whispers, his soft touch tracing the shape of my breasts, guiding my eyes back to where his watch me so intently, holding nothing but deep appreciation, utter adoration.
“They’re perfect, Rosie. Please don’t ever try to convince yourself any part of you isn’t just right, because to me, it’s everything. You. Are. Everything
.”
A single tear peels its way down my cheek. When his lips trap it, I turn into his kiss, sinking against him. “I think I really needed to hear that.”
“Do you need to see it too? Feel it?” He lifts my palm to his mouth, pressing lingering kisses there as his fingertips skate across my belly.
“Because I want to give you whatever you need. I want you to know exactly where you stand with me, to see yourself exactly the way I see you. The way my heart races when I’m with you, when I touch you, when I get to just fucking… look at you
? I want you to feel that.”
My gaze tracks Adam’s searing one in the mirror. “How would you do that?”
“How about we start with you putting your eyes on yourself? Looking at every piece of you for exactly what it is, appreciating everything it’s done for you. Seeing it for the beauty it is.”
“It’s not always that easy.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not. Not when we’re talking about ourselves.” He takes my chin in his hand, runs his thumb across my lower lip. My tongue darts out, chasing its path. “Let me show you what it’s like for me, looking at you. Every single thought leaves my body, except… wow
. How fucking lucky am I? I found you, and somehow, you chose me. I get to keep you.”
“Was there any other option? Choosing you? Because it didn’t feel like a choice; it just felt right.”
“Like it was meant to happen? Me and you? That little boy out there?”
“Like we were lost, and you pulled your truck over to the side of the road and asked if we needed a ride. We climbed in and never left.”
Adam grins against my cheek. “I like that. You were made to ride in my passenger seat.”
He rakes his fingers through the strands, twining a rose gold end as he grips my hip.
“You paint these honey waves the softest shade of pink because you want to stand out just a little bit. I think it makes you look innocent, sweet, but what makes you stand out…” He sweeps a thumb beneath my eye.
“These stunning eyes, the same color as the trees the day we met.” He skims my cheekbone.
“And these freckles, the way they light up your face when you smile, come out of hiding after an afternoon in the sun…” The tip of his nose rubs against mine.
“This nose, the cutest fucking nose, the way it crinkles when I make you blush.” Capturing my chin, he claims my mouth with the softest brush of his. “And this smile…Jesus, this
is what makes you stand out, Rosie. This smile is what I couldn’t tear my eyes from that day in the forest, not the nervous way you chewed it when you looked up at me, the way it grew when you watched that precious dog melt in my lap, the way it transformed every inch of your face when you laughed.
I fell for this smile first, because there was no other choice but to fall. ”
There’s always a choice
, I almost say. And I’ve never been anyone’s
.
But Adam shakes his head, a glint in his eyes like he knows exactly where my mind is trying to take me. Like he’s not going to let it.
He grips my neck, bringing my mouth to his, devouring me with a ferocity that steals my breath, lifts me to the tips of my toes, chasing more, everything.
“No other choice,” he whispers against my lips before forcing my gaze back to our reflection, where every inch of my nakedness glows red under his scrutiny.
With his eyes locked on mine, Adam steps back, reaching behind him and pulling his shirt over his head.
My mouth salivates at the sight of him, miles of tanned, knotted muscles carved to a level of perfection that feels surreal.
And as he steps out of his shorts, muscular thighs straining below the immaculate lines of the lion painted there, heat spreads throughout my belly.
Adam steps back into me, palm covering my torso as it glides up, up, hands skimming the sides of my breasts as he dots my shoulder in kisses.
“These,” he murmurs, cupping the weight of them in his hands. “These are perfect. And they fed your son for thirteen months? I don’t ever want to hear you say something negative about something so incredible. And, fuck, are they incredible. Like they were made to fit inside these hands.”
“Adam,” I choke out as his thumbs scrape across my nipples, pulling everything inside me tight. My back arches, pushing myself deeper into his touch, wanting more.
Fingertips dance across my flesh, dipping between my breasts, lower, across my belly, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
Adam’s eyes meet mine as he gently traces the faint stretch marks painted on my skin.
Heat pools in my cheeks, begging me to look away, but the look in Adam’s eyes begs me to stay right here with him.
“Tiger stripes,” he wonders out loud. “I understand the term now more than I ever did. A beautiful reminder of the versatility of your body, the way it adapted to grow something so precious. You’re unbelievably strong, Rosie.
A mama who’ll do anything for her son, to help him grow and learn surrounded by love, while also showing him what true strength looks like. ”
“What does it look like?” I ask quietly as his hands sear across my flesh like a paintbrush on a canvas.
“It’s fierce. Brave. Conquering your fears so you and your son can live without the barriers you see in your mind.
But it’s also vulnerability. Honesty. Trust. It’s seeing your faults, your fears, as setbacks and opportunities to grow and learn more about yourself, rather than a dead-end road.
It’s moving forward one step at a time, with someone’s hand in yours, holding you tight. ”
“I like holding your hand. It makes all those steps a little easier.”