Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Zac
The light from the television flickers in the darkness, ricocheting off of the windows, illuminating Presley’s face, her eyes closed as the sounds of her soft snores fill the space. I turned the volume down long ago, turning my body so that I could see her better.
She barely made it thirty minutes into the movie before passing out. Made me think she was working too hard, when she should be taking it easy. But telling her that would only trigger an unnecessary argument. So instead I make a mental note to keep tabs on things without making it obvious.
I’ll admit I have no idea how to do this with Presley.
Would we be where we are now, doing what we are doing if she hadn’t told me she was pregnant? Probably not, but that doesn’t mean that we wouldn’t have been something at some point. The more time I spend with her, the more I realize I truly enjoy her company. She is funny, and smart, and behind that snarky attitude is a sweet version of a woman I think truly wants to be loved.
What I do know is I’d really like to get ahold of her ex. The guy sounds like a douche. I mean what kind of man leaves the woman carrying his child alone to fend for herself? And not only that, he walked away from his son, and Grayson, he’s an awesome kid. His dad was missing out.
A small whimper escapes her as she stretches, her arms going up above her head and her T-shirt rising at her waist. A sliver of her stomach shows and my focus falls to the space. Wanting to reach out and touch her, I resist.
Laying there, staring at her, I can imagine a life with her. Yes, there is still so much to learn, and so much to share with her about myself too. But as I watch her sleep, for the first time in a long time, I let all the feelings in. I stop pretending that being alone is okay with me. I stop pretending that I’ve been perfectly happy with the way my life is.
An hour later, the credits of the movie are scrolling down the screen. I stand from the couch. Gathering Presley in my arms, I’m careful not to wake her as I make my way to the stairs.
The smell of her perfume, or maybe it is her body wash, surrounds me with each step. It’s something floral, and it reminds me of all the flowers my mother had when I was young. Lilacs were her favorite and she always had fresh flowers in the windowsills and on the kitchen table. It brings me back to my childhood, and I can’t help burying my nose in Presley’s hair as I continue up the stairs.
My bedroom is completely open to the space below, no walls, no dividers. Just a king- sized bed in the middle of a large open area. I used to tell Jace it was like sleeping on a cloud, above the rest of the living space, and nothing closing me in.
But now, laying here alone in the darkness, it’s lonely.
The warehouse I bought being on the edge of town, it’s lost in the darkness. I used to love the seclusion, loved knowing that I had no neighbors to bother me, no interruptions to keep me up at night.
But a little chaos wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Laughter, the sounds of cartoons in the background, music, and even excessive chatter.
I spend hours at the shop, even when I don’t have appointments, just to be in the presence of those I love. Just to hear the hassling and crazy banter of Dax, Olly, Luna, and Jace. Most days I don’t mind that I end up being the subject of their entertainment. I love the wild days, and when I leave, I instantly miss it.
Coming home to an empty space is getting harder and harder. Truth be told, I love having Presley here. The space doesn’t feel so massive with her filling the space too.
Reluctantly I lower Presley to the mattress, and as she curls her body away from me I find I miss having her in my arms. Being jealous of the pillow she wraps her arms around seems crazy, but I am.
I stand at the edge of the bed like some crazy ass stalker, watching her sleep. The sounds of her breaths echo over the space, a heaviness presses down on my chest.
Walking backwards toward the stairs I make my way back downstairs and flop down on the couch. Laying back against the cushions, I grip my hair and tug on the ends.
My thoughts bounce around in my mind like ten fucking pinballs, ricocheting in every direction. I want to do this right, more than anything I want to be the man her ex wasn’t.
* * *
I didn’t even hear Presley coming down the stairs. I’d gotten up more than an hour ago and decided to do something I never do.
“You cooked?” I look up and find her staring at me with a hint of a smile on her face.
“Don’t act so surprised,” I say with a laugh. “It’s just waffles.” I shrug. “I can’t screw those up too bad, can I?”
“Don’t ask me, I’m a terrible cook.” She doesn’t seem ashamed even a little. “I’m the queen of take-out and frozen meals.” She makes her way around the counter and sits in one of the chairs. “I make a killer cheese plate though.”
“Isn’t that just basically different cheeses, crackers, and maybe some grapes or something?”
“Pretty much.” She nods, her lips pursed. “And when I’m feeling really adventurous I toss on some olives too.”
“Rebel,” I say, pulling the last waffle off the iron and lay it onto the plate atop all the others.
“Are we expecting company?” Presley asks, looking over her shoulder like she expects to find a crowd walking in the door.
“Just us,” I reply with my brows furrowed.
When she turns back to face me she looks at the waffles stacked high, and then back to me. “You made six waffles?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you eating five of them?”
“I figured you’d eat a few.”
She instantly starts to laugh. “Because I’m pregnant?”
I nod, only triggering more laughter. “Hell I don’t know.” I suddenly feel embarrassed. “Do pregnant women eat more than normal?”
“Maybe a little.” She smiles wider and even if I sound like a fool, I’ll take it. To make her smile like she currently is, it’s worth it. “But I can assure you, one waffle is enough.”
I waste no further time, placing a waffle on her plate, and sliding over the syrup. I watch as she lifts the container pouring the warm sticky syrup over her waffle. Lifting her fork, she cuts into it, then lifts it to her lips. I watch a little worried, after Jace mentioned I was a terrible cook.
I’ll admit, I am waiting for her to spit it into a napkin.
Chewing she looks up at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Is that cinnamon?"
“Yeah,” I say, a sense of relief washing over me. “My mom always added cinnamon to her batter. I thought I’d give it a shot.”
Taking another bite, she chews making a sweet little mmm sound while doing it. “You did good.” She chews some more. “Real good,” she says around another bite.
I lift the syrup and throw two waffles onto my plate, before covering them and joining her on the chair at her side. Together, side by side we eat, and I can’t help but smile when she reaches out and grabs a second waffle. Looking over at me she offers me a wink, before devouring it too.