Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Charli
I slowly open my eyes and focus straight ahead. The TV’s glowing but on sleep mode, and there’s a slight kink in my neck. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why.
I’m wrapped in Quinn’s arm, pulled tightly against his side. I can only see him out of the corner of my eye, but his head is lopped back, his mouth open, and a light snore fills the room. It makes me smile.
But before I can readjust my position and fall back asleep, I’m reminded of the real reason for my sudden awakening. My stomach rolls and my mouth starts to fill with saliva. I’m going to be sick.
As quickly and as quietly as I can, I scramble from the couch and make a beeline for the bathroom. I don’t even bother flipping on the overhead light. I don’t need it. I’ve done this every morning for the last week, and the last thing I want to do is see it with my own eyes.
I barely get the toilet seat up when the contents of my stomach make a reappearance.
There isn’t much there, just a few peanut butter crackers I ate before Quinn arrived last night.
I’ve learned it’s best just to go ahead and put something in my stomach before bed, because I’m gonna be throwing up regardless, and dry heaving is by far a worse fate.
The lights don’t turn on, but I know the moment Quinn steps inside the bathroom. He moves behind me, grabbing my hair and gently pulling it away from the toilet.
God, how embarrassing is this?!
“You can go,” I mutter when the heaving has subsided, leaving me panting, sweaty, and dying for a toothbrush.
“I’m not leaving,” he insists, gently rubbing my back.
I hate that I love it.
“I’m fine,” I add, resting my head against my hand on the seat of the toilet.
“I know, but I want to help,” he says softly.
“You can’t,” I argue, hating feeling so weak, and worse, having him witness it.
He doesn’t say anything else, just continues to stroke my back until the sickness passes. Finally, I sit up, craving the comfort of my bed, even though being wrapped in his arms was incredibly cozy too.
“Get in bed, Charli. I’ll grab some water and crackers,” he says, stepping to the side while he places a gentle hand around my arm to guide me to a standing position. His eyes hold nothing but concern and sympathy as he watches me, waiting.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I tell him.
Nodding, he replies, “I’ll meet you in your bedroom.”
He steps out, giving me a bit of privacy and flipping on the light. I place my hands on the vanity and hang my head, taking several deep, calming breaths. When I look up, I stare at my ashen face, my forehead a little sweaty still and my hair hanging limp and lifeless against my shoulders.
First things first, I head for my bedroom and move to my bathroom, where I grab my toothbrush and coat the bristles with toothpaste. Once my teeth and tongue are clean, I use the toilet and wash my hands. Finally, when I have everything done, I turn off the light and exit the space.
Quinn is there, waiting, with a glass of water and a plate of crackers with peanut butter smeared on top. “You’re out of the little packages of crackers,” he says, setting the plate on the nightstand.
“Oh. Yeah, I have to get more at the store today.”
“I’ll get them,” he insists, reaching for the comforter and tossing it back for me. “Get in.”
I roll my eyes at his bossiness and climb into bed.
He hands over the glass, and I take a few slow sips of cool water.
I’m unable to set the glass down on the table myself, because he’s right there, taking it from my hand and extending the plate of crackers.
“You’re really fucking annoying; you know that, right? ”
He chuckles and flashes a cheeky grin. “So you keep reminding me.”
I eat a cracker, licking a bit of peanut butter smudge off my finger, and slip into my bed. “Thank you,” I whisper, adjusting my pillow.
“You’re welcome. Happy to help.”
I sigh. “Happy you’re here,” I reply honestly, even though showing some vulnerability isn’t my strong suit. “Wish you wouldn’t have seen me throw up though.”
He snorts. “Me too, honestly,” he says, sticking out his tongue in disgust. Bending over, he presses a kiss to my forehead.
I don’t hate it.
“Sleep well, Charli.”
“You too,” I murmur, closing my eyes.
I expect him to leave at that, but I feel his hand brush across my forehead once more as he whispers, “Sleeping with you in my arms is always the best sleep I’ve ever had.”
He’s not just referring to last night, but our camping trip two weekends ago when we shared a sleeping bag.
“Same.”
With a small smile, he stands up to his full height and exits my bedroom.
I hear the front door open and close, and I’m left alone once more.
I replay everything, from painting at the bar to confronting Gabby as she hit on Quinn right in front of me.
Then to him showing up at my condo and needing to explain what happened while there.
Finally, to the events of this morning and the way he took care of me.
I wish I didn’t like it so much, because it would be so much easier to continue not to like him. Or at least pretend I didn’t, because at the end of the day, while Quinn and Camden annoyed me, I never didn’t like him.
Now, he’s showing me this softer, more intimate side, and it’s reaching into my soul.
I’m starting to think we might actually be able to do this—whatever this is.
Co-parent?
Absolutely.
More?
Well, the jury’s still out on that one.
I’ve been crabby lately, thanks to cutting caffeine from my diet. I miss my iced coffee drink and the occasional Mountain Dew or energy drink. I know I can have some of that stuff in moderation, but I decided to cut it out now to ensure I’m healthier, as is the baby.
But I admit, giving up my cup of Joe has been more difficult than I expected.
Pair the headaches with the morning sickness, and I’ve been a bucket of fun the last couple of weeks. The only thing getting me through is knowing I’ll be able to see the baby soon.
Our first OB appointment is Monday, and to say I’m excited would be an understatement.
And not just me, but Quinn is growing more anxious as the days roll on and our eight-week appointment approaches.
Not only am I ready to see the baby, but I’m ready to tell my family.
It’s been increasingly more difficult to keep this secret from them, but it feels like the right step.
Let’s make sure everything is good with the baby, and then we can tell them.
Until then, it’s just us.
Me, baby…and Quinn.
It’s Sunday night, and tomorrow is my appointment.
Quinn is going with me, and he’s picking me up at two.
After the appointment, he’ll drop me back off at my place before we drive separately to my parents’ house for dinner.
It’s not completely unusual to get together on a Monday night, but typically there’s a reason, like a birthday.
Anyway, that’s the perfect time to share our news.
Everyone will be there.
Including Quinn.
My laundry is caught up, and my fridge is stocked for the week. I’m just settling in to watch the Reds take on the Cubs when there’s a knock at the door. My heart skips a beat as I get off the couch and head in that direction.
Quinn’s made plenty of appearances at my place, every morning when he’s finishing a run and several evenings before it’s time to head off to bed.
We haven’t kissed again since the night we snuggled on the couch to watch a movie and I fell asleep, but we’ve come close.
Lots of touches and long looks. He loves to touch my belly, always asking permission first, and as much as I try to ignore it, his hands leave a trail of fire in their wake.
It’s as if he’s woken some dormant part of me, and now I want him to touch me all the time.
Every moment of every day.
I open the door and give him a tight smile.
“Headache?” he asks, stepping inside with shopping bags.
“No,” I counter, closing the door behind him.
He flashes a knowing grin. “You’ve been a little cranky.”
My eyes narrow as I follow him to my kitchen. “I’m not cranky.”
“Is this you not being cranky?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes in response. I usually always have something to say, but it turns out, he’s actually right. I am cranky.
Needing to change the subject, I turn my attention to the bags. “What’s all this?”
He smiles that crooked smile I’ve become so damn fond of and reaches into the bag. “Iced coffee.”
My heart sings and then crashes to the ground. “I gave up iced coffee,” I state unnecessarily. I know Quinn is aware.
He gives me a slow grin that makes his dark eyes sparkle. “I have a special iced coffee.” He starts pulling ingredients out of the bag.
I lean over and peek around his shoulder. “Tell me more.”
“Well, I brewed some decaf coffee this morning, and it’s been chilling in the refrigerator. I bought some oat milk, sugar-free caramel sauce, and maple-flavored syrup.”
“Syrup?” I ask, wondering why he pulled out Mrs. Butterworth’s.
“Well, besides having great flavor, it’s more of a natural sweetener.”
I raise an eyebrow in confusion. “If you say so.”
“Go sit,” he insists, putting the second bag in the freezer without showing me the contents.
“Can I stay and watch?” I lean against the counter, observing him get to work.
“Suit yourself.”
He grabs one of my tall glasses and retrieves ice, filling it half full. Then, he pours in some oat milk, caramel sauce, and a bit of the syrup. Then, he adds cold coffee, filling the glass almost to the top. He pulls a spoon from the drawer and mixes it all together.
“Here, take a sip. Tell me if I need to add more of something,” he suggests, handing me the glass.
I take a small sip, surprised when the deliciousness hits my tongue. “Holy crap.”
He grins. “Good?”
“It’s amazing. And you don’t really taste the syrup.”