Chapter 15
Fifteen
Addie
I lie in bed and listen. Luc’s still here.
He stayed the night. Because I wanted him to.
Right? I try to conjure the feelings of certainty I had last evening, as I can tell he’s trying to be quiet as he makes coffee.
I touch my stomach, which feels a little queasy.
But if I sit up slowly, I think it will calm itself.
There’s a clatter of pans in the kitchen. What is he doing?
I push myself up and breathe for a moment before I pad down the hall, moving slowly. When I reach the kitchen doorway, Luc’s at the counter with his back to me, sleeves pushed up, hair still rumpled from sleep.
He turns when he hears me and smiles. “Morning,” he says. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I was going to scramble some eggs.
I open my mouth to protest but then pause to consider. “That actually sounds good,” I tell him, taking the mug of tea he offers.
We stand there for a second, close but not touching. He doesn’t crowd me but doesn’t step back either. He reaches past me to turn the stove down, a normal, domestic motion that I’m somehow very aware of.
I lean against the counter and take a sip of tea, watching him move around my kitchen. I’m used to men filling silence. Explaining it. Turning it into something that needs fixing.
When he’s finished his tasks, he steps closer. It’s slow enough that I could stop him without effort. I don’t.
His hand comes to my waist, not tight, but not tentative either. My body responds before I tell it to, a small lean, a quiet yes I don’t bother saying out loud.
He kisses me, his thumb smoothing back and forth where it rests against my side. There’s no sense of hurry or moving toward a goal.
That catches me off guard as I realize how prepared I was for the opposite. My hands slide up his chest and rest there, palms flat. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt.
He pulls back to look at me, meeting me where I am. “Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey,” I answer.
He leans in again, and this time the kiss deepens. His mouth opens, and his hand shifts slightly at my waist, drawing me closer, but without urgency. Like he knows I’m coming anyway.
When he nudges me gently against the counter, there’s enough space left that I still have room to decide. I stay. He rests his forehead against mine for a moment, like he’s checking the moment.
“How about those scrambled eggs?” he asks.
“Sure.” I nod, and when he returns to the stove, I drop four slices of bread into the toaster and reach for a plate. “Do you have patients today?”
He cracks eggs into a bowl and whips them with a fork. “Yes, but not until after lunch. The scheduler gives me a morning a week to get my charts done. I guess that’s what Dr. Hutchinson needs. I don’t, but I do like having a slow morning.”
The toast pops, and I turn back to butter it, setting two slices on each plate.
“Maybe he also likes a slow morning now and again.”
“I don’t think so,” he says, shaking his head as he pours the eggs into the pan. “He’s used to paper charts and has someone transcribe them into the electronic records. I enter mine as I see patients. It’s just what I’m used to.”
I nod. I do remember that about Dr. Hutchinson. After a moment, Luc scoops the eggs onto my plate, and then his, and we carry them to the table.
“What are your plans today?” he asks.
“I’m having lunch with Emma. She makes sure I eat a decent lunch regularly.”
“How’s the anti-nausea medicine doing?”
“It’s helping. I think I’m gaining weight. I guess I’ll find out on Friday when I come to your office.”
“Yeah, I was going to talk to you about that.” He sets his fork down. “I was thinking of asking Noelle Carroll to take you on.”
“Doesn’t she usually work with difficult pregnancies?”
His eyes shift. “Yes, but it’s not good for me to be your doctor.”
I look more closely at him, and I can tell this isn’t an easy thing for him to say. And I realize he’s probably right.
“Okay. Maybe I can schedule my appointments for Tuesday mornings, so you can come with me.”
His eyes widen, as if that was unexpected. “I’d like that,” he says. “Or I also don’t see patients on Fridays.”
We return to eating our eggs and think through what’s transpired between us. I don’t want to rush into anything, but it also feels strange to create false barriers, given what I asked of him and he willingly gave me, last night. And for the most part, he seems as cautious and careful as I am.
So as we finish our breakfast, I suggest that he might want to meet up again tonight. “If you’d like, you can pack a bag and come after work.”
He sits up straight. That surprised him for sure. “Are you sure?” he asks.
He didn’t push. Didn’t take more than I gave. He stayed exactly where I needed him, even when I made it easy not to. That should make this simpler, safer. It doesn’t. Not really. But it still makes me want him here again.
I nod. “I like having you here.”
“Then I accept,” he agrees. “I like being here.”
When we’re done, I stand to clear the table.
“I’ve got this,” he insists. “You can get ready or just put your feet up.”
I lean in and give him a sweet kiss. “Thank you.”
I head down the hall to the shower so I can look somewhat presentable for lunch with Emma. By the time I walk back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel, the bed is made, and I can hear Luc in the living room on the phone. Either that or he’s talking to himself.
I pause in front of the mirror and study my reflection. The baby bump is obvious now. Twenty-two weeks, and I feel as big as a house.
There’s a soft knock on the doorframe, and I turn to find Luc standing just outside. “Can I take your picture?” he asks.
“A nude?” I ask, my blood pressure spiking.
“Not necessarily…” He chuckles. “I’ve just been thinking we should be taking baby-bump pictures. So you can see the growth. We can do it discreetly and tastefully, or you can wear all your clothes. Your choice.”
I consider that for a moment. I’ve seen those kinds of pictures before, and I like them. “Okay, let’s try for tasteful.”
We choose a white wall near the window, and I let my towel slide to my hips. I turn sideways, covering my breasts with one hand while the other curves under my belly. Luc lifts his phone and steps back. The camera clicks a few times.
He walks closer, checking the screen, and angles the phone a little differently. “I want the morning light to hit just right,” he says.
After a moment, he turns the screen toward me for review. He didn’t pose me or soften anything. He just saw me, and somehow the woman in the frame looks calm, beautiful, and entirely herself. I can feel myself smiling. “I like it. What do you think?”
He nods. “You’re gorgeous. I would put it on my home screen, but I carry my phone into patient rooms too often.”
My eyes widen. “Please don’t share it.”
“Never.” He smiles, leans in, and kisses me goodbye, promising he’ll see me tonight after he’s done.
I get my towel back in place and follow him toward the front door. “I’m in the mood for pizza,” I inform him as he reaches for his jacket.
He grins. “It’s the perfect meal, something from every food group in each triangle.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“I’ll bring it over tonight. What’s your favorite?”
“I like Gino’s thin crust with pepperoni and mushrooms.”
“I’ll order and have it ready when I’m done with clinic tonight.” He kisses me again, and with a wave, he’s out the door.
I stand there a moment, trying to get a handle on things.
There’s been a bit of a seismic shift, I think.
Yet it feels like a good one, different from other parts of my life.
Evie has always walked over my boundaries, and I work constantly to keep her at bay.
But this concession doesn’t feel like losing ground. At least not so far.
I have some time before I need to meet Emma, so I return to my bedroom and get dressed so I can start sketching what I want to paint on the walls in the nursery.
I’ve been thinking about Goodnight Moon, and I leaf through the book for ideas.
It takes some time to figure out, but eventually, I like what I’ve come up with.
It’s going to be a lot of dark paint, and I’ll have to paint over it before we move out someday, but I think it will be worth the trouble. Why not be happy right now?
Feeling settled on that front, I glance at the clock and realize I’m supposed to be meeting Emma in five minutes, and I’m a good ten minutes away.
I race out the door, and by the time I get to the burrito place, the lunch rush is already thinning out. Emma’s standing near the counter, phone in hand, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She looks up when she sees me and breaks into a smile.
“Okay,” she says, eyes moving over me. “You’re a little late, but you look really good.”
I laugh. “I just showered.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not it. You’ve got that thing going on.”
“What thing?”
“The pregnancy glow,” she says. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s real.”
“I’m mostly just hungry and as big as a house.”
“Well, I’ll take that,” she says. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to be. Come on. Let’s order.”
We move through the line, selecting our usuals without much thought. When we finally sit down with our trays, Emma studies me again like she’s connecting dots.
“So,” she says, unwrapping her burrito. “Tell me everything.”
Yesterday when I told her how I’d been feeling—and admitted I thought I might want to sleep with Luc again—she said if he wasn’t going to make the first move, I should.
“There’s not much everything,” I say. “We had a good night.”
Her eyebrows lift. “A good night like good good?”
“He stayed,” I say. “He spent the night.”
Emma takes a bite, chews, waits. “And?” she finally says.
“And it wasn’t weird,” I tell her. “It wasn’t rushed. It was…comfortable.”
“Like it was last time?”
I shake my head. “This was different.”
She watches me for a second. “Different how?”