Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
ALLISON
An hour later, Allison pulled onto her street and saw, curiously, a man climbing onto the roof of her cottage.
“I swear to god, if that is your father,” she said, talking to her stomach, “I will wring his neck myself.”
The weather was hot with August humidity, and she parked quickly, marching toward the cottage as fast as her bump would allow it.
Miraculously, it was not Wells crawling on the roof. Three men spackled something on the chimney. The door to the cottage was open, and power tools and voices sounded from inside.
What the heck?
She wandered in, feeling like a stranger in her own cottage.
“Hello?” she said, peeking around the entry corner until she spied Wells’s face soaked with sweat as he wrangled a second bannister onto the staircase.
“Hi,” he said nervously and stood up, wiping the sweat off of his face. “Thought you’d be home later.”
“What are you doing to my cottage?” she said, looking around her.
Unfamiliar furniture sat in the living room—thrifted secondhand pieces and…her mother’s wingback chair?
A man worked in the corner, doing something with a wood saw.
“This was gonna be a surprise. I thought you’d like it if your fireplace worked.
” He gestured at the cobblestone mantel that Allison had filled with candles ever since she’d lived there.
It hadn’t been safe to use since she’d moved in.
“Seems like you’d like it based on the TV shows you watch.
” He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.
I’m going to have a real wood fireplace? Her mouth hung open in overwhelmed confusion.
“I’m done here,” the guy called from the corner.
“Thanks, man.” Wells waved, and the guy walked out, revealing what he’d been working on: small, X-shaped cubbies in a new built-in bookshelf along the side wall.
“And uh, you have a lot of yarn and you keep it stuffed in a bag. It makes you really happy when you look at it. So I thought…” He winced, looking unsure of her reaction. “...you might like to have it…displayed here?”
“You made me yarn shelves?” she said in utter shock, hands on her cheeks.
“You can use it for whatever, or we can rip it—”
“No,” she interrupted, touching the shelves protectively. “I want my yarn shelves.”
Her fingers traced over the crisscross pattern of the shelf. The new built-in shelves made a small nook.
“Thought this would make a good story corner once the baby is older,” he said with a smile that looked wistful.
Called it.
Wells Maroo is a pure, grade-A, small-town romantic.
Her heart flip-flopped as her hand moved over her stomach. “It’s an excellent story corner,” she said with a growing smile. “Where did the furniture come from?”
“I thought I could eventually convince you to stay at my house after you have the baby. But then we’d get started on number two so we’ll need to expand this place to fit two children.”
Her brows raised with emotion. “Two?” They hadn’t talked about it since the contract.
His cheeks turned even pinker. “I think it’s going well thus far, don’t you?”
She nodded wordlessly, trying to keep up with him.
He cleared his throat. “So why not plan to stay at my house for the next year or two? This can be your crafting space. You like haunted furniture and hosting Bitch and Stitch.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“And since we have Harry-slash-Smokey, Rose can’t come over, so I thought you could do it here.
I’m going to put in an A/C too so you all don’t boil alive over your ‘feminist needlepoint.’” His lips twitched into a teasing smile.
As he leaned to stretch his back, the muscles of his arms and stomach dipped and moved with him.
His hair was a mess, pushed straight up in a chaotic nest of thick curls.
Sweat dripped off of him and soaked his shirt.
His cheeks were ruddy from the heat as he stood catching his breath, but he was delighted at how he’d surprised her.
I’m in love with him.
The thought tumbled out of her, like a summer breeze blowing through the open door.
Easy, effortless, sultry.
I’m in love with the hot, big, bossy father of my child.
“Do you like it?” he said. His face looked hopeful.
This is an absolute disaster.
“I love...” You. She swallowed the word. “It.”
Not ten seconds in my head and the phrase was almost blurted out of my big mouth.
Stop thinking about how much you love him, or you’ll say it and never see him again.
He’s done all this for me. Worked so hard for me, and the baby.
Made me feel cared for.
In a way no one else ever has.
Or maybe ever will.
It all rose up into a sudden sob as she considered how much she loved him, how grateful she was for him.
And she could never tell him.
He looked horrified. “We can talk about whether you’ll stay at the house if that’s a problem—”
“No.” She smiled as she sniffled. “No, I love it all. Really. Just the hormones.” She smiled at him, wanting him to know how grateful she was. “I’d hug you, but...”
“But I’m sweaty.” His eyebrows waggled, and a telltale mischievous glint shone in his eyes. He backed her into the living room.
“Wells Maroo,” she said with a sniffle, pointing a warning finger at him, but couldn’t keep from laughing as she backed away from his sweat-soaked body.
“If I recall correctly from last night…” He grabbed her by the waist, hauling her to him as she screamed with laughter. “You love it when I get you sweaty.”
The searing, sweaty kiss that tasted like thoughtfulness and sex all rolled into one did not make it easier for Allison to admit she was in love with the one man who was off-limits.
WELLS
Week 29: Your baby is the size of four jewelry gift boxes
The present for Allison was heavy in Wells’s pocket.
He’d wanted to surprise her before the baby shower, so he strolled to the bedroom where she was getting ready.
Telltale sniffles got louder as he walked down the hallway.
Allison stood in front of the full-length mirror in a bright pink gingham dress, looking gorgeous, except for her pouting lips and red eyes from crying.
“What’s wrong?” Wells said, utterly confused as to why she’d be sad. She’d been looking forward to the shower for weeks.
His hands slid around her as he stood behind her. He forced his eyes up from her ample cleavage. It had become even more ample in the last month, and Wells had been in fucking heaven.
She looked so hot but was clearly not in the mood for him to squeeze in a quickie.
She wiped away her tears quickly. “Nothing,” she said, putting on a smile.
He slid his hand down her waist, squeezing her hips. “You look absolutely gorgeous. Is this what you’re wearing today?”
Her bottom lip wobbled as she nodded, trying to stretch the dress higher over her boobs.
“Hey,” he said, turning her to face him, his voice full of concern. “What’s going on?”
“This baby is going to be the size of a Thanksgiving turkey by the time she’s done cooking because you’re seven feet tall.” She bit the inside of her cheek and avoided his gaze.
“You can cry, you know.” He softly wiped a tear from the edge of her eye with the back of his knuckle. “You’re not helping anybody by not crying. It doesn’t make my life easier.”
“It’s just—” Her lip wobbled harder, and she turned back to the mirror. “I look terrible. And stupid.”
Wells was genuinely flabbergasted. “How?” he said, seeing the picture-perfect beauty of sexy curves in front of him.
“My boobs are too big. This dress fit perfectly two weeks ago. Now it’s too tight on my hips and thighs and my boobs are spilling out.
I won’t have another wedding day, and this feels like the last milestone where it gets to be about me.
From here on out, it’s about the baby. I wanted to look nice for my last hurrah.
I wanted—to—look—cu—uuu—te,” she said, sobbing as tears rolled down her face.
His arms slid underneath her bump and lifted it, relieving the pressure in her back. She slouched against him with a sighing sniffle.
He kissed the side of her head as he looked at her in the mirror. “There are so many things wrong with that, we don’t have time to address all of them,” he said with a warm smile, nuzzling the side of her head. “First, you’d look perfect in anything. Second, your life can always be about you.”
“I know, but I don’t want to…” She trailed off.
“Say it,” he said, giving her a commanding look in the mirror, knowing exactly what she was thinking.
“I don’t want to be like my mother,” she whispered.
Knew it. “I think that’s a great goal to shoot for, but somebody who gives too much of themselves and leaves nothing back also isn’t a great parent.
My mom was a busy single mom. But hell or high water, she took off every other Thursday for her jazzercise class.
Then eventually jazzercise became book club, and then became—hell, who knows what she’s doing anymore—pickleball?
This is not the end. And also, you look really hot,” he said, his teeth grinding with a needy sigh.
“Sorry, I should have started with that.”
She guffawed a watery laugh. “I do not.”
“I’ve been trying not to stare at your tits because I will definitely make you late.” He nuzzled her neck, and she threaded a hand through his hair. “I can show you just how hot you are right now,” he said, lifting her skirt from the back.
She giggled as he nibbled the side of her neck. “It’s not too sexy?”
“How do people think you got pregnant? Goin’ to church on Sunday?” he said, looking incredulous.
“I guess it would be very edgy and cool of me to look sexy at my own baby shower.” She chuckled as she looked at herself from different angles. “Or I could go full grandma and cover my cleavage with doilies,” she said with a smile in the mirror.
He reached into his pocket. “That would really ruin the gift I got you.”
She paused, turning around. “A gift?”
He handed her a long, velvet jewelry box.
“Wells,” she whispered in surprise.
“I hope it makes you feel sexy,” he said, sliding a hand onto her hip.