33. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The sidewalk sizzled with the late July heat, despite the evening hour, drawing tourists and locals alike to the outdoor tables at all of Hope’s favorite eateries.
As she walked, she passed more than one pudgy hand coated in dribbles of ice cream that melted down too-full cones.
Thankfully, the fabric of the sundress she wore was light enough that she remained dewy instead of cascading with sweat.
Like Effie, she enjoyed walking when she could, and Brayden’s house was near enough that she could manage it, even on a hot day.
The fence had been righted and the beds lining the foundation and walkway were filled with loam dark as coffee grounds.
A deep navy, reminiscent of a moonlit midnight sky coated the front door and shutters.
The bronzed, scaled face of a dragon held the door knocker between its teeth and looked down at Hope with a mystical curiosity.
She had found it at a salvage shop months ago. Hope’s mouth kicked up in the corners.
The door knocker, the unplanted gardens, they were all for her .
Brayden promised she could pick and plant the flowers herself when the time came, it seemed he made good on that and many other things. It felt odd to be happy when so much between them was tumultuous at best, but she chose to view it as an olive branch.
Hope lingered on the granite slabs that made up the front steps.
She didn’t come to pick a fight or demand to know what he thought after her reading, but she wasn’t willing to wait for him to come out of hiding when they had so much to get ready before the baby came.
Plus, Effie had made them each a gift for their respective nurseries giving her the perfect excuse to make a house call. Or so Effie had insisted.
Hope lifted her hand to try out the knocker, and a nauseating lurch in her stomach reminded her of the last time she tried to call on Brayden at this house.
When Chloe had upended her sense of security and all but jumpstarted the end of her relationship with the only man who had ever made her want to leave the safety of her family home.
Hope steadied herself with a deep breath. It was all in the past.
She knocked.
What felt like a small eternity later, the door eased open.
Brayden.
Hope wasn’t sure it would ever stop making her muscles go slack to look upon that scruffy dark beard and those warm chocolate eyes.
His lean frame, tight in all the right places, was on phenomenal display beneath a lightweight cream T-shirt.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his plum-colored shorts like he wasn’t certain what to do with them.
When Hope fully met his gaze she expected to find all the warmth and longing she felt reflected back to her. But his face hardened, mouth drawn into a line. “What are you doing here? ”
Hope wanted to keel over into the last remaining rose bush, but Bug deserved two living parents so she lifted the bag in her hand. “A gift from Effie. Plus, I want to see where our baby is spending half its life if that’s okay with you.”
Hope schooled her face into ease and contentment. She wasn’t here to do anything or be anything he didn’t want. Clearly, her reading fell on deaf ears and had solidified the walls between them even more. She could play happy co-parent until it became the truth.
“Of course. Sorry. You surprised me is all.”
“Were you expecting someone else?” Hope looked over her shoulder like a non-pregnant, non-swollen, non-gassy trollop might be on her way to ravage her baby’s father. The expression wasn’t entirely wiped from her face when she turned back to him.
Brayden sighed. “No, Hope. I wasn’t.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in.
The house looked fantastic, pristine, and far too empty.
“You need furniture,” Hope offered.
“Noted.”
“I could help,” Hope said, trying not to sound too excited. “If you want.”
“Also noted. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water would be nice. It’s a scorcher out there.
” Brayden barely smiled before leading her into the kitchen.
Her dream kitchen, complete with Secret Garden–green cabinets, gold handles, and open shelves.
The oversized stove so she could cook and bake like Effie stood beneath a gorgeous wooden vent hood that had Hope daydreaming of a visit to the Italian countryside.
She sipped the water Brayden got for her by the eat-in island that stretched impressively across the expansive kitchen. “Are you sorry you let me make so many design choices?” she asked.
“No. It looks great.”
“But?”
“But nothing.”
Hope nodded. Brayden was never this quiet. It was like he had a word count limit when speaking to her, and it made her dizzy. As did his drumming fingers on the countertop. He only did that when he tried to keep his mouth shut.
“Do you want me to go?”
“You’ll be here a lot, best we get used to it.”
“Right.” The tightness of his countenance was difficult to read.
“Nursery?”
Brayden nodded once, then led her toward the empty great room.
She ignored the dreadful ache in her stomach as she hiked up the refinished staircase, the treads and banister oiled an impeccable whiskey brown.
By the top step, Hope was near panting. It was becoming difficult to person with the protrusion of her unborn offspring making every single thing a feat of physicality.
“You okay?”
“You try gaining thirty pounds and see if you don’t get winded going upstairs,” she said sarcastically, desperate for some kind of normalcy in their exchange.
“No thank you,” Brayden laughed. “You wouldn’t .
. .” He trailed off and Hope didn’t pry.
She would though. Still want him, still desire him, if that’s where his train of thought went.
Thirty pounds, fifty, three hundred, she’d love him at any size.
A fact that was bound to get her into deeper trouble if she didn’t learn how to let it go .
He pushed open the door to a soft green room that instantly made the pain in her stomach more acute.
The crib, like her own, stood on the far wall.
A glider that looked previously loved perched in the corner by the window.
A changing table that matched the crib already had a changing pad and boxes of diapers stacked beside it.
Hope glided through the room, and she could imagine the tiny clothes hanging from the rail in the open closet.
The window sat high enough that she could put a bookshelf and toy bin beneath it and a rug in the middle of the room to play on.
She would insist Effie make a triplicate of embroidered greenery for over the crib—
Hope interrupted her daydream. Stop it, this isn’t yours to do.
“ I love it,” Hope exclaimed. Her hand floated to her belly as she walked to the window.
She leaned against the wall, the warmth of the sun a balm on her nerves.
She could see all the way to the river from here.
The bridge to Maine glinted in the low hanging light of the evening, and she was reminded that despite the ache of loss she felt over the home and the man who made it, life would go on. “It’s perfect.”
Brayden stayed quiet for so long that Hope wondered if he had left the room. She turned from the view she enjoyed to find him leaning against the wall staring at her. “What?”
He still said nothing. Blinking became a foreign concept to him.
Hope fidgeted under the weight of his scrutiny, wondering if she’d spilled food on her dress, or if he finally noticed those thirty pounds she mentioned that took up residence in places the baby bump was not.
She didn’t love that she no longer looked entirely like herself.
Maybe he saw it too. “I’m having a hard time getting used to how I look too.
I didn’t realize that everything about my face would take a slightly different shape.
” She reflexively brought a hand to her cheek and smoothed it toward her ear.
“Stop. You’re beautiful,” he snipped like it had to be said instead of it being something he wanted to tell her. He didn’t continue, so Hope took a tentative step toward the door; it seemed like her cue to leave. “Please, don’t move.”
“Excuse me?”
“Stay there,” his tone was serious, setting up for something more. “I need a minute.”
“Why?”
Brayden scrubbed his face with his hands. Hope’s stomach knotted as she waited for him to say something.
This was it. This was the moment she’d been worrying over. He had to have gotten a lawyer or maybe he wanted full custody now. Maybe co-parenting wasn’t going to work for him. Whatever it was pained him like he didn’t want to say it.
Or maybe he did and the pain came from trying to hold it back.
Hope did her best to wait, but he kept his back glued to the wall across the room, his hands firmly in his pockets, for all the world looking like he was trying to decipher the Da Vinci Code. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Spit it out. I can handle it. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
The simmering heat in his eyes was her only warning.
He closed the distance between them in three easy strides. His hands combed into her curls on either side of her face as he pulled her into a passionate kiss, her rounded stomach only slowing down the fire in his need by a fraction.
Hope nearly gasped as her lips parted for him. She threw her arms around his neck, tugging at his nape, drawing him as close as she could. Her heart floated with relief. Was this happening ?
He kissed her like he never wanted to stop. Like he still loved her.
Only when the warmth of her tears dampened his nose, did Brayden pull back. He kept his hands on her face, inspecting, wiping at her cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“What for?” Hope sniffled, a new wave of nausea rolling through her. It was the cemetery all over again.
“Making you cry.”
Hope chuckled as she stepped away. “I’m afraid I’ll only continue if that was . . . if you don’t . . .”
He took her hand and pulled her back toward him. Her belly rested against his, and his hands found the small of her back. “I don’t want this life without you fully in it. It was stupid to act otherwise.”
Joy seeped in through her pores, but she feared it might all go away.
“You ran away the other night . . .”
“Only to keep from running to you. I truly thought it was better to keep this platonic for Bug. I was desperate to hold on to that, but it’s not better for any of us.” Brayden brought his forehead to meet Hope’s. “You belong in that window.”
“I belong with you.” In this house with a wedding ring and a family that would grow by leaps and bounds until they were as weathered and grey and full of joy as Grams with the breadth of their crazy, adventurous, storybook life.
“Don’t I know it,” Brayden teased. Hope playfully hit him in the chest before he wrapped her in a hug, his cheek to hers.
Hope sunk into the relief, the joy, and—honestly—the pride that swelled in her heart at knowing her words had been enough. They had brought him back to her. She’d have to send Heather a thank you note .
Brayden kissed her again, and this time it was with the patience of knowing they had their whole lives to do it.