Two
AVERY
“Are you crazy?” she squealed, taking my impromptu proposal better than I thought.
I’d postulated infinite scenarios since seeing that calendar appointment, and this response fell somewhere between her hurling a paperweight at my face and laughing hysterically.
“How can you honestly think that’s a good idea? ”
She tried to maneuver out of my grip, but I dug my thumbs into the base of her spine, and she arched her back, moaning. I bit my lip to keep from letting a grin spread across my face and continued the massage, frustrated that I hadn’t been there to do this for her from the beginning.
“I think it’s a great idea,” I said, loving the delectable shade of pink her neck turned as she mulled over my words. “If memory serves me correctly, I technically should have proposed months ago.”
“That’s beside the point—”
I silenced her words by doubling down on a knot below her shoulder, knowing she already had a list of reasons why she didn’t need my help and a PowerPoint to back it up.
She was a strong, beautiful, capable woman, but that was irrelevant—I wanted, no, needed to be involved.
This wasn’t some grand scheme where I had fourteen ulterior motives, this was following through on a promise we made as teenagers.
This was a way to grab everything I wanted with both hands and create a life I’d only dreamed about.
I’d been reluctant to even bring up that silly promise because of the cool, calm, and collected way she carried herself as of late—always acting like she had so many other essential things to do with her time than spend it with me.
I might have lied when I said there weren’t fourteen ulterior motives.
Truly, there was just one—to get closer to her and the life we’d created.
When I remembered our pact, I knew I couldn’t just march into her office with a ring and a smirk, demanding to know if she was married or engaged.
I used my career indecision as the perfect excuse to beg my best friend, who just happened to be her brother, for a favor.
A favor that would set my life on a path I didn’t know I needed, but now couldn’t imagine it without.
“So, you’re completely serious about this, Ave?” she asked, using a nickname I hadn’t heard in a decade. It filled me with the sweet nostalgia of warm summer nights, shared kisses on carnival rides, and sticky caramel apples.
“Yes,” I answered, running my fingers down her back to grip her waist before turning to face me.
She leaned on the desk with her shoulder hunched and her arms crossed over her chest. I stepped closer and stared at her, taking in the light sheen of sweat over her features and the purple smudges under her eyes.
I traced my fingers down her jaw and over her lips, focusing on the vulnerability in her eyes that matched mine.
Someone needed to jump headfirst into the craziness and grasp it with both hands, wrangling it into submission—and I was perfectly fine doing that if that meant she’d agree to let me make her happy for as long as we both shall live.
After the aforementioned drunken escapades where I called Royce in a gin-induced stupor and blubbered like an infant about the unfairness of my life, he made the not-so-subtle point of reminding me that I begged him to set me up with Jordan before the opportunity of working under her fell into my lap.
So, we skipped a few steps—past the first comes love, then comes marriage, and fell headfirst into the baby in a baby carriage part. There were worse things in life than finding myself in a predicament with a woman I’d wanted since we were kids.
“But why?”
“What do you mean why, Jordan? Do you forget about our pact? Or that half the DNA in your belly is from me? Why wouldn’t I?”
Her face fell, losing the last trace of that beautiful, pink blush from our verbal sparring match as her eyes drifted down to her stomach. She caressed the bump, and before I could stop myself, I placed one hand over hers, feeling the swell that held the life we created.
Damn. I was a sappy fuck, and she remembered the pact.
She had to—I’d seen how she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
“You’re going to need this,” I said, reaching into my pocket and taking out a black velvet box.
I placed it on her desk beside her and pushed it forward with my finger, arching my eyebrow.
She was intrigued—I could see it in the subtle movement of her eyes and the way her lips twitched because she was biting the inside of her cheek—or maybe because she was afraid the box was suddenly going to sprout a pair of fangs and sink them into the soft skin of her wrist, poisoning her.
“Avery. I—”
She tore her hands away and put one over her mouth, eyes darting between me and the box.
The emotions were clear on her face—fear, excitement, happiness—all flitting across her features faster than I could process what it meant.
I wanted to grasp her fingers again, fitting them against mine before sliding the ring into place, but instead, one hand drifted back to her belly and under her blouse, feeling her smooth-as-silk skin.
My palm was hot, touching her like this—being so close. I could feel her shaking like a frightened doe, ready to bolt at the smallest noise.
“Don’t you want to open it?” I prompted, pushing the box a centimeter closer and gliding my fingers over her belly.
Maybe I was selfish, but I wanted her to open the box.
I wanted to find a reason to tell her why I’d become her assistant—one that wouldn’t have me looking like a manipulative tosser.
Sure, I played the odds a little in my favor by asking Chris to ask her to hire me, but my intentions were honorable.
I knew how Jordan’s mind worked. She’d roll those baby blues and write me off in under three seconds if I waltzed into her office with finger guns and a wink.
“I don’t know what I want,” she whispered, closing her eyes and scooting her chair back until it rested against the tall windows overlooking the steel bridge and glittering water of Savannah. I took the opportunity to move closer, pressing our foreheads together while she considered my offer.
Perhaps she thought we’d marry in name only.
If that were the case, she wouldn’t be required to like me, talk to me, or even snuggle with me like we had the morning after our liaison.
I wouldn’t make her tea, and she wouldn’t complain that my coffee was too fancy.
We wouldn’t argue over who would read the paper first and what channel morning news we’d watch.
Would she think I felt obligated to propose?
“Yes. You do,” I pushed.
She had the best part of us growing inside her, and I’d do anything to keep her by my side.
I’d do anything anyway—the fava bean-shaped lifeform in her belly was just a bonus to the entire situation.
An unexpected bonus that had scared the absolute shit out of me until I swallowed the panic, sobered up, and embraced the unbridled joy at the realization that I was going to be a father.
Me.
I could see the gears spinning in her head—how she started the morning with the pregnancy weighing heavily on her mind as she considered her options and the few extra pounds she carried.
Hopefully, she would concede that this was a not terrible option and check this day off as a productive one where appropriate decisions were made.
“I should think about it,” she whispered, licking her lips and closing her eyes. I could feel her breath puff against my face, recognizing the importance of her decision. “It seems like running this publishing house and keeping my breakfast down are the only things I have time for these days.”
I chuckled, removing my forehead from hers but keeping a steady hand on her stomach.
The stress, the nervousness—I could take it all away if only she’d let me.
One rogue sperm should not condemn her to a lifetime with me if she didn’t desire it, but I wouldn’t give up if there was even a 1 percent chance.
She stepped to the side, but not out of my grasp, and ran her fingers over the black velvet box. “I’m sure it’s very pretty.”
“It was my grandmother’s, actually.”
Her eyebrows rose, and she stared at me, mouth open but without words. I took the silence as an opportunity to bare more of my soul in the hopes she’d see the honesty.
“Yesterday, I spent the day driving all over the city, looking for the perfect ring. Something that could say everything I couldn’t.
But nothing measured up—nothing was right until I stumbled upon a box my grandmother gave me about a month before she passed.
She told me it wasn’t just for anybody. It was for someone I could see forever with.
Someone who treasures the ring and sees it as more than a symbol of love. ”
I paused and gauged her face. From her eyes to the crinkle of her brows, I took it all in, hoping for some sign these were the right words.
Her breathing was shallow, and her mouth open, giving me a tantalizing peek at her tongue—a tongue I knew could do very dirty things under the right circumstances.
“She said to give this ring to someone I wanted to start a family with—someone who would one day pass it down to the next generation. That’s you, baby. This was always meant to go on your finger. All you have to do is open the box and say yes.”
The intensity of her gaze sent a liquid heat through my limbs, but I focused all my energy on her as she looked at the velvet box again and opened it, pulling the ring from the cushion and slipping it over the top of her ring finger.
Watching her come to the same conclusion I’d already made was intoxicating.
“It’s breathtaking, Avery,” she said, holding the ring closer to the light on her desk beside the daisies. She slipped the ring over the first knuckle of her finger, then pulled it off just as quickly and sat it down.