TWENTY-EIGHT
BLAIR
I was used to waking up alone. I’d woken up alone most of my life.
It still made me a bit sad to wake up alone every morning now that I shared a bed with Colt, though.
It wasn’t his fault. Honestly, it was a “ damned if you do and damned if you don’t” type of situation.
If he woke me at five in the morning, when he usually left for work, I’d probably be in a grouchy mood anyway.
But today and yesterday were his days off. Maddox had been kind enough to be really lenient with his schedule, even though Colt was determined to prove himself as a hard worker. There seemed to be a bit of animosity between them, though I couldn’t figure out why.
Regardless, I’d expected him to be in bed with me when I opened my eyes.
Grumpily, I make my way downstairs with plans to grab breakfast, but the sight of the open front door steals my attention before I can make it.
I know we’re in the middle of nowhere, essentially, and the likelihood of someone breaking in is ridiculously low, but I still wish Colt wouldn’t have left me here without locking the front door.
The screen door didn’t protect me from anything at all .
A noise on the porch further steals my attention and I slowly make my way toward it, snatching a poker from the fireplace on my way over.
The screen door opens, and a huge man walks in.
Luckily, it only takes me a millisecond to realize it’s Colt and I don’t break the kneecaps of my child’s father with a fireplace poker.
My shoulders relax just as he catches sight of me. How is he already filthy? It can’t be later than nine in the morning. His face lights up, though his brows furrow a second later when he notices the poker.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought you were a burglar. Or a bear. Or something,” I tell him, a bit self-conscious now.
“You think I’d let either one of those things anywhere near you?” he asks, coming closer. He takes the piece of metal from me and props it up against the wall for the time being, wrapping his arms around me immediately afterward.
“I thought you’d left. For work or something.”
“It’s my day off.”
“You work on your days off all of the time,” I remind him, resting my head against his shoulder. His arms feel more like home than any home I’ve ever lived in, and that scares me a little bit.
“Not today. I was working on something for you, actually. Wanna see?”
“I’ve gotta get dressed first.” I was still in my pajamas and barefoot. That’s a major upside of living on our own. I don’t feel the need to get dressed for the day just to walk around the house.
“Nah, it’s just right here on the porch. Come on, pretty girl.”
He seems excited, a far cry from the man who’d wept on my shoulder last night.
He’d even gone to bed a bit morose, but I understood.
The weight of grief hits you at the most unexpected times.
It’s been over fifteen years since I lost my parents and most of the time, I could function just fine, my grief for them a part of me, but more so in the background.
Every once in a while, I’d see a child with their parents getting ice cream like I used to love doing with mine, or a hummingbird ornament in a shop that made me think of my mom’s bird feeders, and I’d be out of commission for the rest of the day like Colt was yesterday.
He covers my eyes as he guides me out onto the porch and turns me to face where he wants me. “Ready?”
I grin at the happiness in his tone. “Yeah.”
“Hmm. I’m not convinced. You don’t sound very excited.”
“Colt.”
“I worked really hard on this. Was up at five this morning at Broken Spoke just to get the things I’d need for it,” he says, keeping his hand firmly in place, even when I try to shove at his arm.
“I am very excited, please show me.”
“Alright, alright. Don’t get your hopes up, it’s probably not even all that great,” he jokes.
But when he finally takes his hand away, I’m absolutely gobsmacked. It’s a swing, hanging from the roof of the covered front porch.
Or… well, to simply call it a swing is a massive insult. It’s much bigger than a swing, though it’s clearly not finished yet. It looks big enough to?—
“You said yesterday you wished you could sleep out here in the summer breeze and, fuck, I couldn’t get that mental picture out of my head.
It sounded so perfect. I pictured coming home for lunch and seeing you all laid out and pretty, the swing rocking in the breeze…
It’ll be big enough to fit a full-size mattress, but we’ve either gotta order one online or see if someone in Billings sells them because we need one that is made to stay outside,” he rambles as I walk closer to it.
It’s absolutely beautiful, and I can’t believe he built it with his own two hands, but there’s an extension cord plugged into the side of the cabin and connected to a small power tool in the yard with wood beside it, so I assume he must’ve.
I follow the ropes up to the roof, where they’re anchored in with some sort of metal something-or-another.
I’m not an expert on any of this, but I trust Colt’s handiness with everything in me.
I know the swing will hold me. It’s probably strong enough to hold both of us and our future daughter, knowing him.
“Do you like it, mama? You’re not really saying anything.”
I feel horrible for causing the uncertainty in his voice, turning back to face him with a quickly crumbling face. His softens as well and he walks toward me, folding me into his arms.
“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I whisper against his chest, pointedly ignoring that I’m wetting the material of his shirt with my tears.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he says, fingers in my hair. “Stephanie and Chelsey have probably done very nice things.”
That’s true and I appreciate everything they’ve done for me, but this is different. It’s born of a different sort of affection, and for someone who never even wanted to hope for that sort of love, it means the world.
I pull back and press a kiss to his lips before I can chicken out, winding my arms up around his neck, swallowing the noise of surprise he makes. It only takes him a second to catch up though, one hand framing my cheek, thumb along my jaw as he tilts my head where he wants it to deepen the kiss.
“Fuck, baby. If this is the thanks I’ll get every time I do something for you, you’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me,” he says when he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Are we gonna be able to have sex on this porch bed too, you think?” I whisper, just to give him a hard time.
He groans. “Might be a bit rocky, but I’ll make that happen. After you give birth though. I don’t want to take any chances of you falling off and getting hurt.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“I’d expect no less, pretty girl.”