26
Beckett
“Appreciate you coming over while I ducked into the shop,” I say to Evie and Molly as I hold the front door open for them. “And for giving me a chance after everything. For trusting me with her…”
Molly smiles at me, pats me on the arm, and then she walks down the driveway.
Evie looks up at me and cocks her head to the side. “Beck, I like you.” I nod, knowing she does. “But I’m telling you right now that if Penny calls me in the middle of the night because she’s murdered you, I’ll be out the door, shovel in hand, faster than you can blink. Like you. Love her. I am forever Team Penny. Forever . In saying that,” she continues. “I know you’re sorry, because any man that lost Penny would be. I also know you love her. I can see it. You’re going to be a great dad, and if she does forgive you, I believe that you’ll treasure that gift for the rest of your life. That’s why I’m trusting you with her.”
“Understood,” I reply with a nod. “Appreciate it. Appreciate you.”
Once the girls are safely in their car and pulling out the driveway, I close the front door and go in search of my hormonal little spit fire, hoping I didn’t piss her off too badly.
Surprisingly, I don’t have to look long, ‘cos she’s standing in the kitchen, hands on hips, waiting for me.
“Why are you wearing those?” she asks, pointing at my feet.
I won’t lie, these shoes are comfortable as shit, but I’m wearing them because Penny needs to take better care of herself and if me wearing these bad boys encourages her to do so, I’m going to wear them til the cows come home.
“Love, they’re just shoes-”
“It’s not just the shoes, though!” She groans and runs her hands down her face before placing them back on her hips. “Why are you making this so fucking hard for me?” I take a step toward her, reaching for her, but she takes a step back and raises her hand, so I stay put. “Stop looking at me like that!”
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you love me! Like you, I don’t know, like you used to. I just, ugh! I can’t.” She raises a hand and runs her fingertips along her bottom lip. The memory of biting that lip has me licking my own. We haven’t spoken about the kiss. She’s been avoiding the subject, and I’ve let her, but clearly that is part of this . “I can’t just pretend like nothing happened and play happy families, Beckett,” she whispers, dropping her hand to her side. “I just can’t .”
My heart literally aches in my chest as she says the words, but I nod in understanding. “I know.”
“But you’re making me want to.” Hope replaces the hurt, and I take another step forward, and this time she doesn’t retreat. “I don’t know how to trust that you won’t just run off and actually fuck someone the next time I freak out…”
Nu-uh. Let’s nip that right in the fucking bud. “I will never , ever, hurt you again. Do you hear me?” I pause and press my palm into my chest to ease the ache. “I don’t know what else to do, Pen. Or how to make you believe me. How to show you the way my love for you fucking consumes my soul. Hell, I’d rip my heart from my chest and present it to you if it’d make a difference. If it would show you how much you own it. How much you own me .”
“Jesus, that’s a visual,” she mutters.
I take another step forward, and then another, until I’m directly in front of her. “Forgive me,” I whisper, looking into her eyes and bending down so that my nose almost touches hers. “Just forgive me.”
She shakes her head as her eyes dart back and forth between mine, the gold in her irises practically glowing, but the moment she looks down at my mouth and leans forward, I take the opportunity like a man starved and presented with a steak. The second our lips touch, I feel it; the spark. That electric current that has always been there between us. I let it course through me as I raise my hand to cradle the back of her head and deepen the kiss. She sags against me, and for a second, she allows herself to lower the wall she’s built between us.
“Stop,” she whispers against my mouth as she pulls back, and I do, the second she asks me to. I drop my hand and let it hang beside me as she takes two steps back, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
For a moment, the room is silent. She looks up at me. I look down at her, and her eyes say everything.
She can’t forgive me.
She won’t.
She wants to, though, and for now, that’s enough.
I haven’t proven myself. Not yet. So, instead of making her say it, I nod, square my shoulders, and prepare to keep on fighting. For her. For us. For our family.
“You need to eat something,” I say quietly. “What do you feel like?”
The tension between us melts away immediately, and she gives me a proper smile, not one filled with regret or sadness, but a real one, and I know I did the right thing by giving her an out.
“Pie,” she replies simply. “I want pie.”
“Pie it is.”
With that said, I walk past her, and I pull out her recipe book from the shelf above the coffee machine.
“Pie, pie, pie,” I say, flicking through the pages of her handwritten recipes. “We thinking sweet or savory?”
“Sweet,” she says, leaning against the fridge, arms crossed and resting on top of her little belly.
“Okay.” I stop when I find an appropriate recipe. “Apple?”
She shakes her head. “Pass.”
“Peach?”
“Pass,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
Finding it impossible not to make the joke running through my head, I look at her from the corner of my eye and ask, “What about a cream pie?”
She raises an eyebrow at me and uncrosses her arms to cradle her stomach. “That’s how I got into this state, Beckett. Hard pass.”
I can’t help but grin, and my smile only widens when I go back to flicking through the book and I hear her whisper to our baby, “Your daddy, I swear.”