Chapter 28
Who can argue with a man who brings pickles?
Terri
I open the refrigerator, scan the contents, and scowl. The same as the previous five times I checked, there’s nothing I want to eat in here. And no new food has materialized.
Damn it. I want something salty. But not potato chips. I riffle through the jars of condiments and end up with a jar of pickles.
Yes! I open the jar and frown. It’s empty.
I debate drinking the pickle juice. Is that weird? The athletes do it. Before I can figure out what to do, my phone beeps with a message.
I check the time. It must be Nolan. It’s been at least an hour since the last time he checked on me. It must be time for another check-in. I swear he has a timer set.
How are you doing, sprite?
I’m fine except someone must have broken into my house and stolen the pickles in my jar.
Ha! Ha! Do you want pickles?
Doesn’t matter what I want. There are no pickles.
How are you otherwise?
Tired. Tired of bridezillas and their crazy requests.
What crazy requests did you get today?
Turn the wind down because it’s ruining the veil photos.
Wow. You control the wind. Cool.
And clouds! I was supposed to remove the clouds from the sky for drone footage.
I’m impressed. Nearly as impressed as when you trained Sammy to wave during the vows.
I scowl.
Sammy isn’t a tourist attraction.
The Sammy the Seal app says differently.
I wish the app was never invented. But Mayor Lana always gets her way.
Lana will literally do anything to attract tourists. First there was the Live Like a Smuggler weekend. Guests didn’t realize living like a smuggler meant spending six hours hauling crates and cleaning boats. Reviews were not good.
And then there was the Moonshine Pancake Breakfast. Tourists started drinking at 8 a.m. No one considered how strong the moonshine on Smuggler’s Hideaway is. By noon there was a conga line through town and someone tried to marry a mailbox.
There’s a knock on the door.
Sorry. I need to go. Someone’s here.
I wait for him to respond, but when there’s another knock on the door, I give up. I hate making people wait. I throw my phone on the table as I walk to the door.
“You’re here,” I say as I open the door.
Nolan elbows his way inside. My eyes widen at the amount of grocery bags in his arms.
“What’s going on?”
He makes his way to the kitchen and sets the bags down. “I was at the grocery store getting supplies when I messaged you.”
I peer into a bag. “There’s enough fresh fruit in here for an entire football team.”
“You need your fruit.”
I peer into the next bag. “There’s enough fresh vegetables in here to feed the football team’s opponent.”
“The doctor said you should eat fresh fruit and veg.”
He starts pulling fruit out of the bag.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think? I’m putting away the groceries.”
“Nolan,” I growl. “I can’t eat this much food. I don’t want any food to go to waste.”
He shrugs. “I’ll eat whatever is left over.”
Does he think he’ll be spending more time in my house? I can’t deny I want him here. I’d be lying if I did. But it’s not a good idea. Emotional attachments lead to pain, heartache, and, in my mother’s case, death.
I lift a brow. “You will?”
He ignores my question as he digs in a bag. “I believe this is what you were craving.”
He hands me a jar of pickles and I cradle it to my chest. “Yes!”
He chuckles. “You’re easy to please.”
I wrestle the jar open and stuff a pickle in my mouth. “Not usually.”
He pauses before setting down the bunch of bananas in his hands and stalking toward me.
“What?” I ask between chomps on my pickle.
He glides his nose along my neck and I automatically tilt to give him more room. He reaches my ear and bites down on the lobe. I moan at the feel of his teeth on mine. I love it when he touches me.
“I don’t find it difficult to please you.”
My nipples tighten at his low, rumbly voice filled with promise. He presses a kiss to my neck before stepping back and returning to the grocery bags.
I need a minute for my heart rate to return to normal. I clear my throat. “You didn’t happen to buy any ice cream, did you?”
“What flavor do you want? I got chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. I stuck to simple, but if you tell me your favorite flavors, I’ll get them next time.”
Next time? There’s going to be a next time? Yes!
No. I shouldn’t be excited. Do I need another reminder about how bad emotional attachments are?
“Vanilla, please,” I say before I end up giving myself whiplash.
He digs in a bag and pulls out a pint of vanilla ice cream. He hands it to me before opening a cupboard and pulling out a bowl.
“Don’t need a bowl,” I tell him as I dip the pickle directly into the ice cream. I shove it in my mouth. This. This is what I was craving.
I moan as I chew. Nolan growls, and I freeze.
I glance up at him. I’m holding an open pint of ice cream while cradling a jar of pickles. My next pickle is poised above the ice cream like it’s an ice cream spoon. I probably look like a complete nut job.
“I’m not crazy. It’s the baby. Pregnancy cravings.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy. But usually when you make that particular moan it’s because I touched you in a way you really enjoy.”
He reaches down and adjusts his dick in his pants. My eyes widen. “Oh.”
“You have no idea how sexy you are to me.”
I snort. “I’m sure I’m the height of sexy right now.”
When I got home from work, I changed into an old t-shirt. It was my brother Scott’s, so it’s huge on me. I also cleaned my face of make-up and put my hair up. Sexy is not the way I’d describe my current appearance.
Nolan steps forward and I’m forced to retreat until my back hits the kitchen counter.
“You have no idea how much I want to set you on the counter, strip you bare, and lick and touch every single inch of you before burying my cock deep into your hot, wet pussy. I don’t give a damn about the outfit.
” He plucks at my t-shirt. “Except for this. I don’t approve of this. ”
“What’s wrong with my Smuggler’s High School t-shirt?”
“It’s too big. It’s obviously not yours.” He growls. “Whose t-shirt is it?”
I debate not telling him. I don’t think any man has ever been jealous before when it comes to me. It makes me feel powerful. As if I’m not just his baby mama.
“Whose?” he orders.
My mouth opens and I tell him before I realize I’m speaking. “It was my brother’s. I spilled chocolate on it and he refused to wear it after that.”
I point to the chocolate stain near the breast.
“I’m glad I don’t have to kill anyone tonight, but you’ll wear my old t-shirts from now on. I’ll bring you over a bunch tomorrow. Some sweatshirts and hoodies, too.”
My mouth drops open. “You don’t need to bring me your wardrobe.”
“You’re not wearing anyone’s t-shirts but mine from now on.”
My stomach warms at those words. It sounds as if he’s claiming me. Is he? Do I want him to? The whiplash is back – more confusing than ever.
“You don’t need to come over again tomorrow. You have a busy life.”
He palms my cheek. “And you’re an important part of my life.”
I want to believe him. Oh, sweet mermaid, how I want to believe him. “You mean the baby, our little mermaid, is an important part of your life.”
His nostrils flare and a muscle in his jaw ticks. “Listen to me, sprite. You are an important part of my life. What we have is real. I want you. Not just because you’re having my baby. But because you’re you.”
I chew on my lip as I let those words sink in. Do I dare believe him?
“Come on, sprite. You’re the strongest woman I know. Don’t let fear rule you. Admit you want this to be real. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
I motion to the kitchen counter. “Good. Because someone has to eat all this food.”
“Serious as shit, Terri. I’m going to be here for you and the baby. I already cancelled my quarterback camp and told my agent I’m not available except for remote obligations in March.”
My mouth gapes open. “In March?”
He nods. “When the baby is due. You’re not going through this alone. I won’t let you.”
My resistance crumbles. How could it not? He’s giving up things he cares about for me. For our baby. “One date.”
His lips tip up. “Yeah?”
“Yes. One date and we’ll take it from there.”
“I’ll take it,” he murmurs before melding his lips to mine.
I fall into the kiss. I allow his lips and mouth to alleviate all my worries about the future. About whether he’s staying. About whether this baby will make it.
For now, there are no worries. There’s just Nolan. His taste. His smell. His presence surrounding me and grounding me.