Chapter 30
Stephanie
I stare at his phone. It”s a photo of me at his parents’ house. I’m on the floor playing a game with the kids, and I’m smiling at one of them. They must have just said something because my smile is so big, and my eyes are lit up. When I look up at him, his eyes are serious. “I want to be the one to put that smile on your beautiful face. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted before. And I’m going to work for it. I will prove myself to you until I put that smile on your face every single day.”
I want to say something in response, but voices catch my attention. I glance over my shoulder and see several of my co-workers leaving the building and walking to their cars. He eyes them and then looks at me. “Want to get out of here and go somewhere to talk?”
“Yes.” I don’t even have to think about it. “But not out; you’ll get bombarded. Do you want to go to your house since you haven’t had a chance to be home?”
His eyes soften. “Yeah. That would be nice, although I don’t care where we go as long as you’re there.”
“I’ll follow you to your house.” At first, I think he’s going to argue; but then he nods. He kisses me on the forehead briefly.
“See you there, Love.”
His endearment has butterflies erupting in my stomach all over again. I climb into my car, feeling in somewhat of a daze. I follow behind him, and before I know it, we’ve arrived. I’ve been to his house before, but I didn’t really pay attention because I was so stressed out trying to get to Keith. I sit in my car for a moment and take it in. It’s a big house, but not as big as I would think for an AHL player. It’s actually very appealing. It’s got a white stucco front with a few green plants and a beautiful wood door and black accents. The large windows make me think it’s going to be bright and sunny inside, something I happen to enjoy. I have to say...I love it. A knock on the window startles me.
“Are you going to come in or stay in your car?” Sebastian asks with a grin.
I open my door. “I was admiring your house, but on second thought, I don’t think I like it anymore. It’s ugly.”
He laughs. “Come on.” He takes my bag from my shoulder and throws it over his shoulder, even though he’s got his own bag. He leads the way up the steps and inside. I was right. The inside is beautiful and bright as the big windows let the sun in. The walls are white, and the ceiling is high. He has expensive looking couches and end tables and a few green plants strategically placed. It definitely doesn’t have a woman’s touch, but it’s clean and neat.
“Want a tour?”
I nod. “Yes please.” He leads me around his large home with his beautiful eat-in kitchen and island, three guest bedrooms, his bedroom, three bathrooms, a workout area, and a legit movie theater room with recliners. I can’t help but be impressed, and it usually takes a lot because I grew up with money. My parents made sure I never lacked for anything money could buy. I follow Sebastian to the kitchen, trying not to be nervous. I don’t know what to do with myself.
“It’s big,” he says when we get back to the living room. “When I initially bought it, I had visions of hosting Sunday brunch here for my family. But you can see how well that’s going. I don’t think my mom’s going to give that up anytime soon.” I follow him as he heads into the kitchen. “I know it’s a little early, but are you hungry?” He opens the refrigerator and ducks to look inside.
“I can always eat,” I offer.
He grins. “Good because I love to eat.”
“That, I believe. What can I do to help?” I take off my blazer and hang it on the back of a chair and pull my hair back and secure it with a hair tie, so I don’t get hair in the food. When I turn back around, Sebastian’s staring at me. “What?”
He shakes his head and turns back to the counter. “I’m going to grill up some chicken and make some veggies and a salad. Sound good?”
“Sounds healthy,” I can’t help but return.
He grins over at me. “Welcome to hockey season. You don’t have to eat that, though. You want me to order you takeout from somewhere?”
“No, no. This is fine; I’m just messing with you. Let me help.” I grab a knife from his knife block and ask where the cutting board is. Moments later, I’m cutting up greens for the salad.
“I like this,” Sebastian says, glancing over at me.
“Cutting up chicken?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “No. Cooking with you in the kitchen; it’s just like when we were at your house. It’s very domesticated,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. I’m so very domesticated.”
I can feel his eyes on me. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks casually.
I shrug. “I’m the furthest thing from domesticated.” At his curious look, I scoff. “Sebastian, look at me. Do I look like the domesticated type?”
“Um, I feel like this is a trick question that I shouldn’t answer. Like when my sister would ask me if she looked fat in a pair of jeans?”
“Are you saying I look fat?” I ask with a completely straight face.
He scoffs. “You are not fat; you’re gorgeous.” His words are so effortless and easy; I can’t help my response.
“You probably say that all the time. Anyway,” wanting to move on from this conversation, I continue, “I’m fine with it. I’m just not the barefoot and pregnant kind of girl. Never have been; never will be.” He groans low. “What?”
“Now, I can’t get that image out of my mind. You in our kitchen, barefoot, your stomach round with my baby.” He blows out a breath. “Stephanie.” His voice sounds pained.
I laugh. “Dramatic much? And I literally just said that’s not me.”
He puts a hand over his heart. “Way to kill my fantasy, Baby.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say dryly.
He puts some chicken into the skillet, and it sizzles. “You don’t want to have kids?” He asks the question in a casual voice, but I know the question is anything but casual.
“Never planned on it.” My voice is non-emotional. This is an easy issue for me—cut and dry. “I wouldn’t make a good mom.”
“Why?” There’s no judgment in his voice, only curiosity.
“I just don’t have that nurturing side. My parents...well, you met them. They’re not nurturing, especially my mom. I wouldn’t want to do that to my kids. I wouldn’t want them to endure what I did growing up. So it’s just better I don’t have kids.” There’s only the sound of the chicken sizzling and the cut of my knife on the cutting board for a few minutes. “You’re not saying anything.”
He glances my way and turns and leans against the stove, his long legs crossed at the ankles. “I think you’re entitled to your own opinion.”
“You disagree?”
“I do. I’ve seen you with my nieces and nephews. I have that picture on my phone of you sitting on the floor playing with them and smiling. And Tina texted me that her girls had so much fun with you. So, yeah, I don’t agree with you. But when things go forward with us, I hope you know I would never push you to do something you don’t want to do. If you don’t want kids, we won’t have kids.”
I take a breath, willing my heart to slow down. “First of all, you’re certainly confident things are going to go forward with us,” I start.
“I am.”
“And,” I interject. “You love kids.”
“I do, but I love you more.”
My eyes widen, and he grimaces and runs a hand over his head. “Sorry. I wasn’t planning on letting you know that way.”
I stare at him, unable to say absolutely anything. Then reality smacks me in the face. “No, you don’t.”
He frowns. “Excuse me?”
I laugh, but it’s not humorous. “You don’t love me.” His frown deepens. “You may think you do, but you can’t.”
“Why not?”
I wave him off and turn back to the greens. “So many reasons, the first being it’s way too soon to say something like that.” I wave my knife in the air. “Second, I’m not the kind of person you say those kind of declarations to. I’m not capable of that kind of...” I wave the knife again. “Emotion or whatever.” I’m busy chopping away and don’t see him move. But I feel when he comes up behind me. I freeze when he leans his body against me. He puts his hand over my hand holding the knife and pushes it down gently and coaxes me to release my hold on the knife.
“I will give you all the time in the world to get used to this, Baby.” His words are right against the shell of my ear, and I fight the urge to shudder for reasons that I won’t let myself consider. But it’s not in repulsion; I know that much for sure. “But hear me when I say it’s not too soon for me to say those words. It may be too soon for you to hear them, but not for me to say them. Second,” he puts his hands on my upper arms and gently turns me around to face him. I can’t help but look up at him. He’s so serious, so at odds with his usual easy-going smile. “I believe you are totally capable of emotion. I’ve seen it.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and trails his thumb down my cheek. “I’m sorry you grew up the way you did.” His words are soft. “I hate that you didn’t feel love. I grew up knowing nothing but love; I was surrounded by it. Every child should grow up that way, and I want our kids to grow up that way if we have them.” He continues before I can say anything. “If we have kids, great; if not, that’s okay too. But I never want you to think that it’s because you won’t be a good mom or that you’re incapable of loving because that is so far from the truth.”
“It’s not,” I argue.
“Do you love your parents?”
“I do, but—”
“Do you love Brielle?”
“Yes but—”
“Do you love your students?”
I sigh. “Yes, but—”
“No buts, Baby. You love. End of story. You are capable of loving.”
“But not of being loved.” I blurt out the words and regret them instantly. “I didn’t mean that—”
“You did, and that’s okay.” His voice is so gentle. “I have a feeling I’m not going to want to hear stories from your childhood, and I’m going to have to find a way to love your parents.” He takes a deep breath. “I realize you’re going to have to find your own path; I can’t make you know that you’re loved. But you can better believe I’m going to spend my life proving that you are worthy of love. Because you are. You are so worthy of love, Stephanie. Not just my love, but others as well.” Tears well up in my eyes, and I hate it. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from letting them fall. His face softens, and he reaches up and catches a tear that drips down the side of my cheek. “Just give me fifty,” he says softly.
“Fifty what?” I ask.
“Years. Fifty years to love you. It won’t be enough, but it will be a start.”
“How do you know that’s really what you want...that this is really what you want?” I’m interested to see where things go with him, but he seems all the way in already.
“I guess it’s just part of who I am. I’ve always known what I wanted in life and went after it. And from my very first interaction with you, I knew I wanted you to be mine.”