Pretty Little Mistake
: Chapter 36

We left behind snow in the city for more snow in the country.

Outside the window, the sky is already dark. Winter and its early nights. Snow flurries speckle the sky. In the reflection of the window, I see Lennon behind me, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, holding a mug of hot chocolate.

“It’s beautiful here,” she says to me when I join her on the couch. “I hate to admit it, but you picked a good place. I wouldn’t mind seeing it in the summer.”

The inn is pretty much a massive farmhouse situated between the mountains with a working vineyard.

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” she goes on. “The deck is amazing. Something like this would be nice to . . .” She gets a wistful expression, her words trailing off.

“Nice to?” I prompt.

She shrugs, her blanket falling off her shoulder. I push it back up into place so she can stay warm. I’m surprised she’s even chilly, considering the fireplace is going.

“It’s the kind of place that would be nice to raise a family. A decent-size house, privacy, lots of property. It’s big without being ostentatious.”

“Would you want to leave the city?”

Her lips twist back and forth, thinking. “I never thought I’d want to leave this soon. I wanted to focus on my career, and I love New York, but I also didn’t think I’d have a kid until I was at least thirty. But yeah, I’d like to leave sooner than I’d planned. I want this baby to grow up in a home, have a yard, a golden retriever.”

“You’re describing the quintessential American dream right there, Len. You can do better than that.”

She swats at me, nearly spilling hot chocolate, but somehow she manages to save it from spilling on the white couch. “Don’t make fun of me. It sounds nice. Happy.”

“It sounds normal.”

“And what are you proposing?” she counters with a laugh.

“Move in with me.” Silence. The only sound filling the room is the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. “Lennon?”

“Like in your apartment?”

Did she hit her head on something, and I missed it? Why is she not computing?

“In my apartment, yes.”

“But it’s an apartment, not a home.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. This woman. Beautiful, infuriating, and so fucking dense to the fact that I want her, need her. Not just her, but this baby. My feelings are all kinds of mixed up, but somehow in my brain it makes the most sense for us to live together.

“First off, it’s the people who make a place a home, not the dwelling itself.” Her family should be proof enough of that. “Secondly, yes, my apartment. This is our kid. Half you. Half me. That means it is both of our responsibilities. I don’t like the idea of you doing this alone.” She opens her mouth to argue, so I quickly shush her. “I don’t mean from a sexist standpoint, just that I should help as much as you do. The baby wakes up screaming? Let me rock her back to sleep. She’s hungry in the night? You want to breastfeed? You sleep, and I’ll stuff your breast in her mouth. See, I have this all figured out.”

“You keep saying her.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “That’s all you got from that? Yes, her. I already told you, it’s a girl, I have a sixth sense with my pet sperm. A psychic connection, if you will. It’s a girl.”

“It could be—”

“Stop deflecting. Move in with me.” Fuck, I sound like I’m begging her. I guess I am.

Frowning, she sets her mug down on the table behind the couch. “You can’t just demand that I move in with you. What would I do? Sleep on the couch?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re adults. We can share a bed without me mauling you. Unless you want me to—then I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“We’re not even together. Not for real anyway.”

We could be. It’s on the tip of my tongue, those words, but I bite them back because I don’t know if she’s ready for that. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

“We don’t have to be. Not everything needs a label. There’s nothing wrong with two adults living together to coparent their kid.”

“Most people can’t do that.”

“We’re not most people.”

She rubs her face, nervous. “I’m not going to answer right now. I need time to think about this, and I think you need time to make sure that’s something you actually want.”

“I have thought about it, and it is. I wouldn’t broach the topic if I wasn’t certain.”

“Okay.” She nods, wetting her lips with her tongue. “Obviously you’ve had time to think about this and come to terms with it. I want you to allow me the same privilege.”

I’m not a patient person. The idea of having to wait for her to make up her mind is brutal. But somehow, I’ll do it.

“I’ll try, but we don’t have a lot of time.”

“I know.” There’s fear in her eyes.

She wiggles around on the couch, finally lying back and putting her feet in my lap. My hands automatically grab on to them, massaging. A half sigh, half moan leaves her. Eyes fluttering closed, she mumbles, “That feels so good. Don’t stop. You know”—she laughs suddenly—“I guess if it were up to my parents, we’d be married right now, and this might be our honeymoon.”

I choke, turning the sound into a cough. The inn I chose is a honeymoon hot spot. No kids or pets allowed here.

Poor Cheddar.

“Married.” I sigh, mulling over the word and how I might feel if we were. “How is it that that sounds weirder than having a kid?”

“Right?” She giggles, the sound turning into a moan when I rub my thumb into the arch of her foot. “Don’t stop. That feels so good.” She stifles a yawn. “Do you have any baby name ideas?”

“Beckham Jr. is an obvious choice if it’s a boy,” I joke, grinning when she glowers at me. Fuck, I love riling her. “But it’s not a boy. I like Alice for a girl.”

“Alice?” she scoffs. “Ew, no way.”

“What? Why? It’s a good name, old fashioned. Solid.”

“I can’t believe you just described a name as solid.”

“Because it is. What’s a name you like, if you’re going to judge my suggestion?”

“I don’t know, maybe Olivia.”

“Olivia?” I scoff. “Hell no. That’s way too popular. Do you want our kid to introduce herself, and there are five other Olivias in the class? I don’t think so.”

She pinches her brow. “You’re going to make this incredibly complicated, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I’m not going to pretend otherwise. “A name is an important part of a person.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now.”

“If it’s going to lead to an argument, I guess not.” Standing up, she presses a hand to her belly. “I’m going to go take a bath. My back is aching. I can’t imagine how it’s going to feel when I’m at the end of this pregnancy.”

“I’ll rub your back for you.”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. “I know you will.”

She doubted me on the foot rubs, but now that I’ve proven my worth, she knows I’ll follow through on my promise.

“I’ll fix the bath for you. You can’t have the water too hot.”

“I know. I’ll be fine.”

“Still, it’ll make me feel better to do it.”

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she then gestures for me to go on ahead of her. The bathroom of the room we chose has a huge soaking tub, large enough for three people, not that I’m going to invite myself to join her. I start the water, adding a few spoonfuls of the epsom salts into the water from a jar beside the tub.

“Thank you,” she says when I finish.

I touch her waist. “You’re welcome.” I bend down, placing a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I barely understand what I’m feeling, but what I do know is that I’m replaceing myself longing for this. The little moments. Just being with her.

Apparently, I’m not as coldhearted as I thought.