He turns his head. “I’m not eating that.”
I shake my head. “I swear I just had a flash of the future, trying to feed a French brat, a little replica of you.”
His eyes immediately drop to my stomach, and he slowly lifts my sweater, covering the flesh with his palm before lifting a questioning gaze to mine. There’s a deep sorrow etched there, and I put my threatening spoon back in the bowl, concerned by his reaction.
“What?”
“Do you want children?”
Alarm buds in my chest at his wary expression. “I haven’t given it that much thought. I will admit that the idea of carrying your baby…there’s something sexy, greatly appealing about it, and being a mother…I mean, I’m not opposed to eventually becoming a mother. Still, I don’t feel like it will make me or break me. Why do you ask?”
He lowers his eyes to watch the glide of his fingers along my flesh in lieu of an answer.
“Do you want children?”
“I never thought I would… But the idea of you, pregnant with my baby, fuck,” he licks his lips, his eyes blazing with desire. “Maybe, with you. Only with you.”
His reply warms me just as the cautious side of me speaks. “Okay, so what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to my face, Tobias. Is it the danger?”
“Some of it, yes.”
“Okay, then we can talk about this down the road. We’re in no hurry, right?”
“Right.”
Too quick. I press in.
“What aren’t you telling me? Is there…something wrong with…” I lower my eyes.
He jerks his chin. “No. I can give you children, Trésor.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “Give me something here.”
He nods towards our bowls. “Your snow cream is melting.”
I groan, frustrated, but decide this argument can wait. I’m in no hurry, and it’s too hard to retrieve what he clearly doesn’t want me to see.
Reloading the spoon, I lift it to my mouth and moan when the sweet cream hits my tongue. His eyes flare with a little curiosity as he watches me.
“One bite, for me?”
He nods, his knuckles still faintly caressing my stomach before he lowers my sweater. When I lift the spoon to his full lips, he opens, taking a mouthful, his eyes widening a little in surprise.
I can’t help my victorious smile. “Told you.”
Without hesitation, he grabs his own bowl, and we head to the couch, our discarded coats and gloves hanging on a rack next to a roaring fire.
He shovels his snow cream in, as I try not to gloat, and then speaks up around a mouthful. His words imperceptible.
“What was that, King? Did you say nom nom good?”
His eyes narrow. “I neef to go see Mawk,” he mumbles, inhaling his treat and gesturing urgently for me to eat mine as if I didn’t just have to force the spoon in his mouth.
“You need to see Mark?”
He nods.
“Who’s Mark?”
He swallows, dishing up another huge bite. “At the hardware store. For snow day supplies. He’s my cashier.”
I press my lips together as he cleans his bowl.
“You’re getting around quite a bit these days, aren’t you?”