“I do,” Bo answers, his voice far more earnest than my little jest was. “I don’t take it for granted, Win. I feel very honoured to get to do this with you.”
“What, sleep in my bed?” I tease, feeling awfully shy.
I can hear his eyes roll. “No,” he says. “Being here with you. Not having to miss out on this stuff. You didn’t have to tell me about the baby at all, let alone uproot your life to move in here. I’m grateful you did. I’ll always be grateful that you did.”
“I’m grateful I did too… and for you.”
“Your friendship means a lot to me, Win,” he breathes out. “You mean a lot to me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Now. Be brave. Tell him how you feel. “I—”
“That’s the question I was going to ask tonight,” Bo interrupts. “Who in this world matters the most to you?”
“You,” I answer simply, pleading with him to hear me. What I said and all that it means.
“You,” he repeats. “It’s you for me too. With a very close second,” he says, his eyes on my belly.
I want to be braver than I am. I want to ask what that means to him. What it means for us. Whether he feels this longing between us so deep inside him, so full and abundant, that he’s also started to believe that we have souls after all.
Simply because something inside me is entirely his. Something I know would follow me into the next life, or beyond that, even if I left this body behind.
But I don’t. Because my heart’s just taken off like it has wings at his small admission alone, and I’d rather not risk shooting it back down.
For tonight, knowing I matter most to him is enough. Well, almost enough.
I shuffle closer, lining up my bent knee with his thigh, looking up at him with silent permission. Bo moves too, until our chests are touching through our blankets. I push my duvet down past my hips, and Bo lifts the corner of his blanket up like a wing, enveloping me in it with his arm behind my back.
The warmth of his body radiates through the cotton of his T-shirt and the silk of my nightgown. I nuzzle into him until my forehead rests on his pillow alongside him, our noses inches from touching. And I take a deep inhale, breathing in his scent—the cinnamon and musk mixed with the freshly cleaned scent of his T-shirt. I shamelessly do it again, breathing him in like another hit of something far better than oxygen.
His arm curls around my back, his elbow at my waist and his hand between my shoulder blades. The tips of his fingers burn into my skin with a delicate, callused touch, while his palm is mostly pressed against the silk between my shoulder blades.
“This okay?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
I mumble a sleepy, quiet agreement in place of the word perfect.
And so he holds me.
His thumb moves in slow circles, as if he’s in no hurry. As if he has zero expectations for more.
With no words needing to be said. With no promises yet to be made.
And I let it be.
I let myself feel content. I let myself feel less lonely. I let myself feel safe. Because I am.
“I love you,” I whisper once I’m absolutely sure he’s asleep—his steady breathing loud and throaty.
And I feel lighter for it as I drift off to sleep.
CHAPTER 28
I woke up alone, with no proof of last night other than Bo’s glasses on the nightstand and his prosthesis still laid up against the wall.
He’ll be coming back for those, I think to myself. So I stretch with a yawn and let my eyes drift shut once again.
But they don’t stay closed for long. I wake to pots and pans clattering from down the hall, alerting the rest of my senses to the light coming in through the window and the smell of vanilla wafting through the house.
The faint sound of water running also tells me that someone is in the shower. I contemplate which of the Durand men might be showering and which one could be cooking and decide it’s most likely Bo in the shower, with all he’s left behind.
I curl myself back against my pillow, wrapped in my warm cocoon, deciding to wait for Bo to return before going to greet his dad. But once a few minutes pass, my stomach and curiosity overrule my comfort.
I throw on some sweats and a hoodie before making my way toward the kitchen, where I find Bo pouring batter into the waffle maker.
“Morning,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “I thought you were in the shower.”
Bo holds on to the counter, steadying himself. “Morning,” he says, closing the waffle maker with his tongue poking out in concentration. “I wanted to get up before Dad to avoid any sort of… questions.” He gestures to my bedroom with his tilted chin, wearing a bashful smile. “He’s not subtle, as you may have noticed.”
“Got it.”
“Bonjour!” Robert says, walking through the kitchen in an all-black ensemble, running a towel through his hair as he heads toward the living room.
“Bonjour,” I say, smiling at Bo shyly, as if we have a much more interesting secret than having spent the night cuddling.
I cut up some fruit as Bo finishes the waffles and brews a pot of coffee. We all eat breakfast together on the couch as Robert continues to berate Bo over his lack of dining table. Bo insists there’s not enough room in there between his record player and desk.
They bicker back and forth as I swallow bite after bite of delicious breakfast, only jumping in occasionally to agree with Robert, hoping to earn his favour.
Afterward, we all get ready to leave the house. Then, per his request, we drop Robert off at the local farmers’ market before Bo and I drive to the hospital for our ultrasound.
Bo holds every door open between the parking garage and the clinic. I wonder, if I pretended to be nervous, would he hold my hand too?
Not that I’d really have to pretend.
“You okay?” he asks, opening the clinic’s door.
“Yeah,” I answer reflexively, blowing my chance. We walk inside and walk up to the receptionist behind a glass partition.
“Ultrasound for two please,” I say to her, sliding my paperwork through the narrow slot. She blinks at me, her blank expression saying a whole lot as she sighs through her nose. “Fair,” I mumble, pulling out my ID. “I’m here for my twenty-week scan,” I say, placing my card down.
She takes it and begins typing silently.
“Tough crowd,” Bo whispers next to my ear. “You’ll get ’em next time.” He nods sarcastically, giving me a thumbs-up.
I whack him with the back of my hand.
“Waiting room is the third door on your left. Someone will come grab you from there. You’ll go in by yourself, and then they’ll bring your husband in when they’re done with the measurements.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking back my ID.
I turn over my shoulder and see Bo smiling broadly. “After you, wife.” He extends his arm out toward the waiting room.
I roll my eyes and lead the way.
We sit in the last two available seats next to one another in the otherwise crowded room. Bo plays peek-a-boo with a little girl standing on the chair across from us. Her mom thanks him with ogling, overly appreciative eyes.
In an attempt to thwart her, I place my hand on Bo’s arm, leaning in to speak to him. Except I did it without thinking of something to say first, and now he’s stuck still, waiting for me to speak with his head tilted toward me.