Grant was confused, and for a moment, he thought he’d misheard her. “Are you kidding?” he asked.
“No. Why would I joke about that?”
“I don’t know, I just figured . . .”
“Grant, our marriage isn’t exactly stable.”
“It’s romantic, though,” he countered. A flare of red-hot anger flashed in his gut. “We’ve made progress, and I’ve been a good sport on letting you keep your pride and pretend our relationship is a joke. But you love me. Stop acting like you don’t. And stop acting like our marriage is going to fail.”
She set her palms on the table and leaned forward. “I’m not pretending anything. This relationship is tearing me up, and for God’s sake, look around you. You’re in Yachats, Oregon. You want to give a speech about pretending? Stop acting like this is an easy situation. Stop thinking there’s a quick fix to this, because our lives are different. What we want is different.”
“Like kids,” he snapped back. How could he love this woman and feel like he was losing her at the same time?
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d be a shitty mom,” she said, then covered her mouth. The raw cut in her words seemed to shock even her, and Grant’s skin heated while his lungs fogged up, searching for a clean breath.
“Baby, you can’t honestly think that.”
“Grant, I can’t even get married correctly. I got lost on an island, for Christ’s sake. I can’t even find my shoes half the time, and my job mostly consists of cursing out drunk fishermen. I’m not mother material.”
“You’re the best kind of mother material.” Any baby would be lucky to have Hannah’s strength and ambition. She worked hard for everything. Loved even harder. But Hannah was seeing what Grant saw in her, only backward.
“My father is a drunk, and my mother is gone. There’s not one shred
of DNA in me I’d burden a baby with, and I sure as hell won’t pass down whatever mutated awfulness I have running through my blood.”
Grant stood up, his chair loudly pushing backward along the floor, and he didn’t give a shit who noticed. He walked around the table to Hannah. She spun her chair to face him, and he hit his knees and cupped her face in his hands.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Telling you that I love you and you are the best woman in the world and I don’t care what it takes—one day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you.”
He kissed her hard. Her thick eyelashes fluttered over his cheek, like she was blinking fiercely.
“It’s my birthday,” Grant whispered against her mouth. “Does that mean I get a present?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Okay, I want my wife.”
She leaned back an inch to meet his gaze. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I want my wife. Interpret how you will.” He gave her a wink and rose. Walking back to his seat, he finished his meal with his wife, determined to never let her go.
He said he wanted his wife, Hannah thought as she washed a pan in the sink. Last night at dinner, Grant had actually made her feel better. Any time her father was in the equation, it left her with a bad taste in her mouth.
Then dinner had taken her back. She’d been spinning the notion of kids and the future around in her brain since Laura had mentioned it at her appointment. And Grant apparently thought about those things, too.
Her nerves were still frazzled from the conversation and the realization of how much she doubted herself in the mothering department. It was how Grant looked at her, how he held her, that made her chest crack. Like her heart was trying to break free through her ribs. She didn’t know if his faith in her made her feel a little better, or a little sick.
“A little of both,” she mumbled to herself.
But Grant had been kind. Seemed genuinely interested in her. Almost willing to take some of the burden of what was going through her mind. Dare she hope? Having someone be your—what was that word?—oh! Partner. That was an odd concept. Hannah had always taken care of everything herself. Even her own parent. She didn’t remember a time she felt like someone else was ready and willing to take on life with her.
She scrubbed the pan in circles and thought about tonight.