“Why?”
I brush my lips over the curve of her neck. “Because there’s music and I want to dance with my wife.” We’re already swaying slightly back and forth.
She turns in my arms to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Dance then, ball boy.”
I shake my head. “Do you always have to make jokes when I’m trying to be romantic?”
She grins up at me. “You wouldn’t have me any other way and you know it.” She winks.
I smile back at her, because she’s right. We move to the song, slow dancing in the kitchen.
I know it’s a simple thing, dancing with my wife in the kitchen of our new home, but this is something I’ll never forget.
Especially her tiny little bump pressing into me—I definitely never want to forget the feel of that.
“Ugh,” she says suddenly.
“What?” I ask, worried.
She clears her throat. “I just keep feeling this weird fluttering feeling in my belly. I think it’s just gas or something—the joys of pregnancy.”
I tilt my head, thinking over something I read. “Thea … I think you’re feeling the baby move.”
She shakes her head, looking at me like I’m crazy.
“No, no way.”
She stops dancing and backs away from me, getting the bread from the oven and setting it beside the lasagna. Prue watches us from the floor, hoping for a crumb.
She stands with her hands on her hips and looks at me. “Do you really think it’s that?”
“I think so.” I nod. “I read something that said a lot of women think it’s gas when it’s really the baby moving.” She presses her hand to the small swell of her stomach. “Are you feeling it now?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Can I feel?” I hold out my hands to her stomach and wait for her to nod. When she does I place my hands against the white shirt and feel. I don’t feel any movement, just the heat of her skin. I frown, disappointed.
“You don’t feel it?” she asks, and she sounds as sad as me.
I shake my head. “No, but don’t freak out. I also read that the mother feels it first before it’s noticeable on the outside—so if that’s what it is I should feel it a few weeks.”
I keep my hand pressed against her stomach, hoping maybe I’ll feel something. She places her hand over mine.
“This baby is so lucky to have you as a daddy,” she tells me.
I remove my hand and cup her cheek. “And you might not see it, but this baby is incredibly lucky to have you as its mommy.”
She looks away, like she doesn’t want to hear my words—doesn’t want to believe them.
I still haven’t figured out a way to show her that she can do this, but I know I’ll think of something eventually.
For now, all I have are words, and I’ll keep telling her over and over again until she believes them.
“You’re too good to me,” she finally says.
I shake my head. “Just telling the truth.”
She steps up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips before backing away.