Mine To Keep (Love By Design 7)

“I just said so, didn’t I?” I teased her back. Remington Kennedy was going to gut me, I knew it.

“Okay, okay.”

We continued shopping, pushing the cart down the aisle. Remi seemed intent on reading each label, frowning and price-comparing, choosing the cheaper brands.

“Did you know all the sodium in here can age you like ten years?” She held out a can of organic low-sodium beans, and I dropped it into the cart just to hear her gasp. They were easily three times the cost of store brand, but I planned on paying.

“Nope, I just eat them, sweet girl.” She huffed, but I pushed the cart, zooming by her. I actually didn’t eat beans or most anything from a can, but it seemed to be on her shopping list, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Ethan stayed asleep up top, and I kept moving before she could jump in and fish them out.

She stopped in the aisle, forcing me to halt the cart. I turned back to watch her cross her arms over her sweetly rounded breasts, pressing them upward. Her foot gave a little pop over the tiled flooring.

“Those were also the expensive organic ones.”

“I know, but since I plan on paying for them, little lady, let me have my fancy beans. I worked overtime this week. I think I should get the fancy beans, don’t you?” Grumbling and walking away unfolding her list, she ignored me. “Awe, Remi, come on? What do you think, Ethan? Is mommy being a poopy pants?”

“Don’t you bring my son into this with your potty mouth.” She poked me in the chest, and a laugh erupted from within me as we finished the shopping. I let her put up a gallant fight trying to pay for the items. Her arms wrapped around me, trying to reach the card I held above her head, letting her pout, but my arms were longer and quicker as I swiped the credit card through the machine. The clerk didn’t look the least bit amused, but I didn’t care.

I followed her beat-up car to the parking lot behind the bar, intent on helping her to the second-story walk-up with the groceries. Her car had been a pain in the ass to get cleaned after the almost birthing. The detailing bill was insane, but no way was I leaving her with that to take care of. I’d let her think it was a simple drive through wash service.

The walk up the stairs took me two trips to her single one, and I ordered her to stay upstairs with the baby. We dragged the bags to her little kitchen area filled with washed bottles, formula, and a box of store brand Cheerios I presumed she was eating.

“I’ll be right back. Little man stinks.” Leaning against the counter, I looked around the threadbare place. Picking up the cereal box, I found it was empty, barely a crumb inside, and that slammed some pretty fucked-up feelings into my chest unexpectedly all over again. I thought getting my emotions tossed like hurricane winds earlier was enough, but apparently not.

She fixed a curtain up to separate her sofa bed and the crib from the rest of the studio. My body took up a good portion of the kitchenette and hotplate setup standing in the corner. My arms reached the walls when stretched out, making me feel claustrophobic in the lack of space. It didn’t feel right to leave her there like that when I could offer her the spare bedroom in my house. I lived on a quiet street in a nice neighborhood. The only excitement I had was the neighbor’s dog barking and the one guy who used his leaf blower every Sunday no matter the season. I was hardly home anyway and the words were itching to escape my heedless mouth.

It was now or never. “Remi, move in with me.” The words were out of my mouth before I understood what I actually said.

“Huh? What?” She peeked around the curtain, and her face was one of pale shock.

Tears filled her eyes.

Ah shit, I made her cry now.

“I said—I want you to move in with me.” I took a step toward her and she backed up, holding the baby against her chest like a shield or a comfort; I wasn’t sure which when she cradled his head gently over her heart, backing away.

She got that huffy look on her face with her blush-stained cheeks.

“Evan, I can’t move in with you. What–what would people say?”

“What would they say and why should we care?” The biggest scandal we had was the garbageman not picking up trash on a weekday holiday. All of our friends knew us, and I doubted they’d say much and even if they did, I’d squash it.

“But I have a baby and you’re—well, you.”

I was what?

“Okay, I’m going to try real hard to not be insulted by whatever you meant by that.” I was definitely dying on a sword today. I just didn’t know which one it was going to be. The one where I get her to move in voluntarily or the one where I get her to move in carried over my shoulder.

Remi wouldn’t look me in the eye, and I found that more worrisome than I’d like to admit. “Sweet girl, look at me.” I seized her loose hand from around the baby and sat down with her on the sofa bed. It dipped, forcing her thigh against mine, and I had to think non-arousing thoughts lest this whole conversation go further awry.

“Evan.”

I put my finger to her sweet bee-stung-looking lips.

“Shhh. Let me finish.” I waited a moment to figure out how I wanted to say this. “I’m asking you to move in with me because I care, and I can see you’re too proud to ask for help, but I’m in a position to help, and I’d really like to do that, if you’ll let me.”

Her lips, which I found myself curious to kiss sober this time, trembled. Her delicately arched red brows furrowed in thought. I wondered what kind of asshole-man-child left her like this? She deserved so much better.

“What about my apartment?”