“So violent.” He smiles. Then, when thunder sounds outside, he looks out the floor-to-ceiling window next to his fireplace, where his TV is hanging. “It’s raining.”
I follow his gaze and see fat drops of rain beating against the window.
“I didn’t even think to check the forecast for today.” I drag Sam onto my lap when he tries to crawl up onto the couch, and as soon as I have him in the crook of my arm, his head falls against my chest and his hand finds its way down the front of my shirt. “I think he’s ready for a nap.”
“Baba,” Sam mumbles, and I slide my finger down his forehead and over his nose, the motion causing his eyes to slide half-closed.
“Do you want me to get his bottle?”
“Please,” I say quietly, and he gets up, and I hear him moving around the kitchen. A moment later, he comes back and takes a seat next to me before passing the bottle over. As soon as it’s in Sam’s mouth, his eyes start to drift closed. “I think we’ll have to plan a trip to the farm another day.”
“It’s not going anywhere.” He touches Sam’s hand, and I watch Sam’s tiny fingers automatically wrap around his much larger one.
With Blake’s weight leaning into me, and Sam against my chest mostly asleep, I can’t help but wonder if this is what women who have children with men who care about them and their child feel every second of every day. Safe, supported, wanted. It’s odd that I feel all those things with Blake, given that we’re still getting to know each other, but then again, there’s no denying that is exactly what I feel in this moment. And having it, I want it even more than I thought I did, only I really only want it with him.
Chapter 12
BLAKE
With Everly in the living room with Sampson, the two of them hanging on the couch and watching one of his shows, I place the potatoes I just finished wrapping in foil into the oven. Before Everly and Sam, the only time I was home was to sleep, and I never really cooked, even though it’s something I love doing. As I slam the door closed, my cell across the kitchen beeps, letting me know I have a message. I grab it off the counter and read the text from my mom, asking if Everly and Sam are coming for dinner tomorrow. I text her back, letting her know I’ll ask, then go to my message chain with Mav and scroll through my unanswered ones.
Yesterday, after Lauren and Oliver’s group took off, he said he was going to head out of town for a couple of days, which is something we’ve all done after a rough trip. But him not returning any of my messages, along with how distracted he seemed, has me wondering if something else is going on with him.
“Why are you frowning at your phone?” Everly asks, coming into the kitchen, and I set down my cell, then reach for her hand.
“Nothing.” I pull her over to stand in front of me, and she rests her hands against my chest, then looks into the living room to make sure Sam is okay.
“So you’re just frowning to make sure you haven’t forgotten how to?” she asks. I laugh, watching her smile. Damn, but I love her smile.
“No, just worried about Mav.” I curl my hands around her waist, then slide them back to draw her closer. It feels good to be able to touch her, to be touched by her after fighting this for so long.
“Why?”
“He’s not returning my messages,” I tell her, and she tips her head to the side, looking concerned.
“Is that something he’s done before?”
“No.” I tuck a piece of hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “But he said he was heading out of town, so my guess is he just needs to decompress after Oliver and Lauren’s group.”
“Were they that bad?”
“Bad, no. Challenging, yes—especially with Jake acting like an entitled prick the entire time.” Fuck, even saying his name causes that anger I felt when I found him cornering her in the hall to come flaring back to life.
“That guy was kind of a jerk.” She bites her bottom lip. “Should you go see if you can find him just to make sure he’s okay?”
“If Mav doesn’t want to be found, no one is finding him.” I slide one hand up her back. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t look convinced, so I decide it’s time to change the subject to take her mind off it.
“My mom wants to know if you and Sam are coming to dinner tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Her eyes scan my face, and I can see the wheels in her head turning. “I . . . well . . .” She licks her lips, then tries to take a step away from me, but I hold steady.