Heart of Glass (Fostering Love 3)

“We just got here last night,” I replied, pulling my knees up so I could pull my oversized hoodie over my legs. “So far, it’s been good.”

“And where did you sleep?”

“In the guest room, nosy.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because I’m a guest?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“Because,” I ground out. “He hasn’t made a move.”

“So?”

“So, I think he’s waiting.”

“For what, marriage? You guys have already done the deed.”

“I don’t know.” I sighed and leaned my head back against the chair I was sitting in. “He made coffee and pancakes this morning, and then went in to work for a couple hours. He kissed me good-bye, but it was pretty platonic.”

“I can’t imagine those lips being platonic about anything.”

“Don’t imagine his lips at all,” I ordered.

“Calm down, tiger,” she replied. “You know my tastes run a little more toward long-haired bikers.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“So, what?” she asked. “You’re just friends?”

“No.” That, at least, I was sure about. “He told his family that he wants to marry me.”

“Say what?” she practically yelled.

“No kidding.”

“Jumping the gun a little, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think he was completely serious.”

“Does Trevor seem like a guy that says stuff he doesn’t mean?”

“No.”

“Well.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea,” I confessed. The idea of marrying anyone terrified me. Hell, the thought of just living with someone terrified me. Marriage was huge, epic, life altering.

“He loves you,” Miranda said softly. “That’s big.”

“I know.”

I watched Etta in the yard, getting muddy as hell and as happy as I’d ever seen her. This could be our life—the man, the house, the dog, the unending yard to play in—it could be our reality if I just reached out and took it.

“Do you love him?” Miranda asked.

“How do I know?”

“You’ll know,” she replied instantly.

* * *

That afternoon Etta and I rode into town with Trevor to get groceries and some clothes for Etta to wear outside. I’d realized a little too late that her leggings and tennis shoes were not cut out for country living. By the time she’d come inside for a warm bath, both had been stained beyond repair by the clay that was mixed in with the dirt around the house.

According to Trevor, she needed some rain boots and jeans if she was going to be a country girl, and since she only had a pair of sandals left after the mess she’d made earlier, I accepted the idea gracefully. That was how we ended up in the shoe department of the local store, trying shoes on a two-year-old who wanted no part in the process.

“Etta, which ones do you like?”

“Me like cookies,” she replied.

“I know,” I replied, sitting her on the bench for the fifteenth time. “But you already got a cookie and now it’s time for boots. Which boots do you like?”

She didn’t bother answering as I shoved her feet into some pink princess boots.

“Me like those,” she said, pointing to a different pair as soon as I’d gotten the pink boots on her feet.

“Here you go,” Trevor said, handing me the green crocodile boots she was pointing at.

I switched the boots and helped Etta down from the bench, even though she’d proven over and over that she could do it herself. After she’d walked back and forth a few times, she pointed to the pink boots again.

“Me like those.”

“I thought you liked the green ones?” I asked, running out of patience. I didn’t know why I’d even asked for her opinion. She was two years old, for Pete’s sake. She wouldn’t care if I dressed her in a monkey suit every day.

“Me like those,” she repeated, pointing to the princess boots.

“Okay.” I had slipped the green boots off her feet and started to put her sandals back on when all hell broke loose.

“No, me like those,” she cried, pointing to the princess boots again. “Me like those!”

“I know,” I replied, trying to shush her.

“No these ones.” She kicked out her feet, trying to push the sandals back off.

“Henrietta,” I hissed, trying in vain to make her stop kicking like a lunatic. “Stop it.”

“Me like those!”

“Jesus,” I mumbled, standing up. My face was burning with mortification when I met Trevor’s eyes.

“Grab the boots,” he said calmly.

Then, without fanfare, he picked Etta up and started carrying her out of the shoe department. I grabbed the boots from the shelf and threw them in the cart as I followed. By the time I caught up with them, Etta was completely silent.

“You all done?” Trevor asked, walking toward the checkout lines.

“Yes.” I leaned around him, but Etta was facing away from me and I couldn’t see her expression.

“I think I startled her,” Trevor said, accurately reading my confusion. “She stopped as soon as I started walking.”

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled.

He didn’t let me pay and he was so gracious about the whole thing that by the time we got to his truck, I was so embarrassed I could have cried. After quickly buckling Etta into her seat, he turned to me but didn’t say whatever was on his mind. Instead, he shut Etta’s door and took my face in his hands.