Babysitter Wanted(13)

"No way. If I was unhappy, I'd tell you. No secrets, remember."

"No secrets," he agrees. "Except for one."

I raise my eyebrows. What now?

"I bought you something," he says. "Without telling you. Surprises aren't secrets, right?"

"No, that kind of secret is fine." What has he got me this time? He surprises me with a lot of gifts, flowers, candy, little things he thinks I'd love. But a few of those gifts I wouldn't want to open on a cafe terrace in Paris, even if it is a city for lovers. Those presents are much better in private at home.   





 

"Even this kind of gift?"

Crap! It is one of those! I brace myself for what he's going to give me. I have Lucy on my lap now that we've finished our coffee. She's playing with a teaspoon. Not that she's going to know what's going on. Even so, I worry what Andrew is going to give me.

But Andrew gets a small square box out of his pocket and goes down on one knee in that busy Paris cafe and so I blush for another reason. Even the bustling waiters in their long white aprons, heavy trays full of glasses and cups balanced perfectly on their fingers, stop to watch. Maybe the world stops. I don't know. "Marry me, Melissa?"

He takes a ring, a diamond ring, from the box and places it on my finger and I laugh and say yes. He gets off his knees and leans over and kisses me gently, careful not to squash Lucy. The workers having an after-office drink in that cafe, the tourists ambling by and commuters hurrying to get home all stop for a moment and applaud because it's a city for lovers, after all, and that kind of thing is meant to happen here.

When I arrived in Europe in January, I didn't expect to receive a proposal from a man on one knee in Paris with a baby on my lap by the summer, but somehow it feels totally right. Lucy drops the spoon with a clatter and claps along with the rest of the café, although she won't understand or even remember in the future what she was clapping about. We, on the other hand, will never forget the moment.

Back in England, I tell Jasmine and she is delighted for me. "Everyone can tell you three are meant to be a family," she says. "I love it! You'll have to make your wedding cake and take a picture. That could be the start of something big."

She's more ambitious for me than I am for myself.

"I'll make our cake, but I can't see me making wedding cakes for a lot of brides in our tiny kitchen. Even ours will be a stretch."

"That's a pity," Jasmine says. "You could use the kitchen here, but not with Lucy. Health and Safety and all that. Maybe once she goes to school, you can come and keep me company here. Or when Andrew is home, he can babysit."

I let Jasmine know I'll think about it, but when I do have a chance to consider working there, it's clear why I didn't jump at the chance to use the store kitchen when Andrew is home. The problem is that when Andrew is around is when I most want to be there with him. Maybe that will change in time, but I can't see that happening anytime soon.

And in any case, I don't care that much about expanding my business. I'm happy enough making the cards and cakes I do. I don't want the things I love doing to take over my life. They might stop being fun then.

A couple of months later, wedding plans are well underway. Mom, Dad, my brother Daniel, and the rest of my family are coming over to England, rather than me doing the traditional thing and getting married at home in L.A.

And I'm excited that Katrina is coming, too. We have so much news to catch up on. Though I call her every week, it's not quite the same. She and Jasmine will be my bridesmaids, and Jasmine will carry little Lucy up the aisle. She will be so cute in her little white dress with a pink sash. The florist will make a band of pink flowers and ribbon for her hair, and a little basket of pink rosebuds.

Katrina and Jasmine are excited to meet all Andrew's firemen buddies. But there's no fireman better than mine.

He's on his way home now, and I have a special meal waiting for him. Lucy has had her dinner and is playing in the living room with her toy rabbit, feeding him fake pizza and plastic carrots.

"I've been thinking," he says when he comes through the door and kisses us both as he always does. "I think I should sell my apartment. It's bringing in rent but we could do with a bigger house now that Lucy is growing. What do you think?"

"It's a good idea, but I love the village and I love this house, even if it is a bit small for us. Where would we go?"

"I don't know. I was going to suggest house hunting tomorrow. If you don't want to move, we might be able to build out at the back of the house, add to the kitchen, make it bigger and create another bedroom. That was the other option. I'm not sure we could get planning permission for a house this old, but if we're not changing the front of the house, we might get it."

"We'll need to do something sooner or later."

"I know."

"No, you don't know. No secrets, remember?"

"You have a secret?"

I nod. I'm nervous about telling him. "We're going to need another bedroom because Lucy is going to have a little brother or sister."

"What?" He hugs me, a smile breaking out on his face. He's not upset. I start breathing again.

"I know we said we'd wait. I've been taking my pills, I swear, but I think that time I was sick, we should have used something else after that."   





 

"Who wants to wait? Oh, Mel, that's one of the reasons I wanted a bigger house for us. So we could have a baby when you were ready. I didn't want to rush you. There was no rush, but now that this has happened, I love this secret."

He picks me up and twirls me around and then sets me down. "Sorry, I need to be more careful with you."

"Not yet. I'm not fragile. In fact, I don't want you treating me any differently at all. Not tonight. Not any night."

"It's a pity we did everything on your list already," he says.

"Many times over." I laugh. "And yours."

"But there is something I've been meaning to do."

"What? I thought we had done it all. We said no secrets!"

"It won't be a secret for long. Just until tonight. And then a special treat."

"For me or you?" I grin at him, already wanting him, whatever it is.

"For both of us."

We have a quick dinner and I bathe and put Lucy to bed while Andrew tidies up. I wonder how it will be when we have two children to get ready for bed, but I'm sure it will be fine. We'll manage. Even when Andrew is working the night shift, I'll manage somehow. People just do.

When I come out of Lucy's room, Andrew gathers me in his arms.

"What have you got in mind?" I ask.

"I'm going to eat you up," he says. "For dessert. But first, I'm gonna get you naked and tie you up."

I giggle. I like these games. But we've done this a few times.

As soon as he ties my hands to each of the posts at the top of the bed, I get the familiar feeling of need, my hips moving on the bed.

"Keep still," he says. "Feet next." And once my feet are secure I test the restraints, pulling at them. He could do anything he wants to me, but I know what he usually wants. He licks at me, making me writhe as much as I can within the bounds, my heart pounding, already frustrated because I want to grab him, make him enter me.

"Patience," he says. "Here, put this on." He pops a blindfold over my eyes and licks at me again. The sensation of his hot tongue on me is so much more intense now that's all I have to focus on.

"Wait a moment," he says. "Be right back."

"Andrew!" I call after him. I'm getting impatient with need. Why is he stopping again?

I feel him get back on the bed beside me. Good! Then he's working me with his mouth again. Double good!

But he stops again and I squeal in frustration. "I thought this was supposed to be some kind of special treat."

"Treat for me," he says. "And now treat for you."

I yelp. He's dropped something icy cold right between my legs where his hot mouth was and that contrast makes me come right then, my hips arching up as I shudder in my bounds.

"Ice cream?" I squeal.

"Yes, vanilla." And I imagine him grinning at the word vanilla. Sometimes we are on the very edge of that line if not crossing it.

And then he licks it off slowly and surely, every drop, with his hot mouth and it's too much, I come again, obscenities coming from my mouth I'd never use outside the bedroom.

"That's it, dirty girl," he says. "My own ice cream sundae dessert."

"I didn't get dessert," I say, pouting. "I want to lick it from you." That picture in my mind reminds me of my first day in England when we went for a walk along the promenade to the beach cafe.

"There's plenty for two," he says, "and chocolate sauce. First, I'm going to paint a message on you and if you guess what it is, I might just have to fuck you."

I feel the brush on my bare stomach. A straight stroke. Then another and another at an angle-I L. It's not hard to know what he's going to write. It's exactly what I would write on him.

"I love you," I say.

"I haven't finished yet," he says, "but if you insist."

"I insist."

"You just want to be fucked, don't you?"

"I do."

He unties me and takes off the blindfold. By the time we finish, we've gotten ice cream and chocolate sauce all over the sheets, but we're sticky and sated and I don't care about the sheets.