I wheel my suitcase to the bedroom, flinging it on the bed and unzipping the monster. It weighs much more coming home than it did leaving on Wednesday.
“Hey, babe.” Jeremiah stands in the door, shirtless and smiling. He steps toward me, wrapping me in his arms and kissing the top of my head. I hate to break it to him, but acting like we’re back together doesn’t mean we’re back together. “Have a good trip?”
Flipping the lid of the suitcase, a pale pink baby blanket rests on top of it all.
“What’s this?” He lifts it up, stretching it out. “Princess?”
“That’s for Beckham’s daughter,” I say, yanking it from his hands. “I saw it in a little boutique in Charity Falls.”
He leans in and grabs a bag from under a pile of pajamas. “And all this?”
Pulling out a silver rattle, a squeaky giraffe, and a stuffed elephant, he dumps the rest of the contents on the bed. Teething rings. Plastic rattles. Pacifiers.
“He doesn’t have anything.” I grab it all and shove it back in the bag. “I’m helping him.”
Jeremiah’s blue eyes flash dark for a moment, his jaw tensing and releasing over and over. I remember that look from the Kappa Theta Phi house five years ago.
I harbor a breath, waiting for him to explode. I knew the gallant Jeremiah from several days ago was nothing but an act.
“You have baby fever or something?” The dark expression on his face morphs into a smile as he reaches for my belly. He palms my lower stomach, leaving it a minute too long. “’Cause if that’s the case, you know we’re on the same page...”
I lean away, and his hand drags off my stomach. “Stop. He’s a friend. These are necessities not gifts.”
“I thought he was just a guy you met at a bar?” Jeremiah folds his arms tight across his chest, punching it out as he rocks back on his heels. He peers down his nose at me like I’m under investigation.
“You said you weren’t going to judge me for what I did after you left me,” I remind him.
“I’m not, Sam. I just don’t want to be taken for a ride.”
“I’m the last person who would ever take you for a ride. You know that.” I sort my clothes, the dirty ones going in the hamper and the clean ones going back into my closet. Only then do I realize I packed a little black dress on my “work” trip.
Jeremiah is oblivious. He keeps staring at the bag of baby things like he’s decoding some kind of cereal box puzzle.
“You’re done there next week, right?” he asks, raking his hand under his chin and gaze still transfixed.
“Yes. Next Friday. Why?”
“Just making sure.”
“Making sure of what?”
“That your focus will be on me, on us, after this job.”
I love his mother, but sometimes I silently curse the fact that she babied the hell out of her youngest son. Part of me thinks she was so tired of raising a slew of rambunctious boys that by the time she got to Jeremiah, her baby, she went soft on him. The world revolved around him growing up. Apparently in his mind, it still does.
“I can work and focus on us.” I fold a sweater and shove it in a drawer before realizing it’s dirty. Yanking it out, I chuck it into a hamper on the other side of the room. I can hardly concentrate on what I’m doing and navigate this conversation at the same time.
“See?” Jeremiah chuckles.
“Not a valid comparison.” Exiting my room, I head toward the kitchen and grab a bottled water from the fridge. Flying always dehydrates me, and I feel a headache coming on. Jeremiah follows, and only then do I realize all I want is some good, old-fashioned space.
“I told Mama we were getting back together,” he says.
Uncapping my drink, I turn to face him. “Why would you say that?”
“She wouldn’t stop asking me about you,” he says. “Every single day she calls. ‘Did Sam decide yet?’ She goes to church almost every night and prays we’ll get back together.”
I glance at the calendar hanging on the side of the fridge by two palm tree magnets we picked up last year on vacation in San Diego. The date we picked is a little over five months from now.
“The deposit is due next month,” I say. “For the caterer.”
“Actually I thought some of my interns could handle the catering. We’ve got a lot of talent there, and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. I figured I could pick the menu. Surprise you? Take the load off so you can focus on fun things?”
I choke down my frigid water and roll my eyes. “What fun things? The seating chart?”
“Nah.” He steps toward me, brushing the hair from my face before slinking his hands around my waist. “Like gettin’ all dolled up.”