Walking straight to the fridge, she opened it while casually pointing off to her right. “You can set Carter in the swing by the table. He loves it.”
I was content to hold him, but as I approached the table, he saw the swing and started kicking about excitedly. Laughing, I lowered him down and figured out how to buckle him into the contraption. Then I sat in the nearest chair, keeping an eye on him as I turned most of my attention to my woman. While I watched her making sandwiches and moving around the kitchen, those caveman instincts reared up again.
The scene in front of me shifted and all I could see was Aspen, swollen with our baby, puttering around in a much bigger kitchen. She was humming and smiling contentedly, causing that warmth to bloom in my chest again. I almost laughed when my eyes trailed down her legs and I realized how truly Machiavellian my daydream was. She was barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. I mentally shrugged, not about to apologize for it.
Chauvinistic or not, I was suddenly more determined than ever to make that vision a reality. I couldn’t wait to be with Aspen and Carter every day, to be a husband and father. Excitement coursed through me at the thought of every milestone I would witness, at all the things I would teach him. But, I was also determined to get her pregnant again as soon as possible and this time, I wouldn’t miss any of it.
Finally, she brought our plates to the table, then fetched two tall glasses of homemade iced tea. She sat across from me and for a few seconds, neither of us made a move, studying each other. She broke the trance first and lifted her sandwich to her mouth. After one bite, I realized I needed to focus on lunch and not watching her eat or I would probably come in my pants like a teenager before she finished eating.
“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been and why you were gone so long?” Her question hung in the air between us. I was going to have to answer carefully. I hadn’t officially put in my request to be reassigned from being a field agent, though I’d had the conversation with my boss. Without the stamp dry on the paperwork, I was technically still under a gag order.
But my gut was telling me that my answer to her query was going to set the path towards our future. It would either make it easier or harder and while I preferred the former, it didn’t really matter, I would get the end result I wanted, no matter what.
I decided to tell her as much as I could, probably a little more than I should, but I wanted to gain her trust as fast as possible so we could forget the past and forge a new future.
I looked down to check on Carter and ran a hand over the dark fuzz on his head. He really was amazing. His eyes were drooping, but he still gave me a toothless grin.
Returning to Aspen, I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. “I could be thrown in prison for some of the stuff I’m about to tell you,” I warned her, my tone clearly conveying the severity of the situation. “But, I trust you to keep me away from a firing squad and I want complete honesty between us.”
Wariness crept into her eyes, her hands folding demurely on the table. But, she nodded, staying silent, and waited for me to continue. As concisely as possible, I explained my job at the CIA and that I’d been undercover overseas.
Her eyes trailed along my arms and down to my hands, skepticism clear in her gaze. “My tattoos are one of the reasons I’m so damn good at my job when I’m out on a mission. I’m not exactly what most people picture when they think of an undercover agent.”
I could see she wanted to ask me about the details of my mission, but I gave her a stern look and she pressed her lips together, refraining from comment.
I was just about to tell her that I’d decided to put in for a job change when she spoke up.
“Are you going to be gone a lot? Because Carter doesn’t need a part time dad. I’d rather he had no father figure in his life than one that blows into it now and then, turning everything upside down and then blowing right out.” Her fingers were twisting together, whether from nervousness or anger, I wasn’t sure. She didn’t need to be either.
“No, I won’t be taking covert assignments anymore,” I attempted to reassure her.
She studied me, those fingers still tangling, her demeanor clearly agitated. “I appreciate your determination at this moment, and I believe you’re sincere, right now. But how do I know you won’t get restless? What if you become unhappy and begin to resent us?” As she finished, she avoided my eyes, focusing on Carter instead. She stood, and I tracked her movements as she scooped him into her arms, my boy fast asleep. She finally reconnected with me, swaying side to side, Carter practically an emotional shield in front of her.