Making His Baby(55)

The room is actually a nursery. I had it turned into one last week while Carrie was at doctors’ appointments and back at her old place getting a few things. She was gone for the day and I took advantage of her absence.

There’s a crib in the middle, with a mobile dangling above it. There are stuffed bears, a stuffed elephant and a stuffed high-five emoji in the crib too. And the walls are yellow, a neutral color. Boy or girl, I can’t wait to be a father, and I hope that this proves it to Carrie.

“Oh my God,” she exclaims as she takes in the room. “I can’t believe it. When did you do this?”

“So, you like it?” I ask. The thought just occurred to me that maybe I should have asked Carrie to help me decorate it, and there is a small chance she might actually be upset.

“Like it? I love it!” She rushes across the room and throws her arms around me.

“So, ladies, does this settle the debate?” I ask with a broad grin.

Amy raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms. Carrie kisses me on the cheek.

“I suppose so,” Amy says with reluctance.

“I don’t know what I can do now to catch up to you,” Carrie says, laughing. “Because, yes, you definitely win.”

“All you have to do is have the baby,” I say. “And then we’ll call it even. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The three of us remain in the room for a few more minutes. Carrie continues to hug me, and Amy continues to watch us with a smile on her face.

This whole fathering thing isn’t going to be half bad. And I cannot believe that I get to do it with Carrie.





Chapter 43


BLAKE





It has been a long day. It’s been one of those days where even though the hours pass at a solid pace, there just seems to be too many of them. And indeed, today there was. I started early, getting up at six in the morning. And now, as the clock ticks onto eleven at night, I stroll through the front door, unable to believe how long I have been out.

There has been a problem with one of the productions I’m involved in, and what was meant to be an easy solution, turned out to be more difficult than we thought.

My throat is hoarse from yelling, my eyes are droopy from reading, and I just want to crawl into bed and snuggle up beside Carrie.

It’s thoughts of her that helped get me through the day. Whenever I felt myself about to implode or break down, I just pictured her at home, waiting for me with my unborn child in her womb. It gives me strength and makes the terrible seem bearable.

I creep through the house and into our bedroom, a little too excited to see her. Sure enough, she is in bed already, sound asleep.

I slowly undress, careful not to wake her. As I do, I watch her sleep. She is so beautiful, so perfect. I just cannot believe how lucky I am to have her.

I have been thinking about it all day, and I think it’s time I tell her how I really feel. Sure, I’ve shown her how I feel. I’ve invited her into my home, I’ve introduced her to my friends, and I’ve showered love and attention onto her every time I can. But I haven’t actually said the words. I am going to tell her that I love her.

I was planning on doing it today, when I got home. But that clearly didn’t go to plan. Instead, I’ll do it tomorrow night. I booked a table at a nice restaurant that I know she wants to try. The mood will be perfect, and then, I will tell her everything. And I just hope that she feels the same way.

I slip into bed, snuggling up beside her. I kiss her on the cheeks, and she smiles without waking. I wrap my arms around her and lay my head gently on the pillow.

“I love you,” I whisper.



***



Dinner is going perfectly.

It started with me leaving work early for once, and it continued through to the appetizers we had and the entrees. The place isn’t too crowded either, so the atmosphere is perfect for what I plan to tell her. Really, I can’t imagine how it could have all worked out better.

“You look amazing tonight, by the way. Have I told you that already?”

“This is the third time,” she says, smiling. “But good things happen in threes, so I’m okay with it.”

She does look incredible. Her hair is straight, flowing down her back. She wears a tight black dress that perfectly shows her curves, and she offsets this with a shade of red lipstick that makes me want to lean across the table and kiss her every time I look.

“Well, you do,” I stop myself. “Ah, damn. That’s four. My bad.”

“I’m okay with it,” she says. “And besides, you are only human.”

I’m still trying to decide the right way to tell her how I feel. I don’t want to just tell her that I love her. That’s boring. I want her to feel it, to know that it’s more than just words.