He scrubbed the back of his hand over his face. "What?"
"You fit-with me, with the kids... hell, with the house, which is kind of creepy since we hadn't reconnected when I was picking out paint and tiles and furniture and crap." I stood, balancing the still sleeping Conway on my hip and crossing the room to sit next to Abraham. Laying Conway on my lap, I took Abraham's hand and said, "You fit, which is scary as hell for me because I've gone out of my way the past fifteen years to make sure I didn't fit with anyone for longer than a night. But you-."
"Fit." He reached over, cupping my cheek with his hand, pressing his thumb to my lower lip. "I fit. And I'm yours. And you feel things. But you won't say you love me."
"If I gave you the words just because I knew they'd make you happy, you'd know it. We'd both know it. And part of you would always wonder if I'd said them because you wanted me to say them or if I said them because I meant them." Risking Conway toppling to the floor, I leaned forward, brushing my lips over his. "When I say them, I don't want there to be any confusion about whether or not I meant them. Okay?"
"When you say them." He returned the kiss, keeping the gesture light. "Not if. I'm not sure if you're trying to give me hope or trying to be a tease."
"Just telling the truth." I glanced down at Conway when he started to snore like a middle-aged man coming off a bender before looking back up at Abraham. "You know, the sooner I get my work done the sooner we can go to bed."
"This is true." Abraham stood, turning and bending, rolling Conway in to his arms before lifting him and bracing him against his shoulder. "I suppose I can occupy myself by starting on my quarterly taxes. I'm not ashamed to say the only thing which really and truly scares me these days is the IRS."
"There's nothing wrong with that particular fear, especially since it's one I share myself." I stood, leaning over Conway and pressing a soft kiss to Abraham's cheek. "I'll be up in a little bit, once I get things figured out."
As I watched him leave, I didn't know if I was talking about things with the magazine. Or things with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
We fell in to a pattern of sorts over the next few weeks. Every morning Abraham and I dropped the kids off at school and then went and grabbed breakfast from the diner. After that, he either dropped me back off at the house before going out to the bar to do paperwork or I went with him, taking my laptop and setting up at one of the booths while he handled inventory or the order or some other aspect of his business. In the afternoon, we picked up the kids, went home, and did homework before Abraham went back to work. I'd put the kids to bed, work on research for the next issue, and wait for Abraham. Friday nights we went to football games-Abraham had finally found someone he trusted enough to leave in charge at the bar when he wasn't there-and then dropped the kids off at the house before staying the night at his apartment. Saturdays were playdates and chores. Sundays were church and then an afternoon of nothing.
After a month, it was hard to imagine I'd ever spent my time doing anything else. Or that I'd wanted to spend my time doing anything else.
I made it through the first round of parent-teacher conferences without having a nervous breakdown, although I did have a shot or two to settle my nerves when they were finished. As I'd suspected, Tammy worked hard and got steady grades but nothing flashy, Dolly coasted along but would probably make honor roll if she spent half as much time on schoolwork as she did on making up stories, and Conway would wind up skipping kindergarten and possibly first grade. The only reasons I held back there were his budding friendship with Jamie and the fact Miss Suzie Q was nothing short of fantastic.
Kitty made it through the first two weeks before going in to premature labor, giving birth to a healthy baby girl who weighed just shy of nine pounds. She'd waffled for a few days over whether or not to go the adoption route before finally deciding it was best for both the baby and her. She'd been weepy and mopey for a few days once she came home from the hospital but she'd started perking up when she went back to the school.
Beth and I had a standing lunch date on Wednesdays and always shared a few drinks of Friday night after the game. Dana managed to join us for lunch but not drinks and somehow it was never as awkward as I thought it would be. Every now and then one of them would say something which brought a stumbling halt to the conversation but for the most part we were doing good at forging a friendship of sorts.
Overall, things were good. Life was good.
But I still hadn't said those three words Abraham wanted me to say.
He said them, all the time. Every morning. Every night. Randomly throughout the day. Always casually.
And it wasn't just that he said them. He showed them. I don't know when I mentioned how much I loved tiger lilies but I came downstairs one morning and there was a bouquet on the hall table. I hated Dolly's math homework-more out of principle than because it was difficult-so five nights a week he sat down with her and helped her struggle through long division and multiplication and whatever the hell else was on the dozens of worksheets she brought home. Every Sunday, he went to church with us, because even though he wasn't big on religion and neither was I, Tammy was.
He made the kids happy. He made me happy.
And yet.
And yet.
I was in the middle of mulling the situation over yet ago when Beth plopped down in the booth across from me, somehow managing to nearly poke me in the eye with her oversized sun hat. "Honey, you look as forlorn as a pack of wet cats stuck on a rock in the middle of the river."
"Okay, now I know you had to have made that one up."
"Well, yes, but it's good, isn't it?" She pulled off her hat and set it on the booth next to her, fluffing her hair up and smoothing her dress down. After a month of friendship, I'd discovered what I always thought of as preening was really just habitual grooming, so much so that Beth did most of it without even thinking. Beaming at me, she said, "Besides, it's the truth. When I walked in, I would have sworn I saw a little raincloud hanging over your head."
"Oh, I'm not that bad." I slumped down in my seat, resisting the urge to hunch my shoulders. I couldn't, however, keep from frowning. "And what if I am? It's Wednesday. Wednesdays are blah days. You're allowed to be moody on a blah day."
"Well, I won't argue with you about how horrible Wednesdays are, although I'm inclined to hate them because it's the day I have to drive Ronnie over to Slisdel for ballet even though the poor girl has two left feet and is going to wind up more top heavy than me." She broke off when our usual server brought over her coffee, handing Josie the menu and saying, "Oh, whatever, honey, surprise me. We're having ourselves a pity party about the sad state of affairs that's Wednesday and I just can't make any major decisions right now."
"Right." Josie accepted the menu and the airy, over the top instruction with her usual stoic manner, turning to me with pencil and notepad in hand. "You being adventurous today, too, or sticking with the usual?"
"Biscuits and gravy, country potatoes, eggs over easy." I'd planned on getting a waffle the way I always did but something about her comment irked me enough to have me changing my breakfast order even though I knew I'd regret it later. The sausage at the diner was hot enough to burn a hole through the most stalwart of stomachs and even though I'd always considered mine cast iron I wasn't ashamed to admit in this case I was wrong. When Josie trudged away, her thick rubber soled shoes making a squeaking sound on the linoleum, I said, "Tell me you have some Tums on you."
"I do but you and I both know it's going to take more than some drugstore antacid to help you recover from Spencer Joe's sausage." Beth picked up her coffee and took a long sip, shuddering as the caffeine hit her system. "So, what bug's crawled up your butt this morning?"
"You've been with Ben since we were... what? Fourteen, fifteen?"
"Officially, yes, although I like to remind him I told him when we were in first grade that I was going to marry him and damned if I didn't do exactly that." She set her cup down and leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and steepling her fingers under her chin. Somehow, she managed to scrunch her nose and widen her eyes at the same time, saying, "Are you trying to hint to me that I should be listening for wedding bells because, honey, the entire town has had their ears perked up for the last two weeks."
"What?" I could all but feel the color drain from my face and if I'd been standing up there was a good chance I would have toppled face planted right on the floor. "What? No. That's not what I said. Or implied. Or even wondered about under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol."