He grips my right hip in that deliciously possessive way of his. "I needed you so badly: your voice, your warmth... and that's so new to me. You make everything right. Thank you for being here for me tonight."
"I'll be here for as long as you want me to. Let me be your anchor tonight, Blake."
Blake makes a rushed sound, like a sharp intake of breath. He locks his gaze on mine, his fingers pressing into my flesh a notch deeper.
"What if I want you to be my anchor for more than tonight?"
My pulse speeds up, my chest filling with warmth, and hope floods me. Hope for so many things: a life together, going to bed next to him every night, waking up with him still by my side. Raising a family together-maybe one as numerous as his own. Damn, what's wrong with me? The man is not proposing. But he is putting himself out there, giving me a piece of himself he was holding back.
"Anytime you need me to be." My voice catches at the end, and I bite down on my lip as I make the decision to go out on a limb, even further than he went. It feels like I'm putting my heart on a platter and handing it to him, like I'm giving him complete power over me. But I feel brave, and I think he needs to hear it.
"I am going to tell you something, and I don't expect you to say it back. I don't have any expectations at all, but I want you to know. I love you, Blake. Truly and deeply, and these feelings I'm having...they won't go away. I know we agreed on "no labels", so...."
He gently cups the side of my face, his thumb tracing my lips, as if he can barely believe the words that came out. He opens his mouth but I cover it with my hand. I don't want him to feel pressured, or to think this is an ultimatum of some sort.
"Don't say it back or I'll think you're saying it because I said it."
I feel his lips curl in a smile against my palm, and I drop my hand.
"What's the appropriate time to wait so you don't think I'm saying it because you said it?"
Nope, totally not imagining how our kids might look. Also not imagining how cute his dimple and rich hair would look on a boy. Keep your feet on the ground, Clara. Easier said than done when the rest of my body feels airborne.
"I don't know. A day? A week?"
"Have I told you how amazing you are?"
I swear my heart doubles in size. It will explode soon. "I believe you have, but feel free to tell me that again. You can add smart and cunning while you're at it."
"How about chatterbox?"
"Only if I can make free use of Blakealicious."
"Ouch. Fine, waving the white flag here. We'll just be silent, and I'll hold you until you fall asleep."
He nods, opening one arm, beckoning me to snuggle up to him.
"You like to spoon. Admit it."
"Never."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Clara
"Please take a seat, Ms. Abernathy. We'll call your name when it's your turn."
I drop in a plastic chair at my gynecologist's practice, pulling out my phone and checking my e-mails. Job hunting is a stressful endeavor, and I honestly hadn't thought it would last so long. I went to more interviews than I could count, and still have a ton scheduled. But the cherry on the top? I applied for the illustrator job Charlie talked about, and after reviewing my portfolio, they asked to meet me face-to-face next week, and as part of the process, I have to do a custom illustration for them. I am really trying not to get my hopes up, but I'm failing miserably. I'm also working tirelessly on said illustration. If I'm fighting for my dream, I'd better do it at full speed.
"Ms. Abernathy, you can go in."
Right. It's high time I switched to pills for birth control. Blake was absolutely enthusiastic when I told him. I stride into her office with a big smile. After all, today I'm here just for a prescription for birth control. I'm not up for my yearly checkup yet. It's mid-August now, and I got my who-ha checked in April. Visits to the gynecologist are my least favorite. I mean, going to the doctor is never pleasant, but something about having someone look into my who-ha is unnerving.
"Clara, nice to see you." She shakes my hand, welcoming me into her practice, pointing to the seat in front of her desk. She's a petite woman in her forties with a sweet and calming demeanor.
The one thing I love about her practice is that it doesn't smell like a hospital. I can imagine I'm in an office, right until I have to drop my panties and spread my legs, but with some luck, I won't have to do that today.
She sits behind the desk, looking at my file. "You were here four months ago. Anything wrong?"