Page 238 of Spicy Ever After
I clear my throat. “Thanks for coming today. I’ll go see if Hattie’s ready to say hi. She won’t want to miss you guys.”
“We’re in no rush,” my brother says. “We have patterns to look at.”
I glance between each of them in turn. “Patterns?”
“For Gracie’s layette.” Kennedy’s eyes go soft and a little dreamy and my brother smiles down at his feet.
Gracie isn’t even born yet, and she’s already turning these two into utter saps. She’s due at the end of April, and Griffin and his husband practically melt every time they talk about her.
I can’t say I blame them.
“And Hattie said we could pick out whatever shirt patterns we wanted her to make for us,” Griffin adds.
“Not on-the-house.” My tone has never had less give. “My unborn niece is one thing, but you’re paying for whatever you get.”
Griff rolls his eyes. “Stand down. Of course, we’re paying. We’re not parasites. Now beat it. You’re standing between us and bespoke apparel.”
And with that, my twin grabs his husband by the wrist and heads for the catalog station.
I eyeball my father. “Do you get a shirt too?”
He huffs. “I do. But I told Hattie I’d leave all the decisions up to her as long as she picked something without buttons.” He nods towards the settee near the dressing room. “Those two will take forever. I’m sitting.”
“Want anything while you wait? A soda?”
He’s already shuffling his walker across the floor. “Wouldn’t say no to a Coke,” he grumbles. “And an audience with the proprietor when she’s ready.”
“You got it, Pop.”
After I get him the soft drink, I head out back in search of my girl.
I find her exactly where I expect, stretched out on the blanket from my truck in the shade of one of the live oaks.
I’m quiet as I approach. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell she’s not asleep. I kneel beside her, but she speaks before I can lean in and brush her lips with mine.
“That had better be my boyfriend or my seam-ripper’s destined for your groin.”
“It’s me,” I say through a chuckle.
Her eyes stay closed, but she smiles. “I know. I recognized your walk.”
“My walk?”
She nods. “Your footfalls are heavier when you’re working or moving around the house, but you always approach me with softer steps.”
“I do?”
Hattie opens her eyes, crescent moons smiling up at me. “You do. Every time. Because you know that’s what I need. Without me ever having to say it. You’re good at that.”
“Knowing what you need?”
She nods again, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Like a few minutes ago when you asked me if I needed a break. I had just started to feel my shoulders bunch. The customer chatter and crinkling of paper bags were starting to grate on me.” She laces her fingers with mine. “You sensed it before I even realized I was getting overstimulated.”
I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “It’s probably because I can’t take my eyes off you. I’ve learned your tells.”
But she has a point. Since we’ve been living together, I’ve become an expert at reading her without really trying.
“You’re crazy good at it.” She holds my gaze. “Better than anyone else.”
