Page 91 of Fall Love

And suddenly, he has his arms wrapped around me, tucking me against his chest as best he can with my big belly.

“I’m glad I’m here, too, baby.”

I close my eyes. I’ve never been one for endearments and yet every time Tate calls me one, I melt.

Clean up in aisle three. Seriously.

When we got back to his house after a late lunch, he carries the purchases stacked on top of each other up the stairs, and I follow, until we reach the door that’s been closed every time I stay here.

He pops open the door and enters the room, but I stand still, staring after him.

The space is painted the softest green. A bleached wood crib centers the room with an antique rocking chair in the corner. A dresser with a changing tabletop matches the crib and stands against the opposite wall.

A sweet baby blanket with whimsical flowers in pink and yellow rests over the crib mattress. A giant sun-shaped pillow is on the old rocker.

“What’s this?” I whisper, when it’s clearly a baby’s room, but I’m still in awe.

“It’s for Little Wrench.” He smiles hesitantly after setting down the assortment of baby apparatus and a giant bag of baby clothes.

“It’s so sweet,” I continue to whisper, taking in the details a second time, before I say, “But it’s in your home.” Like, I’m truly puzzled by why the space is here and not at my place.

Tate steps closer to me. “Because I want her to stay here. I want both of you to stay here.”

“I have a house.” I sound confused, a little dazed, because I am.

Tate slips his hands into his pants pockets. “I know.” His mouth falls open, but something in my eyes has him clamping his lips together again.

I take a third look at the room. The bedroom might be larger than mine, and it’s dedicated solely to the baby. She’d have her own space here.

“You don’t have to make any decisions now,” he says, quietly. His eyes are downcast like he’s done something wrong.

What decision do I need to make? I don’t ask, still taking in the sweet space.

“Little Wrench is really lucky to have you as a father,” I say, low and tight as my dad briefly comes to mind. How much I loved him. How important he was to me. How great Tate will be with our little one.

He’s going to give her anything she needs, and then some. And it’s another heavy reminder that I’m unprepared, and Tate can provide her with so much more than me.

And I’m lucky that he’s here right now. That he wants to give her everything. But I’m still uncertain about our future. A future I can’t process right now.

“It’s so pretty,” I say, choking around the truth. It’s just lovely, and one more thoughtful thing Tate has done for her. For us.

He takes another step closer to me and rubs his hands up and down my arms, bending at the knee a little so my eyes meet his.

“If you don’t like the color, I’ll repaint it. Don’t like the crib or the dresser, I’ll return them. I just want a space for her here.”

What about space for me? Not a room but a location in his heart. I’m certain he cares about me. He treats me with respect and kindness. And I feel cherished by him when we’re in bed, but what about his heart?

Suddenly, I can’t breathe. My stomach tightens. My back pinches. I whistle an exhale, and arch backward, hoping to alleviate the sharp pain.

Am I having a panic attack? Or a contraction? Which leads to more panic. I’m not ready. If today has taught me anything. I’m. Not. Ready.

“You okay?” Tate glances down at my stomach.

“I’m hungry.” In truth, I feel a little nauseous.

But I’m messing up left and right with this man, and for the tenth time today, I whisper, “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.” He’s playful as he kisses the side of my head.