Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
He nips at my shoulder and grins at me. “But Mrs. Harris, don’t you think we could fit in a little morning sex session before we head off to witness Bennett grumble like an old man about hosting Thanksgiving dinner at his house.”
“Technically, it would be afternoon sex since you slept so late. And no, we don’t have time.”
He makes a show of sliding his hands up my bare thighs and under my towel. His pesky fingers don’t stop until they are fully gripping my ass. “Please?” He flashes puppy dog eyes at me and leans forward to bury his face into the crook of my neck, taking a deep inhale of air. “You smell so good. You feel so good.” He squeezes my ass. “I think I’m just going to start closing the bar down at, like, eight every night so I can come home to you.”
“The whole town of Red Bridge would riot. Not just Janie and Holden Berns.” I laugh, and he lets out a deep groan.
“You heard?”
“Oh, I heard.” My eyes go wide with amusement. “From Melba and Pete and Angie Hoffer. Everyone was talking about it.”
Clay shakes his head. “See? Even more reason to close at eight.”
“You talk a big, bad-ass game, but I know better.” I tap his nose with my index finger. “You’d last one night closing at eight.”
Clay smirks and squeezes my ass again. “But does my big, bad-ass game work on my wife?”
I shake my head and press a kiss to his nose. Right here, right now, it’s almost as if everything is the way it was before Grandma Rose passed away. We’re smiling and laughing, and my chest feels warm and gooey like a chocolate chip cookie that just came out of the oven.
We’re the Clay and Josie who ran off to the courthouse to elope because they were so excited to spend the rest of forever together.
And the Mr. and Mrs. who are about to be Mom and Dad, too.
I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to come up with the most special way to let him in on my secret, on our we’re-having-a-baby news, but it’s moments like these that make me want to just blurt it out right now.
“Clay…I have something to tell you.”
He kisses my forehead and heads for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder as he does. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
I trail after him, watching the bounce in his step and imagining what he’ll be like after I tell him. Clay isn’t a quiet kind of a guy. He’s loud and impulsive and wears all his emotions on his sleeves. It’s not hard to picture him buying a megaphone and announcing it to the whole town like an old-school town crier.
Immediately, memories of Carly Stamper and her husband Dan having to tell the whole town about her baby not having a heartbeat at the first ultrasound a few years ago pull me up short. They announced their news practically the instant she got a positive pregnancy test, and when it ended in a miscarriage, the pain in her eyes whenever she had to explain what happened to people who hadn’t heard the sad follow-up news was downright heartbreaking.
I can only handle so much heartbreak. Hell, Carly and Dan’s traumatic situation is what made me wait to tell Clay in the first place. I wanted to make sure our baby had a heartbeat. And when I went to my follow-up appointment with an OB in Burlington last week, the vaginal ultrasound she did confirmed a little beating heart inside my tiny baby’s chest.
“Babe?” Clay calls. “What did you want to tell me?”
I think about the fact that we’re getting ready to head to Thanksgiving dinner at Bennett’s and decide to stick with my original plan.
“Never mind,” I tell him with a forced smile. I really do have a plan. After leaving the office in Burlington last week, I ordered one of those cute, “You’re going to be a daddy” onesies off Etsy. Of course, when it came, it said grandpa instead of daddy, so a new one’s on the way, but with the holiday, it’s probably not going to get here until tomorrow.
I’m going to tell him soon. And it’ll be perfect.
Clay flips off the light in the bathroom and comes straight to me, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I love you, Josie.”
“Love you too,” I whisper back, and God, do I mean it. We’ve been through a lot—and I’ve been off—but Clay is the man of my dreams.
“C’mon, sleepyhead,” he teases as he stares down at me and stretches his arms out wide. “Unless you want us to be late to Thanksgiving dinner, you better get moving.” He glances down at his now raging erection. “And I guess we’ll have to deal with this later, huh?” He winks, and I giggle.