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A few months later
“Jo, your son won’t stop gawking at me,” I say into the phone as I stand at the kitchen counter, preparing myself a very hard-earned snack.
“Tell him he has a baby room to get completed,” Johanna snaps firmly.
I lift my brows knowingly. “Your mom is on my side.”
“What else is new?” Wyatt’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he stares at the bread in my hand. “I’m just trying to figure out how much more peanut butter you’re going to pile onto that struggling piece of toast.”
I point my table knife at the hot mountain man currently bothering me. “What you don’t understand, boyfriend, is that this bread is merely a vehicle of transport for the peanut butter.”
“I just skip the bread and use a spoon straight out of the jar,” Johanna chimes into my ear. “One perk of living alone, I suppose.”
The corners of my mouth lift into a small smile at Wyatt’s mother’s casual reply that didn’t contain an ounce of emotion. We’ve grown close over the past several months, and she’s added me to her weekly lunch delivery rotations in Denver. It’s been good for both of us, I think.She sits and watches me eat, and I pick her brain about motherhood because Lord knows I never had a good example of it growing up. I need all the help I can get, and she likes feeling needed. We’re healing each other in completely unexpected ways. And I’m the only one she lets call her Jo, so she obviously loves me.
And damn, does it feel good to be loved by these Fletchers.
Wyatt bends over and boldly takes a bite of my toast. “Is this as serious as that time you cried at the restaurant because I ate your favorite-lookingfrench fry?”
I cut a sharp look at the man treading on very thin ice. “Jo, I’m going to need to call you back. Your son clearly woke up today and chose violence.”
“Let me know if I need to come up there,” she states in her utterly perfect mom voice.
We hang up, and I set my knife down to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I know you had no way of knowing I was saving that particular french fry, but it felt personal at the time, okay?”
The way he fights back his smile is so goddamn hot it makes my stomach hurt, and I forget why I’m mad at him. Or maybe those damn Braxton Hicks contractions are at it again. Those motherfuckers are wearing on my last nerve. Along with these leggings that are trying to kill me.
I set my toast down to drag the maternity panel down to the base of my belly. “God, I miss my jeans,” I groan as I brace myself on the counter and exhale heavily.
Wyatt angles his head and stares at my backside as he moves in closer. “These leggings are putting in a good shift for you, though,” he husks as he presses in behind me, kissing the area below my ear and groping my belly like it belongs to him.
Which these days, I suppose it does.
I moved in with the man, and I’m hardly recognizable anymore. I’m besties with his mom, and I’m hanging out with Cozy like she’s my sister-in-law already. I’m calling him boyfriend like a pompous asshole and demanding breakfast in bed because my ankles are just the tiniest bit swollen. I even ask him to fill my gas tank now. No hesitation. I’velet having a man and a family who enjoy taking care of me go straight to my head, and I am now completely insufferable.
And happier than I’ve ever been.
I turn on my heel to face my acts-of-service lover so I can drink in his scent. My hands slide up his arms and grip the edges of his insulated vest. “Listen, you have to take off this Carhartt vest.”
He frowns and pulls back, adjusting his vest. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. You just look so ridiculously hot in it that I want you to get me pregnant again, and that ain’t possible,andI really should be mad at you for tormenting me about my peanut butter obsession.”
Wyatt’s brows lift as he leans in and presses a tender kiss to my lips. He moves down my jaw and neck, his trim beard causing shivers to erupt over every inch of my body. His voice is deep and sensual on my flesh when he replies, “I don’t mind practicing for the next one, though.”
“Okay, Mr. Next One,” I snap and push him away, already feeling the effects of our canoodling squarely between my legs. “You know the plan. Baby first, a healthy maternity leave, then the rescue center…thenwe can discuss the possibility of more children. Get your breeding kink under control, man.”
He laughs and grabs my neck to pull me in for a deep, drugging kiss that consistently makes me wonder if I need to do this rescue center at all or if I’m better off just letting this man breed me until the end of days.
Oh hell…now I’m getting a breeding kink. It’s the damn Carhartt vest! Gray sweatpants never did it for me. It’s just too sloppy of a look. Not masculine enough. But Wyatt right now, with a little extra winter facial hair and this oak-brown-vest situation over his blue flannel that brings out his eyes? Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Seriously, the man could hit me with his truck in this vest, and I would jump up and tell him I’m sorry.
But then he removes the vest, and I regain control of my thoughts and remember that I have ambitions outside of my loins. I cashed that donation from Max as soon as my nonprofit was approved, and that money has already been put to good use feeding the extra critters Ihave populating Wyatt’s barn. If only he had a bigger barn, I wouldn’t have to continue searching for my own property, which is proving to be much more expensive than I originally expected.
This is why Wyatt and I are still arguing over what to do with the surrogacy fund. He wanted to donate the full amount to the rescue center, but I refused because there are still some gifts I cannot accept. And he’s already given me so much more than I ever dreamed of for my life. He’s given me a chance at a real family.
I break our kiss, which is quickly headed into the bedroom, because I have too much to do today. “We need to finish this nursery before you plan for more babies, Papa Bear.”
He laughs and licks his lips. “Well, I’ve made progress on your to-do list, Momma Bear, so come upstairs and see for yourself.”
