Page 60 of Afterglow

I cackle as I hug him back. If I could tell anyone in the office about Bryce and all the details that come with him, it would be Derrik. He’d never judge me, and honestly, I think he hated Craig—even though they only met a few times. I might even tell him the truth about what happened—if only so I can tell him Craig’s likely shooting blanks. That thought brings a smug smile to my lips.

Before we leave the office for lunch, I tap out a quick text to Bryce.

Me

It’s been a really good day : )

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Bryce

Eighteen Weeks ~ Baby is the size of a candy apple

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask over my shoulder while Leanne slips her shoes off by the front door.

Her quiet steps draw my attention and I turn to see her taking in the open living area of my house. “Can I be nosey first?” She peers toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

“Of course. Let me give you a tour.” I lead the way, feeling the heat of her at my back and trying not to feel self-conscious that she’s in my space.

This is the first time she’s been to the ranch since Jenna’s wedding, and it’s her first time in my house. It’s always clean and tidy, but I spent most of this morning dusting and decluttering to make it look as inviting as possible. I’ve spent more than my fair share of days at her house since she told me about the baby, but this is new. Everything we’re doing today is new and I think we’re both a little nervous.

“I have two spare rooms. One is a guest room and the other is an office.” Though I hope that one will eventually be a nursery. A pang of bittersweet longing twinges in my gut at the thought—Sarah and I never got to put together a nursery for Sam.

Leanne and I haven’t talked about what happens after the baby is born—how we go about sharing time with and parenting this tiny human we created together—but eventually, I’ll want them to spend time here too, and I want Leanne to be comfortable with that.

I follow her as she walks into each room, opening closets and running her hands over the furniture, pulling open drawers in the bathroom. She wasn’t kidding about being nosey, but I don’t mind. I have nothing to hide. Not here anyway. Sarah was never in this house with me. I built it after she and Sam passed, so the memories in this space are all mine.

I remember visiting their graves after I moved in and describing it to Sarah. That memory mirrors the one from just a few days ago, on Thanksgiving, when I trudged through fresh snow to sit with them for a bit. It was always her favorite holiday—family, food, and gratitude, she’d say. I sat shivering in the snow and told her all about Leanne, about our baby, and about how scared I am of losing them. I told her a lot of things.

I walked away with an overwhelming sense of peace—like it was all going to be okay—and a gnawing guilt that I still needed to tell Leanne the whole truth. I keep assuming the right time will present itself, but it never does. And the longer I go without telling her, the more it feels like it never will.

At least my anxiety about Leanne’s pregnancy becomes more manageable by the day. The thoughts of worst-case scenarios crop up less and less. And after yet another appointment yesterday, I’m quickly becoming obsessed not only with the sound of our baby’s heartbeat, but with Leanne as well.

“And that room?”

I jolt upright from where I was leaning against the wall in the hallway, lost in my thoughts while I waited for her to finish snooping.

She points to the room at the far end of the hall. Her blonde hair falls in waves around her face and down her back, and the smirk on her pink lips looks like sin. The part of me that still can’t believe how beautiful she is wants to kiss them and see if she tastes that way too.

Not friendly, I growl inside my own head.

I scrub my hand in my beard like I’m thinking. “Hmm, that room, huh? You don’t want to see that room.”

“I don’t?” she asks with raised brows.

“Nah,” I say with a casual shrug, leaning a shoulder back against the wall and crossing my arms.

“Hmm, well, I think I do.” She does a lithe little sidestep and a ridiculous twirl that draws a bark of laughter from me. She bounds around me and heads straight for the door.

She strolls into my bedroom like she owns the place, and I know in my bones that if she wanted it, I’d let her have it. Her hips sway and I can’t keep my eyes from going to her ass… That perfect ass. I stifle a groan and remind myself I’m not supposed to be looking at her that way. She doesn’t want me to.

She flicks on the light and it illuminates the king bed that takes up the majority of the space. Her soft gasp tells me she’s intrigued before she glances over her shoulder and moves toward it.

“Did you make this?” she asks, admiring the craftsmanship I only wish I had the skill for.

“Nah, my best friend Will works with repurposed wood and epoxy as a side gig. He made it for me.”

The headboard is built from multiple pieces of live edge walnut wood, connected with a dark blue epoxy running through them like a river. The darker hues in the epoxy match the navy blue of my comforter and the lighter blue facets match the pillows. The side tables have twin slabs of live edge walnut as their tops.