I kissed the top of Matt’s head and cringed. I really, really didn’t want to talk about Matt’s anger with Seth, because I was to blame.
Seth getting Chrissy pregnant was just the cherry on top of Matt’s towering rage.
“How was the city?” I hedged.
His head came up. He flashed a boyish smile at me. “Same old. You ever been?”
“No.” I curled my toes under the sheets. “You know me, simple Hannah…”
His smile dimmed. “Bird, I didn’t mean that. Not like that. Simple is … good.”
If simple is good, then why do you want us to live in a mansion? I bit my tongue.
“What you are is perfect for me.” He kissed my forehead. “I love you. You’re so intelligent, gorgeous, intuitive. You’re sensitive. You’re—”
I touched his lips, shushing him with a grin.
“That’ll do. You’re out of the doghouse … for now.”
“So easily? And I was ready to kiss ass for the next hour. Literally…”
I blinked and flushed. “Okay, you’re back in the doghouse.”
We clambered out of bed at ten. I felt thoroughly satisfied, and I tabled my concerns about last night. I got room service to bring up Matt’s favorite breakfast (the only actual breakfast he’d eat)—two grapefruit halves doused in sugar and coffee, black.
Our flight back to Denver was uneventful, but as we were taxiing toward DIA, Matt turned to me and said, “Is she going to have it?”
The question stunned me into silence.
“The baby,” he prompted. “Is your sister going to have it?”
“I don’t know. She’s thinking about it.”
“You would be an aunt. Auntie Hannah.” He grinned.
I giggled. “Uncle Matthew.”
We smiled at each other stupidly for a moment, then simultaneously frowned. What the hell? Chrissy’s pregnancy was not a happy situation, and we were not having a baby conversation right now. My overloaded mind couldn’t fit family thoughts.
“Ah, we”—Matt whisked a hand through his hair—“we’ll help her. Financially.”
I hugged his arm. “Sweet night owl.”
He gazed resolutely out the window.
“It seems like the right thing to do. We’ll plan for Seth staying out of the picture. I don’t think he…” Matt hesitated.
The seat belt sign went off with a ring and he hurried to retrieve our carry-ons.
End of discussion, apparently.
On our way to the baggage claim, I dragged Matt into Hudson Booksellers. I have a weakness for airport bookstores.
“Really?” He glowered at the store. “Our bags…”
Matt navigated air travel the same way he drove, with glares all around. If he had his way, we’d march everywhere and never enjoy anything.
“Really.” I smiled sweetly at him.
I drifted about the store, stopping at the Moleskine display and flipping through a pretty, overpriced little journal. It was the sort of small luxury I’d denied myself all my life. I frowned as I moved to return the journal to the shelf. I could buy this now, guiltlessly.
“You like it?” Matt tucked a curl behind my ear. He leaned down and kissed my temple.
“Um. Yeah, I…” His words pinged in my mind. Simple girl. Was this a silly indulgence? He wrote bestselling novels in plain marble notebooks from the grocery store. To him, this probably seemed so … gratuitous. So nouveau riche. “It’s stupid. Never mind.”
I hurried away, hiding in the magazine section.
There, I found myself face-to-face with a gorgeous bride in a lacy gown, standing with her groom in a field. The Knot magazine. I swallowed and plucked it off the rack. God, she looked beautiful. The magazine promised “10 stylish outdoor weddings YOU can do” and “5 simple steps to an intimate evening wedding.”
“Bridal magazines?”
I jumped. Matt loomed at my shoulder, his eyes round.
He was following me around the store like a puppy dog.
“No! No, uh—” I dropped the magazine and bolted out of the store, my face inflamed. Shopping with Matt: epic mistake. I barreled toward the baggage claim, forgot to check the monitors for our claim number, and ended up slumped against a wall, watching lumpen suitcases orbit on the belts.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. First the almost baby conversation, then the bridal magazine. If I wasn’t careful, I would freak Matt right out of our engagement.
I waited for him to find me.
And he found me.
He always does.
He came striding along with our luggage, mine a fat blue duffel, his a sleek silver Tumi case. Now that we were really living together, I noticed our varying tastes. I liked cheap, cute, cluttered. Matt liked expensive, elegant, spare. But he let me decorate our condo like a circus …
Maybe there was hope for our future home.
Mmph, home. No more domestic thoughts today.
“There you are.” He smiled brightly. “You gave me a scare.”
“Sorry.” I looked at my feet.
“You dropped your magazine.” He thrust a Hudson Booksellers bag into my line of vision. “I got you a few others.”
“Huh?” I took the bag—oof, heavy—and flipped through the magazines: Premier Bride, Wedding Style, Town & Country Weddings, Get Married, and, of course, The Knot. Tears glazed my eyes. Oh, Matt …
“And these,” he said, withdrawing a stack of Moleskine notebooks from another bag. He added them to the pile of magazines in my hands.
Seth getting Chrissy pregnant was just the cherry on top of Matt’s towering rage.
“How was the city?” I hedged.
His head came up. He flashed a boyish smile at me. “Same old. You ever been?”
“No.” I curled my toes under the sheets. “You know me, simple Hannah…”
His smile dimmed. “Bird, I didn’t mean that. Not like that. Simple is … good.”
If simple is good, then why do you want us to live in a mansion? I bit my tongue.
“What you are is perfect for me.” He kissed my forehead. “I love you. You’re so intelligent, gorgeous, intuitive. You’re sensitive. You’re—”
I touched his lips, shushing him with a grin.
“That’ll do. You’re out of the doghouse … for now.”
“So easily? And I was ready to kiss ass for the next hour. Literally…”
I blinked and flushed. “Okay, you’re back in the doghouse.”
We clambered out of bed at ten. I felt thoroughly satisfied, and I tabled my concerns about last night. I got room service to bring up Matt’s favorite breakfast (the only actual breakfast he’d eat)—two grapefruit halves doused in sugar and coffee, black.
Our flight back to Denver was uneventful, but as we were taxiing toward DIA, Matt turned to me and said, “Is she going to have it?”
The question stunned me into silence.
“The baby,” he prompted. “Is your sister going to have it?”
“I don’t know. She’s thinking about it.”
“You would be an aunt. Auntie Hannah.” He grinned.
I giggled. “Uncle Matthew.”
We smiled at each other stupidly for a moment, then simultaneously frowned. What the hell? Chrissy’s pregnancy was not a happy situation, and we were not having a baby conversation right now. My overloaded mind couldn’t fit family thoughts.
“Ah, we”—Matt whisked a hand through his hair—“we’ll help her. Financially.”
I hugged his arm. “Sweet night owl.”
He gazed resolutely out the window.
“It seems like the right thing to do. We’ll plan for Seth staying out of the picture. I don’t think he…” Matt hesitated.
The seat belt sign went off with a ring and he hurried to retrieve our carry-ons.
End of discussion, apparently.
On our way to the baggage claim, I dragged Matt into Hudson Booksellers. I have a weakness for airport bookstores.
“Really?” He glowered at the store. “Our bags…”
Matt navigated air travel the same way he drove, with glares all around. If he had his way, we’d march everywhere and never enjoy anything.
“Really.” I smiled sweetly at him.
I drifted about the store, stopping at the Moleskine display and flipping through a pretty, overpriced little journal. It was the sort of small luxury I’d denied myself all my life. I frowned as I moved to return the journal to the shelf. I could buy this now, guiltlessly.
“You like it?” Matt tucked a curl behind my ear. He leaned down and kissed my temple.
“Um. Yeah, I…” His words pinged in my mind. Simple girl. Was this a silly indulgence? He wrote bestselling novels in plain marble notebooks from the grocery store. To him, this probably seemed so … gratuitous. So nouveau riche. “It’s stupid. Never mind.”
I hurried away, hiding in the magazine section.
There, I found myself face-to-face with a gorgeous bride in a lacy gown, standing with her groom in a field. The Knot magazine. I swallowed and plucked it off the rack. God, she looked beautiful. The magazine promised “10 stylish outdoor weddings YOU can do” and “5 simple steps to an intimate evening wedding.”
“Bridal magazines?”
I jumped. Matt loomed at my shoulder, his eyes round.
He was following me around the store like a puppy dog.
“No! No, uh—” I dropped the magazine and bolted out of the store, my face inflamed. Shopping with Matt: epic mistake. I barreled toward the baggage claim, forgot to check the monitors for our claim number, and ended up slumped against a wall, watching lumpen suitcases orbit on the belts.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. First the almost baby conversation, then the bridal magazine. If I wasn’t careful, I would freak Matt right out of our engagement.
I waited for him to find me.
And he found me.
He always does.
He came striding along with our luggage, mine a fat blue duffel, his a sleek silver Tumi case. Now that we were really living together, I noticed our varying tastes. I liked cheap, cute, cluttered. Matt liked expensive, elegant, spare. But he let me decorate our condo like a circus …
Maybe there was hope for our future home.
Mmph, home. No more domestic thoughts today.
“There you are.” He smiled brightly. “You gave me a scare.”
“Sorry.” I looked at my feet.
“You dropped your magazine.” He thrust a Hudson Booksellers bag into my line of vision. “I got you a few others.”
“Huh?” I took the bag—oof, heavy—and flipped through the magazines: Premier Bride, Wedding Style, Town & Country Weddings, Get Married, and, of course, The Knot. Tears glazed my eyes. Oh, Matt …
“And these,” he said, withdrawing a stack of Moleskine notebooks from another bag. He added them to the pile of magazines in my hands.
