Bring Me Back(85)

He nods so I pull back the covers and he scoots under them, giggling when I draw them up to his chin. I lie down beside him and crack open the book. I begin to read and he snuggles against me. I stiffen at first and then relax. He giggles when I make funny voices for the characters and points at the pictures, naming various objects in them. By the time I make it to the end, he’s fast asleep and I close the book, easing out of the bed. Ryder’s gone and I hadn’t even noticed he left.

I ease out of the little boy’s room and close the door.

I find Ryder downstairs in the kitchen making a cup of coffee.

“You left,” I say. “Why?”

He shrugs and grabs a mug from a cabinet. “You didn’t need me. You’re a natural. I told you that you’d be a good mom.” He gives me a significant look as he pours his coffee.

I swallow thickly. “But that was only for a moment,” I argue. “This will be all the time.” I touch my stomach.

Ryder steps around the counter and pulls out a kitchen chair, taking a seat. I do the same. “I know it seems overwhelming, but trust me, once the baby is here you’ll forget all that.”

“I’ll be all alone,” I say, my voice cracking. “How can I do this by myself?”

“I did.” His voice is soft. “And look at Cole. He’s happy and healthy, and me? I’m good too.” He leans back in the chair and takes a sip of his coffee. “You will be too.”

The baby kicks and I smile, pressing my hand against the spot. “I think she’s telling me you’re right.” I laugh. Ryder smiles, looking at my stomach. “Do you … want to feel?” I ask hesitantly.

He looks surprised but his lips crook up into a smile. “Sure.” He holds out his hand and I take it, pressing against my stomach. She wiggles around so I move his hand to a different spot.

“Just wait,” I whisper, holding my hand over his.

She gives a good solid kick and Ryder’s breath catches. “Nothing else in the world compares to that feeling,” he says, looking up at me. She kicks again and he laughs. “She’s a strong one.”

“She is,” I agree and release his hand. He sits back and his hand falls away. “My friends want to throw me a baby shower.” I sigh.

He raises a brow. “And that’s a bad thing?”

I shrug. “I don’t really know anyone except the three of them. My mom said I should invite the people from Group. Do you think they’d be into that sort of thing?”

He shrugs and takes another sip of coffee. “I think some might.”

“Hmm,” I hum. “Maybe I should let them do it then. I’m the first one in our group of friends to have a baby.”

“You should definitely let them. Plus, a baby shower means diapers—and trust me, you’re going to need diapers. I’ll never understand how something so small can poop so much.”

I laugh. “I’ve always wondered that myself. There’s something else I wanted to ask you …” I hedge.

“Yes?” he prompts, lifting a brow.

“I need to start ordering the furniture for the nursery …” I wiggle around, uncomfortable in this conversation. “… and I was wondering if maybe you’d help put it together.”

“I can do that.”

He didn’t pause, or hesitate for even a millisecond when answering me.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” I repeat in disbelief.

“You’ll be there, right?” he counters.

“Yes,” I say slowly, unsure where he’s going with this.

“Then it’ll be fun.” He grins now. “Trust me.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He narrows his eyes on me. “You should know by now that I’d do just about anything for you.” I look away, my cheeks heating. “Why does that embarrass you?” He questions, noticing the flush in my cheeks.

“I’m not embarrassed,” I say. “I’m … pleased.”

“Pleased?” He smiles and sits back in the chair. “Good to know.”

“I better go,” I say, standing.

He grabs my hand. “Stay.”

“Why?” I ask, my fingers shaking in his grasp.

“I could give you some bullshit answer here, but really it’s simple. You should stay because you want to, and I want you to, too.”

“How do you know I want to stay?” I ask, my voice soft.

“Because you wanted to go.”

“That makes no sense.” I shake my head.

“You decided to leave because you were feeling too comfortable. It was fight or flight. Simple as that. I’m asking you to fight. To stay.”

I sit back down in the chair and my breath shakes because this man … this man is getting to me. I’m imagining more with him. Kisses and romantic dates. Cooking dinners together and giving the kids baths. I’m beginning to imagine a life with him. It’s scary, and the reason I wanted to leave—so he’s completely right when he says I wanted to leave because I wanted to stay.

“This whole thing confuses me,” I confess.

“It does me too.” He shrugs, wrapping his long fingers around the coffee mug. “This isn’t easy for me, either, you know?”