The Presence of Grace (Love and Loss #2)(45)

“I’ve spent twenty thousand dollars on things way less impressive than a baby,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Devon, don’t,” she chastised, her eyes darting downward again. “You wanted to have this conversation, and I knew it was coming, but don’t joke around.”

“Grace, look at me.” She didn’t, so I put a finger under her chin and brought her face up, looking her in the eyes. “I’m not joking, and I’m glad we’re talking about this. Listen,” I said, dropping my hand but shifting so both my hands were wrapped around her. “I’m not saying we’re going to get married next week, but I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t see a future. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us, after what happened today, if we didn’t talk about it. I don’t want either of us to keep this up if it’s just going to end down the line because we didn’t talk about it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want to know where your head’s at, what you might want in the future.”

“I want to be a mom.”

“What about a stepmom?” With one question I’d moved us from the hypothetical to the reality. The switch was bold and the air changed around us. The conversation was suddenly very serious.

“I love Ruby and Jax, Devon. And if one day I got the chance to be their stepmother, I’d be honored. I’d love them and protect them, do anything I could for them. But….”

“But you’d still want a child of your own.”

She nodded and I could see the tears welling in her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Gracie. There’s no reason to cry. If one day I get to be your husband, I’ll do anything I can to make that happen for you.”

“I would never want you or the kids to think you weren’t enough for me, because I swear I would be happy with just us four, but if there’s a chance—?

“I want to take that chance with you.”

We stared at each other for a moment, our breaths panting in and out, both trying to take in the enormity of what we’d said to each other. I’d meant to have a conversation just to clear the air, to get everything out on the table, but I hadn’t meant to talk seriously about marriage.

Not that I hadn’t thought about it.

I had.

In passing.

I’d thought about marrying Grace when she helped Jaxy read a particularly hard word the week before last.

I’d thought about marrying Grace when she’d texted me to pick up some milk from the grocery store. I’d run out to rent a movie, and she and the kids decided to make cookies and didn’t think there was enough milk for everyone.

I’d thought about marrying Grace when I watched her kiss Jaxy on the forehead as he lay asleep in his bed when she went in his room to tuck him in for the night.

I’d thought about marrying Grace when I discovered she hummed 80s music to herself when she does the dishes.

I’d thought about marrying Grace one night when we sat on the couch and she laughed at a stupid joke I’d made and pushed her hand through her hair at the same time.

I’d thought about marrying Grace that afternoon when she brought me lunch.

I’d thought about marrying Grace in that very moment, with her eyes staring back at mine, uncertainty clouding them, and I wanted nothing more than to reassure her I wasn’t playing some hypothetical game. Grace, on paper, was perfect. But Grace, pulled apart, examined, identified, classified, quantified, and studied was whatever came after that. Something unnamed, because no one, aside from me, had taken the time with her. But I would.

My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and I kissed her. When she opened up for me, all the tension we’d built between us melted away. Our hands were both roaming wildly, her fingers threading through my hair, my hands gripping her waist, wanting nothing more than to feel her skin against mine.

Without much thought, I stood up, taking her with me, and carried her through the house all the way back to my bedroom, never taking my mouth away from hers. When I slowly laid her down on the bed, she seemed to blossom beneath me; arms above her head, legs open allowing me to rest between them, and eyes eagerly taking me in. She was just as engrossed in me as I was in her.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, but I didn’t want her to feel as though I was saying it for the wrong reasons. But, God, I loved her. I loved her in ways I’d thought might never be possible again. I felt things for her, cared for her in a way that I’d thought might have died. There’d been times in the past three years where I’d questioned my capacity for love, my capability, wondering if I’d ever love someone that deeply again, so I was grateful to have Grace in my arms, to be given the chance to love—and feel loved—again.

She hadn’t said it, and neither had I, but I felt what I thought was love coming from her. I felt it in the way she kissed me, in the way her hands skimmed up my back, and in the way she looked at me with trust emblazoned in her eyes.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you.” My words were whispered against the skin of her neck as my hands skimmed up her torso under her shirt. She gasped, her back bending, bringing her chest closer. My thumbs brushed the skin just below her breasts and I felt her shudder. “It’s been a long time for me, Grace. I’m going to need you to say something. Let me know you’re all right.”