Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(46)

“Yeah, but how do you feel about all of this? Like really, really feel?”

Rake shrugged. “Fine. I’m confident we’ll find the best way to handle parenting and learn to be decent roommates. Obviously, we have to start talking about childcare and budgeting and things of that nature, but I figured we’d give it a few days as we both settle in.”

“Will you miss Sydney?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Was it hard to say goodbye to all your friends?”

“Not particularly.”

Lizzie continued to stare at her gorgeous cyborg, greedy for the truth. He was a puzzle, and she wanted to crack him open, see all the lovely mess he hid in there. She was disastrously curious, and he was her most recent fixation.

“Who do you think you’ll miss the most?”

“My parents, I guess? Haven’t really thought about it.”

“What’s your favorite memory? The happiest you’ve ever been in your entire life?”

Rake glanced at her. “What?”

“Your favorite memory?”

He shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Never thought about it.”

Lizzie chewed on her lip. “Did you leave anyone back home? Someone you have feelings for, or anything?”

“Do you have to ask so many questions?” Rake snapped.

Lizzie flinched at the sharpness of his words, turning to gather more things while she blinked back the sharp and sudden poke of tears. She hated that she was always so quick to cry.

“Sorry,” Lizzie said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She felt like a nosey child.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry,” Rake said after a few heavy, silent moments, dragging a hand through his hair. “I … all of this is just…”

“My fault,” Lizzie said, willing her voice to be free of emotion. She pushed to standing, dragging a trash bag toward the door. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

They finished gathering up her things in silence, Lizzie dumping handfuls of clothing into garbage bags while Rake nicely folded her bedding and rolled up her air mattress, placing it all in a neat pile by the door. Indira intermittently deposited things in the growing spot from other places within the apartment.

Lizzie dragged her four hundredth overstuffed plastic bag across the room, giving it a kick to keep it wedged in the growing heap.

She turned, reaching for the last two, when Rake grabbed her hand.

“I lost someone,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I lost someone a while back, and all of this is happening very fast, and I’m trying to be as calm and levelheaded as possible for both our sakes, but I’m not used to, um, sharing so much of myself with someone.”

Lizzie stared at where his warm hand touched hers. Her eyes trailed up his arm and over the lines of his face, back to those blue-green eyes.

“Okay,” Lizzie said, her voice soft.

“Okay,” Rake said, giving her hand a final squeeze before letting her go.

After that, they loaded up Indira’s car, making multiple trips over several hours between the two apartments as Philadelphia’s humidity sapped their energy.

By the time the final stuff was unloaded into the apartment, Lizzie wanted to collapse with exhaustion, but she took a moment to look around at her new home as she inflated her air mattress.

Exposed brick lined the room. A lofted ceiling with metallic beams hinted at the warehouse it once was, no walls to break up the space. The huge bank of windows looked out on the kaleidoscope of lights punctuating the city, and she pressed her palms and forehead against the glass, absorbing the energy all around her.

“How ya going?” Rake asked, standing a few paces behind her. She looked at his tired reflection in the window before turning and fixing him with a smile.

“Better than a bird with a french fry,” she said, which, despite her exhaustion, wasn’t a total lie. “Oh, before I forget, would it be okay if I hang these on the wall?” Lizzie asked, darting across the room to grab a folder off her bed. She thrust it at Rake.

“What’s this?” he asked, flipping through the pages.

“They’re weekly pregnancy sheets,” Lizzie said, moving to stand next to him. “I’ve been panicking about not knowing important things or missing something, and after Pinteresting my heart out, I found this for ADHD moms-to-be. It breaks down things to do or plan week by week.” The diagrams were filled with colors and cute doodles instead of excessive text, which harmonized with Lizzie’s brain and made everything feel more manageable.

“I know taping a bunch of crap to the wall isn’t the most aesthetic, but I think—” Rake’s eyes flashed to Lizzie’s, and the softness of his look made Lizzie’s breath catch in her throat.

“Of course we can,” Rake said, marching to a drawer and grabbing tape. “I’ll get you a corkboard this week and we can move them to that, but this will work for now,” he added, tearing off pieces of tape and sticking the sheets in a grid on the wall.

Lizzie watched him work in silence, her nose and eyes stinging from the flood of emotions that threatened to rip her open.

“And we’ll delegate the tasks, obviously,” Rake said, as he continued to tape. “We’ll have a weekly meeting on Sundays and create workflows and divide up the tasks. This is gre—oof.”