Brian reached out and snagged one of the butterfly clips dangling at the end of my hair and held it between his fingers.
“You act like you’ve been watching me with them for years,” he said, sliding his eyes to mine. “Only been a couple hours, Wild.”
I swallowed against nerves crawling up the back of my throat.
“It has,” I agreed softly. “But I could watch you with them for five minutes and still come to the same conclusion I’ve come to.”
“That we’re close?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“And that I’d very much like that someday.”
Brian chuckled softly.
“Pretty sure we’re close, too, babe.”
“No, not that.”
He released the clip, let his hand drop to my thigh to hold me there, and with eyes curious and calming, searched my face.
“What then,” he pried, dipping closer until his lips touched my temple. “What do you want, Syd? Name it. I’ll get it for you.”
God …
I sucked in a breath, mouth opening to answer just as the timer on the oven buzzed behind us.
I leaned away. “I should get that.” Then I scurried off the couch, moving quickly into the kitchen.
“Is it ready?” Olivia called at my back.
“Maybe,” I answered. “Let me make sure the marshmallows are all gooey.”
“Yummm. Gooey marshmallows,” she moaned, and smacked her lips.
After silencing the buzzer, I fitted my hands with oven mitts so I could grab the tray the pizza was cooking on.
“Here.”
Brian was at my back, easing me to the side so I was no longer standing in front of the oven.
He slipped one of the mitts off my hand and fitted it on his right, then opened the oven and pulled out the tray, holding it up for me to examine.
“Done?” he asked.
The chocolate was melted. The graham crackers looked toasted. And the marshmallows were definitely gooey.
It looked and smelled delicious.
“Done,” I answered.
Brian set the tray on top of the burners, turned off the oven, took his mitt and grabbed the one I was still wearing, and tossed them on the counter. Then grabbing my hips, he pulled me against him and stared intently into my eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked again, this time sounding more urgent.
“Uh.”
“What conclusion did you come to after watching me spend five minutes with Oliver and Liv?”
“Well, maybe a little longer than five minutes.”
“Syd.”
“Mm?”
He squeezed my hips and bent to get closer.
“You want somethin’ from me?”
I slowly released my breath and, on the last bit of that exhale, admitted a quiet, “Yes.” Then I went on to explain after hopefully pulling in a nerve-calming burst of air.
“I was with Marcus for seven years and I never thought about having kids with him.”
Brian didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if he was even breathing, but his fingers were definitely holding on to me a little tighter.
I swallowed down hesitation and went on.
“Never. And that’s what you do when you get married, you think about if you want a family or not, and you talk about it together, but that never happened. I never brought it up and neither did he. I spent practically every day with Marcus and not once did I look at him and want him to give me that. Not once. Then I see you sitting on that couch with Oliver and Olivia, and for the first time in my life I want it, and I want it in a way I know I’ll never go back to not wanting it, and that’s just after one actual day with you. One day, Brian. What am I gonna want in a week, or a month? What other hopes am I gonna have? I’ve missed so much of myself being with Marcus. Not just peanut butter and puppies. I wanted kids and I didn’t even know it. You showed me that.”
Brian was definitely breathing now. I felt it when he hauled me closer, moving his hands to my back and taking my weight until I was up on my toes and my legs and hips and belly and chest were all pressed against his and our faces were almost touching, lips almost kissing as we shared the same air.
I thought he was going to tell me I was crazy, because I was. This was.
I thought he was going to say we needed to slow down, get to that week or that month before we talked about stuff like this.
I thought he was going to say no.
But Brian didn’t say any of that.
He breathed, slow and steady, then uttered a stilling, “Okay.”
My eyes blinked wider.
Just okay.
That’s it. That’s all he said.
One word that held so much and sounded so loud, and if it was written, I could read it forever.
“Okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Wow.
“Okay,” I whispered anxiously back. “This is crazy, Brian,” I pointed out, laughing a little. “We’re talking about kids and neither one of us has said …you know …it yet.”
Brian smiled, moved his hands to the top of my ass, and dropped his head until it was touching mine.
“It?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it?”
I fake glared at him.
“You know …”
“Does it count if I wrote it?” he asked.
Losing the glare, I blinked as he leaned away, then released me, watching him move to the kitchen table and pick up the crossword book I spotted in his room last night. He carried it over, head down as he flipped to a page near the front.