Page 59 of Red Flag Bull

“You won’t,” he assures me “You couldn’t.”

He pulls into the garage, opens my door, and helps me down from his truck. He leads me down the hall and parks me in my new studio, before he peels me out of my clothes and helps me into my painting smock — one of his old shirts.

“There’s a new batch of paints in the utility room if you need them,” he says and kisses my forehead. “I was saving the surprise for a rainy day, but I can see some clouds coming when I look in your eyes, so why don’t you bust them out now, and I’ll bring you a cheerful snack?”

He starts to walk away, but I grab his hand and pull him in, so I can hug him. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I know. That’s why you’re going to help me take good care of you. Paint something that makes you feel good, okay?”

I nod, and watch him walk away. “I don’t know how I got to be so lucky, but I’m glad you let me live in your heart, Jason King,” I call after him.

He walks back to lean against the doorframe, watching me. “There was a hole there without you, Princess,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and heading for the kitchen. “Peanut butter or hazelnut spread?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Hazelnut, please,” I shout back, surprised I’m being offered something from the Restricted Foods list he had his nutritionist draw up for me the day after we found out we were pregnant. Do I look that miserable?

I take a fresh canvas from the stack against the wall and lay it on the floor, before lying next to it. I mark out some of the key features of Jason’s face in pencil. The stern set of his jaw. The tilt of his smirk. The sparkle in his eyes. The lines that show how serious his expressions have been all these years, and the newer, happier lines I hope will be etched more deeply than any of the others by the time we’re old and gray.

“Is that me?” he asks, handing me a jar of chocolate-hazelnut spread and a spoon.

“You said I should paint something that makes me happy,” I say with a smile, enjoying his blush. “Maybe your Mom would like it for her wall, so your face can make her happy too.”

“I doubt she’d notice a picture of me, either,” he mumbles, looking uncomfortable with the compliment.

“She may not show it the way she once did, but she appreciates you, Jason,” I assure him. “The nursing staff told me her mood lifts after your visits, and if that’s not proof, I don’t know what is. You don’t need to underestimate your effect on people, babe. You’re actually very hard to ignore and remarkably unforgettable.”

He scratches his head and continues to avoid my gaze as the color in his cheeks deepens. “If you say so.”

“Oh, I do. And I would know.” I stretch out my leg, so I can poke him with my toe.

He turns to me, his eyebrows raised like he’s awaiting a request he can then grant for me.

“You’re very sweet, and you’re so cute when you blush, it’s impossible not to look at you,” I say, looking him up and down while I slowly suck the hazelnut spread from my spoon, and then lick my lips. “Thank you for my snack.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, bending to collect the kiss I’m reaching my pursed lips up to give him. “I hope you enjoy the treat. It comes with a complimentary blood-sugar test later. Don’t think I haven’t heard of gestational diabetes.”

I suck a little more chocolate from my spoon, savoring it while I continue to look him over with appreciation. “Worth it.”

Jason snorts and kisses me again.

“Mind if I hang out in here with you while I read?” he asks, raising a parenting guidebook and the stack of pamphlets the doctor gave us about all the scary shit that can plague older women in pregnancy besides diabetes — like the increased chance of multiples, birth defects, and all the shit I’m trying not to think about. Apparently, Jason’s going to dive in head-first, research the hell out of everything, and then figure out how to ease my mind about it. Fucking hero.

He waits, poised for my permission because the studio is my territory. I give him a good top-to-toe eyeballing. “You can stay if you take off your shirt,” I say sweetly.

“Just the shirt? You don’t want me to model anything else?” He nods at a fresh canvas. “Maybe you can paint my cock next. That’s pretty good at making you happy too.”

“You don’t think I’ll need a bigger canvas for that?” I tease.

“Only if you were painting Vince.” He snorts, before his smile vanishes. “Which you won’t. Ever. I forbid it.”

I smile and turn back to my work, to focus on getting his nose right. “I wouldn’t want to do that, so don’t worry.”

He grunts softly, takes his shirt off, and makes himself comfortable on a nearby beanbag.

“I don’t think we should do this test,” he says after a while. He holds up the leaflet about amniocentesis he’s been reading. “They use a big fuck-off needle. It says the risks of hurting the baby are small, but there are still risks. And for what?” He flips through the pamphlet again. “To find out if our baby has an extra chromosome? That wouldn’t change how I feel about our kid. More chromosomes to love, right?”

He holds up the page about Downs Syndrome and points at the picture. “Look how cute this kid is. If this was a fucking catalog, I’d order this.” He swipes through the pages again with angry sweeps before throwing it over his shoulder. “Scaremongering assholes.”

Unable to stop smiling, I watch him grab the next leaflet, and then shift my attention to my canvas, to pencil in his expressive eyebrows.

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