Page 27 of Mismatched

I touch his hand on the table. He swallows and goes on.

“Some of this stuff with my mom has been hard. Harder than I expected. There are things I will always wish we could have shared with her. And while I try to make choices that will honor her memory, starting a family isn’t just about what I want. It needs to be a decision we make together—even if that decision is to not have kids.” He closes his fingers around mine and squeezes. “I just want you to know you are the most important thing to me, Lydia. Above everything.”

My heart is in my throat. I wasn’t expecting this at all, and for a few minutes I have to walk back through all my own soul searching the past few days. Second guessing the choice I’ve made. Should I rethink? Everything feels like it’s changed.

But even with him sitting across from me, holding my hand, staring at me like I really am everything to him, the center of his universe... It’s hard to forget the way he looked at me and said, I don’t know if I can not do kids. And because I can’t breathe when I think about the future—the one where I’m not enough, so he goes in search of more—I steady myself to stick with my plan.

Anton releases my hand and reaches into his jacket pocket. “I got you something.”

He places a small bottle tied with a red ribbon on my bread plate. I pick it up to take a closer look before realizing what it is. The moment I do, every inch of my skin heats in a full-body blush.

The corner of his mouth pulls into a subtle smirk and his eyes flash. “I um, thought I could try to make it up to you after dinner.”

My eyes dart around the room in a strange mix of panic and... heat? Oh God. I hold the bottle between both hands in an attempt to cover the label. Somehow sure that, situated as we are in the center of the room, everyone in the restaurant sees it. Knows what it is. Is imagining us using it.

I clench my thighs. Because as unnerved and scandalized as I am by this thought, I suddenly realize—I’m also kind of aroused.

And the heat in Anton’s eyes tells me this is exactly what he was aiming for. “If you want, I can put it back in my pocket,” he says in a gravelly voice.

I nod, handing the massage oil to him with immediate relief. But when his fingers brush mine, it’s like a charge of electricity passes through us, and my breath catches.

My reaction must be completely transparent because he seems to dial in on it, leaning close, voice laced with hunger. “As much as I’d like to oil you up and eat you right here on this table, that part of the apology can wait.”

My mouth drops open, my breathing ragged at his words. At the image they placed in my overstimulated head. Thankfully, as soon as the bottle is out of sight, my anxiety subsides. I take a breath, and my head starts to clear.

Which is good, because that’s when our dinners arrive.

The waiter makes a fanfare about our choices, then the wine selection, and as soon as he leaves, I start eating so I have an excuse not to speak. But that doesn’t stop me from stealing glances at my husband.

This man who has never before spoken . . . dirty . . . to me.

Reflexively, the cerebral, feminist part of my brain kicks in, trying to convince me not to call it that. It was a perfectly normal, playful conversation between a married man and woman.

That line of thinking lasts about thirty seconds before my ingrained prudishness regains control. It was dirty. And even more shocking... I enjoyed it.

God. I am going to give myself provocative whiplash.

But first things first.

“So, I have been doing some thinking of my own,” I finally say, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in my core. “About all of this. And I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Um...” I take a deep, stuttering breath. “To have a baby.”

I can’t quite read Anton’s face. He’s staring at me with a mix of confusion and skepticism. Maybe a little hope. “But you said you didn’t want to...”

I purse my lips and nod. “I did.”

His brows draw more deeply together. “Sorry, I’m having a hard time following.”

I reach for his hand again, savoring the spark when my skin touches his. “We’ve always talked about starting a family. But like you said, we seem to keep pushing it out. I—I know most of that is on me. I can’t deny that such a big decision really freaks me out, and would bring a lot of change. But when I think about not doing it... I don’t know, it’s hard to imagine a future with just the two of us.”

It’s the truth, on some level.

But what I’ve left unsaid only matters for a moment. Because Anton’s face lights up at my words in a way I have missed. His eyes are warm and excited, and sparkling for the first time in weeks. And something blooms within me.

“Are you sure . . . ?” he asks.

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