Page 65 of Merciful Lies

He’s far too busy to play hooky for very long. And I get that. But I don’t want to go back to being bored.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking up from the banana-blueberry-cinnamon pancake batter he’s working on.

I woke up with a craving, and my awesome husband loves to feed me. It’s a win-win, really.

“I was just thinking, you know, I've never not worked.”

“You mean at the bakery?”

“I mean, in general. I always had something going on, school, projects, clubs, the bakery. Anyway, it's weird for me, not working.”

“Um, Rosebud, I hate to point out the obvious, but you're growing a tiny human inside of you. I’d say that's plenty of work,” he counters.

I grin and roll my eyes, waving my hand and my brand new wedding ring catches my eye. It’s so damn pretty. And it’s perfect. As if he knew I would be concerned over a stone scratching the baby, he managed to find me a ring where the gems are embedded in the platinum band.

And he didn’t get me diamonds. No, he got me a solitary sapphire, as blue and crystalline as his eyes. It’s so Nico. And like him, it’s perfect. Set so deep in the band, it doesn’t catch on anything.

I fucking love it.

This man.

“Yeah,” I continue, “but what about after?”

“After what? Oh, after he's born?” Nico asks, scooping the first spoonful of batter onto the hot griddle.

“Yeah. what do I do after he’s born?”

“Besides raising our baby together, you mean? And I am not saying that to be a sexist jerk?—”

“I know that,” I interrupt him.

Nico is a lot of things, but I know he isn’t one of those men who thinks their women should be in the kitchen or doing laundry. I can tell just by the fact he’s always cooking.

“Okay, good. Well, I don’t know then. What do you want to do? Is there something in particular?”

“Well, I know there is the bakery,” I hedge.

“Did you want to go back to work at the bakery? The woman Angel found to run it is doing great. Especially now that we canned that fucker, Javi.”

“Yeah, I talked to her a few times. She is great. And no, I admit, I don’t want to go back to work at the bakery.”

“Okay,” he says, handing me a plate with a short stack of perfectly golden pancakes.

“Thank you.”

My stomach growls and I grin as I douse them in butter and syrup.

“My pleasure, Rosebud. But finish telling me what you mean.”

“Okay, so, actually I kind of want to, well, it's stupid,” I start, taking a sip of juice.

“Anna. Nothing you say is stupid. Now, just tell me. What do you want to do?”

“It’s just, I, uh, I like to sew,” I say, and I can see his surprise.

“You can sew?”

“Yeah, my grandma taught me.”

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