Page 38 of Teasing a King

“I’ll make us some lunch while you get cleaned up,” I say. “Then we can get to work.”

“We?” he asks. “You want to help me put the crib together?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course, I do,” I say. “I’m surprisingly good at assembling furniture.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I bet you love IKEA, don’t you?”

I laugh. “If you get there before it gets crowded, it’s like heaven.”

Van chuckles, shaking his head. “If you say so,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.

I force myself not to watch him as he walks away. Instead, I turn and head to the kitchen. I end up making a simple lunch of sandwiches, finishing up just as Van walks into the kitchen. His hair is damp from his shower. He’s wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt. It shouldn’t be sexy. I tell myself it’s not. But my body has a different opinion. I feel my panties grow damp as I look at him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never been this way. Maybe it’s hormonal? Does pregnancy increase your sex drive? I make a mental note to do a Google search later.

“Thanks for making lunch,” Van says, pulling me from my musings.

I shrug. “It’s just sandwiches.”

Van takes a big bite of his and chews. “Still,” he says, “I didn’t have to make it myself and that makes it even more delicious.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” I say with a smile.

It’s hard not to watch his every move, but eventually I force myself to focus on my own meal. We don’t talk much while we finish eating, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable between us. Well, if you don’t count my wayward sexual thoughts.

After lunch, Van cuts open the box, and we carry everything upstairs. It takes several trips, especially since Van won’t let me carry anything that looks remotely heavy. Even though my doctor assured me that it’s safe for me to carry up to 30 pounds, Van isn’t taking any chances. It takes us twice as long to get the crib pieces up the stairs as it should because he insists on approving each piece before I can carry it. Ordinarily I’d be annoyed by his bossiness, but I find his protectiveness sweet rather than condescending. He’s worried about the baby and doesn’t want me to do anything that might hurt it.

When we finally have everything in the empty nursery, I sit cross-legged in the center of the room, the instruction booklet in my hands. I go over the tools we’ll need and Van runs back downstairs to the garage. When he returns, we get to work.

The instructions aren’t very complicated. It doesn’t take long for us to make decent progress, sitting beside one another on the floor. We talk as we work, taking turns asking questions and learning more about one another as we go. It’s easygoing and reminds me of the night before when we’d sat on the couch eating pizza together. Being with Van this way is dangerous. It makes me long for things I shouldn’t.

We work well together, and the assembly goes faster than I’d like. It’s not long before the crib is nearly complete. Van has asked me dozens of questions over the last hour. He’s asked about everything from whether I’d had braces as a kid to my most embarrassing moment. He’s reciprocated, answering every question he’s asked me, as well as the ones I’ve asked him. We’ve spent nearly as much time laughing and talking as we have working.

“You should have seen it,” I say, laughing as I tell him about my worst haircut. “Word to the wise: Never cut your own bangs. No matter how confident you are in your abilities. Leave it to the pros.”

Van rolls his eyes with a smile. “As if you’ve ever been anything but beautiful. Even with crooked bangs. Hell, I bet you even skipped the awkwardness of middle school.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Tell me the truth. You went straight from adorable baby to cute kid to gorgeous woman with no in-between, didn’t you?”

I smile and shake my head, flustered by the compliment. I don’t tell him that I don’t have any baby pictures. Hell, I don’t even have any photos of myself as a child. I’m sure my picture is in some school yearbook somewhere, but I doubt I could track one of those down if I wanted to. Which I most definitely do not. I want to stay as far away from those memories as possible.

“I had my share of awkwardness in my teen years, I assure you,” I say instead.

“I don’t buy it,” he says, dismissively.

He turns his attention back to the assembly directions and I watch him for several seconds while he works. His hands are sure and precise as he works, attaching each piece to the next one with steady movements. One thought keeps ringing in my head. I know it’s ridiculous to focus on this and I know it’s going to sound like I’m fishing for compliments, but the casual way he’d said it has me wondering if he’d truly meant it. And okay. Maybe I want to hear him say it again. So, I ask.

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?”

He lifts his head from the booklet and looks at me with a smile on his face. “You know you’re gorgeous,” he says with a shake of his head.

I must look unconvinced, because his brows lower in confusion. "You really can't see it, can you?"

"See what?" I ask, confused.

He drops the paper booklet to the floor and rises to his feet before holding out a hand to me. I hesitate for a moment before reaching out and putting my hand in his. He pulls me to my feet.

"Come with me," he says, walking toward the door, pulling me along behind him. I have no choice but to follow him.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Van doesn’t answer. He just keeps walking until we’re standing in front of his bedroom door. When I hesitate, but he gives me a reassuring smile.

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