Page 31 of Trash the Dress

I shake my head as I move closer to where he stands in front of the grill. “Of course, I know how they’re made, Dad. But I guess I never pictured myself getting emotional over something that looks like a butter bean.”

“A butter bean, huh?” he asks, as he busies himself with the dinner orders in front of him.

“That’s what Scarlett said, and it kind of stuck in my head. I have a new appreciation for Mom after seeing and hearing what Scarlett will go through,” I admit out loud.

Dad smiles before adding, “Women are amazing, complex, and magnetic.”

“I agree,” Gabby’s voice infiltrates the kitchen.

I glance at Dad and shake my head slightly, hoping he understands my silent message to not elaborate in her presence. Scarlett’s parents don’t know about the baby yet, and that means no one else will either, until they do. Besides, the less Gabby knows about my personal life, the better. Ever since Brittney said she thought Gabby had a crush on me, I’ve noticed things I might not have otherwise, and those things keep pointing to Brittney’s intuition being correct.

“Is it busy out there?” I ask, trying to sway the conversation to safer territory.

“It’s starting to be. Holly and I have it covered though. I’ll be back to grab the orders in a few minutes when they’re up,” she says after breezing past me to clip a written order on the board in front of Dad.

Once it’s just the two of us again, I slide my phone out from my pocket and pull the image up from earlier. It’s black and white and sort of grainy, but it may be my favorite picture to date. Although the ones of Scarlett are a tie in my mind if I’m being honest, but I don’t voice either thought. I turn my phone so Dad can see.

He cracks the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face before. “Congratulations, son. You’ll be a great dad. Nothing else compares to holding your child for the first time. Tell Scarlett congratulations from me and your mom too.” He stares at the picture a beat longer and adds, “They do look like little butter beans at this stage, don’t they?”

After pocketing my phone, I head to the sink so I can wash up and help him get through the dinner rush. Dad may have turned ownership of the bar over to me, but he’s still here almost every day.

“Are you sure you don’t mind closing for me tonight?” I ask. I’m anxious to get home to Scarlett but hate to keep Dad here so late.

“I’m sure. Your mom is hosting her book club tonight, and as much as I love your mother, I have no desire to listen to all her friends and their book talk. You’re doing me a favor by letting me close tonight.

Around eight o’clock,I’m able to make it home. The house is quiet as I walk down the hall to my room. I set my wallet and keys down in my nightstand drawer and then head down the hall to find Scarlett. Once I reach her door, I notice it’s parted slightly. I raise my hand to knock but pause when I hear her talking. She has her cell phone pressed to her ear.

I’m about to walk away when I hear her say she’s been feeling unusually aroused the last week or so and that she has no way to alleviate the feeling.

My feet hold me in place and I know I need to move away from her door so I don’t continue to eavesdrop on her conversation. I instantly wonder who she’s talking to and what she’s been doing, or will try to do, to take care of her um…needs.

I listen a moment longer and can tell she’s talking with her best friend, a woman I met briefly at her “almost wedding.” I try to give her the privacy she deserves while visions of her touching herself flash in my mind. My jeans grow tighter with everypassing second my thoughts dare to stray to the feel of her body beneath my calloused hands.

I can’t entertain these desires and thoughts though, can I? I know I shouldn’t because she deserves a whole man, one capable of loving her back and giving her his entire being. I’m not that man. But damn if I want anyone else touching her, or even thinking about it, especially while she’s carrying my child. And maybe even when she isn’t. I have no right to feel possessive over this woman. Still, I do.

I finally force my feet to move away from the reaches of her voice, and into the kitchen. Leaning on the granite countertop, I push these unreasonable thoughts as far down as I can. About the time I pull it together, she rounds the corner and comes into the kitchen. She startles and places a hand on her chest. The movement drawing my attention to the rise and fall of her breasts with every breath. Her nipples are visible through the nightgown she’s wearing, because of course they are, and I inwardly groan after fighting the battle to bury my desire to help her alleviate her aroused predicament.

“I didn’t realize you were home, I mean, back…here…at your house,” she says, trying to correct calling this house home. I like the sound of her calling this place home, probably more than I should.

“I just got here a few minutes ago.”More than a few, but who’s counting?

“I’ll uh, I’ll go back to my room and let you have your privacy,” she says.

I stand taller, not wanting her to go. “You don’t have to go anywhere. I want you to make yourself at home,” I say.Home, there’s that word again.

She pauses and turns in my direction. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you feel like I’m intruding. I know you asked me to stayhere with you. I suppose it’ll take some time to get used to if we decide to continue this going forward.”

“Can I get you something to eat? Anything you’re craving?” I ask, changing the subject. She’s right, I wanted her to stay here, but I’m not sure I want to examine that decision too closely.

Her nostrils flare as her stare leaves mine and peruses my frame carefully. She swallows hard as her pupils seem to dilate. I shift to hide my reaction to her. I haven’t felt this alive in a long time. She’s reawakening something in me and it’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

“I ate supper earlier. I figured you’d be late since you have a bar to run and I know closing time is late,” she says. Her heated gaze finds mine again and she adds, “I wouldn’t mind having dessert, though.” The innuendo isn’t lost on me as her tongue wets her lips.

Hook, line, and sinker. Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Where has this woman been my whole life? And why couldn’t I have found her sooner? Before someone else ruined me. Scarlett is sexy, witty, and smart. She’s the whole package of what any red-blooded man would want to claim as their girl. She’s going to be an amazing mom to our child, and wife to someone one day.

An unfamiliar fire heats my blood at the thought of someone else calling her their wife. I clench and unclench both my jaw and my fist in a frivolous attempt to regain control of these feelings. I can’t risk getting involved more than I currently am.

If we were a couple, it sounds like this would be an explosive time to be together. I don’t know how to handle this. As much as I’d love to give her the dessert she’s hinting at, I can’t. So, I do the gentlemanly thing and change the subject to actual edible dessert.

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