Page 81 of Stone Rules

“I’m not sure yet. Did you have something in mind?”

“Furniture shopping,” I say.

“Furniture?”

“Yeah. I’d really like it if you would pick out some things that will make the penthouse yours. Like you said yesterday, my place is too masculine. You need to put your touch on it.”

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says. “It all seems so unreal. The baby, moving in with you” —she holds her ring out and stares at it— “this.”

“Believe it, honey. It’s happening.”

“That’s the third time you called me honey,” she says, with a disapproving wrinkle of her nose.

“Don’t you like it?” I ask. “I could always use sweetheart. Or maybe babe. Or darling?”

“Anything but honey, okay? It just reminds me of . . . stuff.”

I cringe when I realize maybe some of the men who attacked her used that endearment. It makes my skin crawl thinking of the things that have been done to her. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I promise I’ll never use that word again.”

She nods. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

After a few steps of uncomfortable silence, she says, “So getting back to the furniture, what exactly are you thinking?”

“Bedroom and living room. And guest room, if you want.”

“Oh, no, the guest room is lovely. I wouldn’t want to touch it.”

“My mom decorated it. She can’t wait to meet you, you know. But with their busy schedules, it may be easier for us to fly out to them.”

“That might be fun,” she says. “I’d love a beach vacation. But we’d have to do it soon. I don’t want to fly in my third trimester.”

“Right. That gives us about ten more weeks to get in the trip.”

She looks over at me, seemingly impressed. “I can’t believe you know about trimesters and stuff.”

“When something is important enough, darling, it’s worth knowing everything about.”

She giggles. “You sound like a grandfather when you say that word.”

I pantomime crossing something off a list. “No darling. Gotcha.”

Halfway through our walk, we come across a group of guys playing football in the grass. “I can’t wait to watch a football game with you, Charlie. That’s okay, isn’t it, us watching football together?”

“I’d like that a lot,” she says. “It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed it. Plus, football wasn’t the same overseas.”

The ball gets overthrown and almost hits Charlie, but I reach out and grab it. I work it in my hands for a bit. It feels good there. I used to play for my high school team. I go to throw the ball back to them when I notice that one of the men is staring at Charlie. And Charlie is staring at him.

I look back at the guy and realization flows over me like hot lava, burning through me and eating me alive. I’ve seen that face. I’ve stared at it more than I’d like to admit over the past twenty-four hours.

Zach Thompson.

I look at Charlie. She has fair skin, but in this moment, she is utterly pale, all the blood having drained from her face.

Zach walks over to us, sizing me up along the way. “Hey, um . . . Charlie Brown was it?” he asks her with a devious grin. His eyes rake over Charlie in a way that makes me want to tackle the guy to the ground and pound in his skull. His eyes bug out when they reach her belly. “Holy shit, you’ve been busy.”

I put my arm around her, pulling her close. Then, instead of putting my fist through his face, I offer him my hand. “Hi, I’m Ethan. Charlie’s fiancé.”

He looks at my hand like it’s a joke, but he shakes it anyway. “Zach,” he says. He motions to Charlie’s belly. “Dude, bummer for you. Kids—wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. But hey, to each his own, right?”

---