Page 104 of Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend

Her waiter arrives with her milkshake and drops it off between us, with two straws inserted into the thick liquid. They sit comically bent toward us, seemingly mocking our moment.

I sit on the sticky booth, making eye contact with Hannah in the dark diner. Her shoulders droop, and I sigh deeply, our bodies having a silent conversation of their own.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Hannah

Weeks pass of waking up next to Chris and going on our runs with Lucy and taking showers together and then falling back asleep cuddled together. It feels like a dream, to know him so well and to be so thoroughly part of his life.

He teaches me how to make something new every day, and we’re even raising a sourdough starter together. It grows and bubbles on the windowsill of his apartment. Sometimes I look at it and think of how in another life, I’m not a city girl with a city job but someone with a farm, my kids running barefoot through the grass.

We’re preparing the nursery, and we’re almost done except for the clothes and the walls. We’re not sure about their sex or their names, so it’s hard to get the room completed. We’re finding out the babies’ genders this week.

We also need more diapers, we hear. Always more diapers, according to everyone.

I’ve reported Sarah to our local DA, and now we just wait to see what happens. So much of our life is a waiting game now. Wait for the gender announcement. Decide on names. Wait to hear from the DA. Wait for Tyler to come around.

Another thing I’m waiting for is the right time to tell Chris that I told the real estate agent in Maine that my client wants the seaside property.

He’s been hounding me about Chris signing the paperwork. I already sent him the deposit from my savings account, but I haven’t told Chris about what I did, so I walk on eggshells, unsure of when to bring it up.

I wake this morning to find Chris shirtless and sweaty making cupcakes. I laugh out loud at the sight and tell him, “You look like the cover of a book.” He tosses his curly hair out of his eyes, and I point, stabbing accusatorily, “See! That right there – that was the move of a book cover guy!”

“I just went on a run,” he defends himself, “And I would have worn an apron, but it was hard to get Lucy to come back, so I was tight on time to get them out of the oven. I thought you’d still be sleeping – what are you doing up?”

I check the clock on the oven, and the neon green numbers stare back at me: 9:30 AM. He’s right that I’ve been sleeping in longeron the weekends. I used to be an 8 AM girlie always. Up with the birds and asleep with the birds, I always said.

“I don’t know. Maybe the smell of cupcakes woke me up. What are those for?”

“Today is the day we find out the gender of the little plantains, so I thought it was only fitting to make some banana cupcakes.”

He points at my stomach, and I rub it instinctively. My instincts feel alien to me now sometimes, like something implanted in me.

I instinctively rub my belly and instinctively clean and instinctively cook and instinctively avoid caffeine. My body seems to know a lot more than I do.

“Is that fitting? They can’t eat the cupcakes.” I wrap my arms around him while he holds the hot pan above me, shuffling toward the counter to set it down. “Maybe you should have made some banana mash or something.”

“Well, that sounds delicious. Man, I really messed up making cupcakes.”

He sighs mockingly and sets them down, extricating himself from me to push a toothpick into them. He pulls the toothpick out clean and smiles to himself before throwing it away.

“Satisfied?” I ask, wrapping myself around him again and feeling the sticky skin of his back against my cheek. “Are they masterpieces?”

“They are. After I get the frosting on them, they’ll be worthy of you.” He unfurls my hands from his body and turns around to face me and cup my cheeks in his hands. His lips seek out mine, and we kiss gently, bathed in sun from the kitchen window and the smell of his pastries wafting all around us.

His lips massage mine as his hands explore the nape of my neck, his fingers slipping into my hair and gripping at it briefly. I gasp against his mouth, and he pushes me into the counter before lifting me up and setting me down onto it.

My hands slide back behind me as he pulls up my shirt to kiss my stomach. His mouth slides down me, his tongue exploring me, until he’s at my underwear, pulling it to the side and licking quickly at the exposed parts of me.

I consider briefly telling him what I did, that he has a spot in Maine waiting for him, but I don’t know how to tell him in a way that won’t sound like I’m getting rid of him or that I’ve somehow tricked him instead of seeking his agreement first.

I have a feeling no matter how I frame it, he’ll feel too indebted to me to leave, despite the fact that I want him to go and live out his dreams.

I hold his head against me, and his tongue dives into my tunnel. He spreads my legs and kneels, lapping at me, until I start to feel my orgasm approaching like a wave of fire.

Lately, every time Chris touches me, I’m already on the edge of cumming. This pregnancy seems to have me ready to go at all times. Let’s hear it for the hormones.

Chris stands up and pulls his penis out over the top of his boxers and shorts. Both of us are partially clothed, which is probably a good thing because I know that if I can see people through the window, they can probably see us.

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