Page 63 of Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend

“Well, how long are they good for?”

“I don’t know…I think they said three to six years, but since I haven’t ever needed it until now, I didn’t even think about it.”

I realized that if I got it at 18 and was now 25 that there might indeed be a problem.

Chris instantly goes into solution mode, sitting beside me, the spatula still held out in his hand like a magic wand he might wave over the situation.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Let’s just get it checked, to be sure, okay? I bet it’s nothing, but we should check. For peace of mind. Right?”

His hand moves to move my hair behind my ear, but the motion brings to his awareness that he has the spatula in his hand. He scrunches his face at it and tosses it onto his coffee table, a magnificent oak thing with texture from the tree still in the wood.

A small smile eeks out of me at the moment, but I say nothing.

“Hannah, it will be okay no matter what. I am here for you.” He presses his forehead to mine and stares into my eyes before kissing my cheeks gently, one and then the other.

“Just like you were there for me and brought Noodle back to me.”

“Lucy,” I correct him in a quiet, joking tone.

“We’ll talk about it,” he whispers back in the same tone. “For now, you lie down while I make you some soup and make you an appointment with an OBGYN.”

I sigh as he moves off the couch, tucking me under a fluffy orange blanket. “How romantic,” I joke.

“Well, it’s not my thing, but I do what I can,” he says from the kitchen as he pulls out zucchini and begins to slice it.

“Hey, Chris?”

“Yes, baby?”

His eyes are on the knife, not looking at me as I watch him in profile, his curls bouncing with his movements, his mouth twisted into his cheek as he focuses.

He’s called me ‘baby’ a few times now, and every time it ignites a little thrill through my body.

I’ve never been called ‘baby’ by anyone except Tommy Marshalls in 2ndgrade. And my mom.

To hear a man say it, a man who’s cooking for me, a man who I’m pretty surelovesme, is like being invited to a tea party that everyone else in class went to without me.

It's scary to admit, too, but beingsecretlyloved is something I like even more.

Will it be the same once Tyler knows? Could it actually stay this good forever?

“What? Tell me,” Chris says more urgently, snapping me out of my secret spiral. His knife is poised above the squash, and concern is etched in his face.

“Do you have any chicken noodle soup? I just want some chicken noodle soup. I don’t want anything fancy.”

I close my eyes as another bout of nausea washes over me at the smell of the garlic on the pan.

“Oh!” Chris sets down his knife and stands in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, his blue eyes pinging back and forth as he thinks.

“No, I don’t think I do. But, I can go get you some. Of course you want soup. That makes sense.”

“I have a very distinguished palate,” I tell him, and he laughs at me, already walking to grab his keys.

He smashes a kiss atop my forehead. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t you worry at all.” He smooths down my hair. “You just rest. See if you can’t fall asleep.”

The moment he leaves, I sit up and scramble for my phone. I wait until I hear his heavy footsteps disappear to call my mom.

“Hey, Lovebug,” she answers on the first ring, ever dependable.

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