Page 146 of Moonlighter
“Aw. That’s just the adrenaline talking,” I tease her. “It’s only real if you say it when you’re not drunk on fear.”
“No, really.” She leans her forehead against mine. “I love you. Thank you for rescuing me from my hundred-pound assistant and his unloaded gun.”
“Now you’re just fucking with me.” I kiss her quickly.
We’re nose to nose and smiling at each other when my brother drags Rolf out of the broom closet and hauls him past us.
“Good luck without me,” the little twerp spits. “Ten bucks says you can’t get through the day without someone to bring your coffee and fetch your dry cleaning.”
“That’s what I’m for,” I say. “Told you I was really the boyfriend.”
He makes an angry noise before they drag him out of sight.
Alex sighs. “That was pretty hot what you did with the broomstick.”
“Hockey, baby. And my family thinks stickhandling is not a useful skill.”
“They’re wrong,” she whispers. “Dead wrong.”
37
Alex
Duff showsup to take us home. “Guys,” he says from behind the wheel. “It’s going to snow. Like, snowpacalypse. So if your big fridge is empty, Alex, you might want to stop somewhere on the way home.”
I look out the car window at the steely sky and find that I like this idea. New York shuts down whenever there’s any accumulation. And I need a day of quiet just to stop my mind from spinning.
“S’posed to start around five and keep going for two days,” Duff adds.
“I’ll go out shopping,” Eric says. “I might want to pick up a couple of things if I’m going to be snowed in at your place.”
“I like that idea,” I say, squeezing his hand. “We might get that day off after all.”
And that’s what happens. Eric buys out Eli’s again, stuffing the fridge with prepared foods. He makes a quick trip to the Gap for a change of clothes, too.
By the time he returns, fat flakes are already falling from the sky. And I’ve cued up three different movies to watch with him.
We pass a quiet evening together on the sofa. When we wake up the next morning, New York lies under a thick layer of snow. And it’s still coming down.
I spend an hour or two returning email, even though Engels Cable Media is staffed only by telecommuters for the day. My first task is writing a brief but apologetic email to Whitbread for bursting into his office to accuse him of leaking sensitive information.
He still hates me, and he’ll probably assume that all our new troubles are my fault. And if I’m unable to buy parts for the Butler by mid-February, I’ll finally be the failure he’s always hoped I’d be.
But no matter. I have a fresh pot of decaf and warm slippers. Eric has left the apartment for an hour to work out in my building’s basement gym. And even that is too far away. It’s such a comfort to have him with me right now. There aren’t even words to describe it.
Whenever he walks into a room where I am, I just feel happier. And when he smiles at me, I light up inside. I really do love him. And I’m going to repeat it until he believes me.
He probably already does, though. He’s pretty smart.
I can’t show him the way I’d like. I’m so pregnant that sex sounds like more work than fun. My back aches intermittently today, too. It’s hard to believe that I’m going to be pregnant for at least two more weeks. If I get any larger, I’ll burst.
When Eric returns from the gym, he takes a shower and joins me on the bed, where I’m propped up with my book. “It’s still snowing,” he reports. “But it’s supposed to stop around midnight. The subways are all down, the airports are shut, and no cars can cross any of the major bridges.”
“That sounds ghastly,” I say.
“All the hotels are full because nobody can leave.” Eric grabs a book off my bedside table and opens it.What to Expect from Childbirth.
“You are not reading that!” I gasp.
