Page 254 of Things We Left Behind
“Take it from him. This is his second vasectomy. Snippity-doo-dah,” his wife said, returning Sloane to me. “He’s a pro.”
“Say something, Sloane,” I ordered.
She was staring at me with glassy eyes and a dazed expression. I had never in my life seen her make that face before.
“If you don’t say something in the next ten seconds, I’m going to drag the nearest medical professional away from the nearest set of testicles to examine you.”
She bent at the waist and sucked in a dramatic breath.
“Well, hell, Lucian. I didn’t know you wereseriousabout this. I don’t know how to handle this.” She straightened and scrunched up her nose at me. “What ifIdon’t want to have kids withyou?”
“You do,” I assured her smugly.
“Fair point. But if we have kids, we’re going to have to get married. Not that you have to be married to have kids, but because I want to. I want a partner. I don’t want to be a single mom with a baby daddy who sends a check.”
“Judging from the suit, it would be one hell of a check,” the wife mused in not quite a whisper.
“We’re getting married, Sloane. I already told you that.”
“Heh. He thinks he can tell her shit like that,” the husband wheezed in amusement.
“I–I–I just don’t know what’s happening right now,” Sloane said, pacing two steps away from me before returning to pinch me. “You feel real. You look real. Am I real? Did I slip into some kind of alternate dimension? Oh my God, am I the main character fromThe Midnight Library?”
“You’re not dying,” I said.
“You readThe Midnight Library?” Her voice rose a full octave.
“I read all your book club picks,” I told her.
“But why?”
“Why? Jesus, Sloane. Why do you think? Because I love you. I’minlove with you. I’ve had the last twenty-some years to obsess over you from afar.”
The wife elbowed her husband. “You never obsessed over me from afar.”
“That’s because the farthest afar you go is your sister’s book club meetings. Maybe if you went farther, I’d have some room to obsess,” he shot back.
Sloane brought her hands to her face. “Shit. I don’t know what to do or say. Last night, Emry told us to take some time. This isn’t time. This isn’t even a day later! Not that I wantedtime because my fertility is probably dropping by the second. But I was so sure there was nothing you could do to prove to me that you meant everything you said. And now…” She trailed off and gestured at my crotch.
“Pixie.”
“Don’t laugh at me. I’m allowed to freak out over this. Damn it,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “I would have handled a castle better.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
“I still don’t see why you couldn’t recover at home,” Sloane said, marching me up the walkway to her front porch.
“I thought you’d like driving the Jag, and Iamrecovering at home,” I said. It was the truth. The Waltons’ house was the only real home I’d ever known.
“Rest. And ice. That’s what the doctor said,” Sloane reminded me.
“I had minor outpatient surgery. I’m fine,” I insisted as she walked backward up the porch steps, holding me by the biceps. I was sore and hungry, but mostly I was nervous as fuck about this next part.
She was so intent on helping me up the porch steps that she was ankle deep in cherry blossoms before she bothered to look down. “What the…”
I made a mental note to kick Knox’s and Nash’s asses. The Morgan brothers had outdone themselves to the point of insanity. The entire front porch was buried under four inches of cherry blossoms. It looked as if a florist shop had exploded.
“Sloane—” I began.
