Page 36 of The Little Black Rose

I know we still have a few months before the babies come, but I’ve started to worry about what will happen when they are born. Will Ava ask me to move out? I don’t want to imagine leaving my children. Only seeing them during planned visits under some fucking custody agreement.

But how can I ask Ava to let me stay? I have no plans to date or engage in any kind of romantic relationship, so living with the mother of my children is no big deal for me. But Ava? She’ll want that. She’ll want romance and love and maybe even marriage, one day. I can’t give her that, and my constant presence in her life and in her home could put a real wrench in starting something new with a possible partner.

And I refuse to analyze the deep clenching in my gut when I imagine her with someone else. It’s the smell of this food making my stomach growl. Nothing more.

“Perfect timing,” I say as she walks back into the kitchen a few minutes later in a pair of leggings and a slim-fitting tank top.

The outfit accentuates her rounded belly, and my breath hitches in my chest the way it always does when I see it. My babies are in there, all safe and warm in the womb of their amazing mother.

Pregnancy suits Ava. I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.

Clearing my throat as I push the thought away, I motion for her to sit as I bring our plates over and set them on the table. Ava smiles brightly at the sight of the food, and I couldn’t stop my own lips from curling up if I tried. I’ve found true joy in making her smile like that.

“So, I was thinking,” I say as I take my own seat and pick up my utensils. “We should start discussing baby names.”

“We don’t even know their genders, yet,” she says, popping a bite of steak in her mouth and moaning as she chews. “Oh, that’s good.”

I shift in my chair at the sound of her moan followed by those words spoken in such a husky tone. Her eyes are closed and there’s a bloom of color on her cheeks, making my mind conjure up memories ofthatnight.

Shaking my head slightly, I push the memories away and focus on my food and the conversation at hand. I take a bite of my own steak, chewing and swallowing before speaking again.

“We could come up with three sets for any possibility,” I say. “Two girl names, two boy names, and one of each. I’m partial to names that start with the same letter.”

“Of course, you are,” she says, chuckling. “What if I want rhyming names, instead?”

“For example?”

“Brad and Chad.”

“You can’t be serious,” I say flinching back in an over-exaggerated manner.

“Let’s see you do better,” she says, challenge shining in her dark eyes.

“Okay,” I say, leaning back and twisting my mouth to the side as I think. “What about Percy and Petunia?”

I somehow manage to keep my expression blank as she stares at me with wide eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“No?” I ask. “What about Bertha and Bessie?”

“Are these babies going to moo when they come out?” she asks, laughing.

“Walter and Wayne?”

“And curse them to become serial killers? No, thank you.”

“Touché,” I say, grinning. “You go.”

She taps her chin for a few moments, her eyes shining with mischief.

“Bernice and Denise.”

Laughter barks out of me, and her smile widens despite her obvious effort to subdue it.

“Peter and Paul,” I throw out.

“Chett and Rhett,” she tosses back.

“Chett and Rhett Brown-Beckett? Now, that’s some serious rhyming,” I say with a grin.

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