#OAW Plus Signs

[oliviaadamswrites]

Plus Signs - Chapter 10

[Part of Souvenirs Series] [Read via AO3]

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader Prompt: Chris and his new lady brought back a souvenir from Disneyland and now begins the fun of telling their families. Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut... all the things. Word Count: 7,086

[<<< Chapter Nine] [[<<< Chapter One]]

CHAPTER NOTES: This chapter has been years in the making. Literally. It has been through many iterations, many mood changes, many "this is garbage I'm completely starting over" hissy fits... and everything in between. I've been sitting on this version for over a year now, terrified to publish this much ANGST. But, it's past time. Chris and the Reader have so much more to experience and, I want to get there. To get there meant I needed to get past this hurdle. Maybe this could have been two chapters, or even three, but... I digress. THE HURDLE... If you are still reading this, after so long... I am so thankful! If you are getting into this fic series for the first time... I am so thankful! I just hope you won't have to experience multiple year long hiatuses, like your for-readers! HA Ok... please enjoy!

                       ________________________________________

Chris and I had spent Thanksgiving in Boston and would be spending Christmas with my family. The simple fact that Chris was worried about me traveling “so late in the pregnancy” had settled the deal, despite the fact that my doctor had given the go-ahead to travel much further along.

I had quickly found that when it came to me feeling the slightest bit of discomfort, in any way shape or form, it was simply easier to let Chris make the decisions. His constant worry was ever present yet, thankfully, adorable and hadn’t driven me crazy. On the other hand, figuring out a name for this child was going to drive us both absolutely bonkers.

“Please tell me you are joking,” I glared at Chris’s image on my phone.

“Seriously? You don’t like it?” he laughed.

“No, absolutely not. Our child will not be named Christopher Robin.” I propped the device against the decorative bowl on my kitchen table, freeing my hands to cut a piece of chicken in half.

“Fine,” he scoffed, taking a sip of his water. “How’s your chicken?”

“Delicious,” I mumbled with my mouth still full. “Yours?”

“I ruined it, I really did.” He shook his head, staring at the plate in front of him, just off camera. “I just can’t figure out what I did wrong.”

“I told you to be careful to not cook it too long,” I teased, taking a dramatic bite of food.

“You be nice!” He pointed at me with his fork, squinting his eyes. I smiled back mockingly, my lips tight across my teeth. “Don’t make me cut you off from date night!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” I pulled my napkin to my chest in mock horror. “You like this too much.”

“I do,” he conceded. “I definitely do. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world?”

“Except actually being here with me… right?” I raised one eyebrow to him.

“Of course! I’d give anything for that!” His eyes went dark as he pursed his lips.

“Hey,” I urged softly. “No crying on date night.”

“I’m not,” Chris shook his head, smiling. “I promise.”

“Good… because we have business to attend to,” I sighed out, pushing my plate away.

“You sound so excited,” he teased.

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” I sighed again.

“And?” he pressed.

“And… I’m worried that we’ll never agree on a name.” I felt my face twist in worry.

Hiding my emotions and true feelings from Chris was something that I failed at continuously. It wasn’t just that I was bad at it, it was that he seemed to read between the lines. Always watching the smallest of facial expressions, listening to my tone and inflection. He well and truly heard the things I said and even more so the things I didn’t say.

“We have time. We have so much more time,” he soothed my worries with his low voice.

“Not really,” I countered.

“Really? We have like…” he paused and looked up and to the side with his eyes. “… Seventeen more weeks? We will totally nail down a name before then. Way before then.”

“I guess we don’t really have another choice, do we?” I laughed at the realization.

“No, no we don’t,” he chuckled. “So what’s on the short list?”

“We don’t even have a short list!” I cried out, lifting my hands into the air, exasperated.

“Ok, ok!” He raised his palms to me in surrender. “It’s ok. It’s fine. What’s on the long list?”

I pulled my notebook around and flipped it open, settling on the page littered with scribbles, doodles, lists, scratched out names and notes about people we didn’t like and therefore couldn’t use their names.

“We have roughly sixty five million girl names that we love, forty million girl names that we like… and… exactly 3 names for a boy that we ‘don’t hate’…” I finger quoted the air.

“Well, maybe that means she’s a girl.” Chris was grinning at me from the screen.

“Maybe.” I smiled back. “But we still need to narrow down the girl names and get some more boy names on board.”

“I still say Christopher Robin.” His eyes lit up, knowing that he was pushing my buttons.

“Not only is that silly, but its way too close to your name,” I scowled at him.

“Well, if it is a boy… maybe we could name him after me?” Now his face twisted in an adorable questioning way, one eyebrow up, one scowled, his lips pulled to the side in a smirk.

“I am so glad we are having this conversation on facetime!” I nearly squealed at the sight of his face.

“What?! Why?”

I watched his face turn to innocent concern.

“Just to watch your face right now. In this moment. To see how you’re really feeling, behind what you’re saying, showing on your face!” I leaned forward, layering my arms on the table in front of me, inching closer to my phone.

“Don’t you start talking about my eyebrows right now! Don’t do it!” he play shouted, covering his forehead with one hand.

“I love you,” I laughed the words out. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he sighed back.

“You really want to name your boy after you?”

“I do,” he nodded, smiling.

“I can tell.” I took a deep breath to settle myself and continued. “So, we will name our son, if we have a son, after his father.”

“Really? You mean that?” His face lit up with joy.

“Of course I mean it, you silly man! I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Naming this baby is stressful enough, I’m not going to joke about something that clearly means something to you.” I looked down at my ever expanding belly and ran my hands over and over, smiling. “Tiny Christopher Junior.”

“Tiny Christopher Junior,” he repeated.

“Junior… or the second?” I looked back to the phone now.

“Junior, for sure. Our kid can’t walk around Boston thinking he’s some prince or something, with the second,” he shook his head roughly, chuckling to himself.

“Boston?” My heart fluttered at the thought of moving.

“I’m sure he’ll visit there, at least once in his life, right?” He winked at me, quickly easing my worries. I wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet and he knew it.

“Of course he will,” I agreed.

“Ok, so we have a boy name picked out,” he cheered. “Air high five!”

We mimicked a high-five between our phones and both erupted into a fit of giggles.

“We are going to be horrible parents!” I roared in laughter.

“No, no no no! We are going to be fun parents!”

“Well, that’s for sure!” I agreed, whole heartedly.

“Alright,” he popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and immediately made a sour face. He turned his face from the camera to swipe the offending food way into his napkin.

“That bad huh?” I pulled my lips between my teeth, attempting to maintain composure.

“Ugh, yes,” he grumbled. “I’m picking the recipe next time.”

“Oh come on! You can’t blame the recipe! Mine turned out just fine.”

“Yeah, well… I’ll pick something that I know I can cook for next time.” He fidgeted with his plate, obviously moving his chicken away from the rest of his food.

“That sounds fair. Just no barbeque. You know I can’t barbeque.”

“Deal.” He poked around his plate some more and then settled his eyes on the screen again. “I’m gonna see you in a few days anyway. Maybe I’ll barbeque for you while I’m there.”

“I like that idea.” I smiled at the idea of Chris cooking at my house. Moving around my house, like he belonged here. Because he does belong here.

He had started to leave things at my place, here and there. A shirt one time, left behind for me to sleep in. A toothbrush another time, after forgetting his own and needing to buy one. The next time he bought an entire set of toiletries to leave behind. I had surprised him by clearing out space in the master bathroom for his things to take up residence. Now, it seemed that each trip his luggage was getting smaller and smaller. He had a small selection of button down shirts hanging in my closet. A handful of t-shirts, some pants and workout clothes, were neatly folded in my dresser. One pair of flip flops, a pair of running shoes and a pair of casual shoes were lined up in the corner of the closet. A spare charger was permanently plugged in at the nightstand on “his” side of my bed. His toiletries now co-mingled with my own in the bathroom. He even had a favorite coffee mug, which I secretly used nearly every morning that he wasn’t there.

“So what is on the baby check list while I’m home?” he interrupted my thoughts with a quiet question. I smiled at the mention of “home” and his face lit up as he registered my delight.

“Well…” I started, turning pages in my notebook again. “Besides picking a girl name? Finish painting. Assemble the crib. Decorate. Pick out some bedding to put on the baby registry.”

“Ooh, do we get to use one of those beepy things at Target?” He was nearly bouncing in excitement.

“If you want to,” I laughed. “But if we find something that we like online, then we’ll just add it to the Amazon registry.”

“I say we check Target first. I really want to use one of those things.” He shook his head as his own ridiculousness.

“We can check Target first,” I assured him.

“When is your shower, again?”

“The first weekend in March.”

“So loooooong. I want to buy stuff now,” he whined.

“I do too… but they’re really excited about this. We should let them have their fun.” I really was so glad that my family was being so supportive. Mom had a not-so-secret stash of baby things, “hidden” in the guest room closet. Dad gave me updates each time Mom or my sister added to the stash. So far it seems that it was mostly clothes, for both boys and girls. Dad said Mom was going to save the un-needed clothes for the next baby. When Dad confessed all of this to me I laughed so hard that I cried.

“I know, you’re right,” he conceded. “We’re still doing the nursery decorations ourselves, right?”

“Yes, we are. So get your butt back out here so we can work on it!” I was suddenly sad, missing him so much it was nearly painful.

“Hey,” he urged gently. “I will be there in a few days. We will decorate and paint and I will cook for you and rub your feet and…”

“And cuddle in bed?” I raised my eyebrows to him, simply missing his touch. Missing his presence in the house. Missing his laughter echoing off the walls.

“And cuddle in bed,” he agreed. “And do other things in bed.”

I snorted a laugh in response.

“Hey now, the doctor keeps saying that these hormones are supposed to make you crazy for me!” His eyes went wide in exaggeration.

“I’m already crazy for you,” I argued.

“You sure about that?”

“Of course I am!” I cried out. “Are you complaining about the frequency? Or is the quality not up to your expectations?” I squinted my eyes at him.

“Neither!” He surrendered his palms again, laughing. “Neither, I swear. I was just teasing! I promise!”

“I was just teasing, too.” A smile broke across my face and I burst into giggles.

“Oh man, you got me… I swear. I’m so scared to make you mad. Supposedly these hormones are supposed to make you like…”

“Crazy?” I interrupted, still laughing.

“I didn’t say crazy!” He held up a finger in protest.

“No, I did.” I took a deep breath and sighed, calming myself. “I’m not crazy though, right?”

“Not at all, honey. Not at all.”

… … …  … … …

A few long and tiring days later Chris arrived, letting himself into my home with the key I had forced into his hand the last time he left. The argument was laid moot at my insistence that if something were to happen, he needed a key.

Nothing bad had happened, but I was thankful that Chris had his key when he found me snoozing at my desk in the studio

“Good morning sunshine,” he crooned as I blinked my eyes open.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” I groaned, lifting my head from the desk surface, a paper sewing pattern coming with my cheek. Chris chuckled gently peeling the paper off.

“Is it time to take maternity leave?” He joked and looked around the room. The clutter made my exhaustion obvious. On the cutting table, a pair of dressmaking sheers lay open, topping a pile of cut fabric, with scraps littering the surrounding surface. A new pattern lay nearby, only half taped together. Both serger and sewing machine stood proudly lit, still switched on. Piles of old and new fabric, haphazardly hanging from their shelves, bolts threatening to fall over, near ones that already had.

My eyes followed his gaze around the room, landing on my laptop that I had pushed to the side, still brightly lit with my webhost back end on the screen. I shook my head and clicked ‘save’, hoping that my edits hadn’t timed out. With confirmation of my changes I checked my phone, noting five missed calls. Three from Chris and two from Kate.

“I need to call Kate,” I rasped, before clearing my throat.

“To talk to her about maternity leave?” Concern was etched across Chris’ face.

“No… not yet,” I scowled as I clicked through my phone. E-mails from a fabric designer filled my inbox. I winced. “Remember that conference I skipped to come to New Mexico?”

“I do,” he nodded slowly.

“I was supposed to meet with a fabric designer…”

“A big one, right? Your sister told me.”

“Yes,” I sighed out disappointment in myself. “Basically, I lied and told her I was sick and needed to reschedule. Then later told her that I’m pregnant.”

“Ok… and?” Chris didn’t hide the confusion.

“She assumed the illness was morning sickness and was actually really cool about it,” I felt my eyebrows raise and I filled him in.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“It is! Yes… but… it pushed back the design. It was working out to be an exclusive fabric design for me. For my clothing line.”

“That’s amazing, honey!” Chris beamed at me, then scowled. “Wait, so what it wrong?”

“We haven’t found time to get together, so everything has been through email, which pushes back the timeline. With the fabric design pushed back, the clothing design gets pushed back and I just really want this line to AT LEAST be in manufacturing before the baby is born.” I rubbed my temples and closed my eyes. Chris was right, I needed a break, but there was no way I would enjoy maternity leave, knowing my company was left hanging. And to be fair, it seemed way too early for maternity leave.

“Ok… alright… we’ve got this. It’s ok.” Chris turned my desk chair toward him and knelt in front of me. “So, what do we need to do to get to that point… or to get to a point that you can leave it to Kate?”

“I can’t leave it all to Kate. This is my company!” Tears welled in my eyes. “I can’t do that. This is my design. This is what I’ve been waiting for! An exclusive fabric for such a small company… it’s so hard! I can’t just walk away! I want to enjoy this. I’ve worked SO hard for it!” I could feel my emotions taking over. These damn hormones.

“Oh honey,” Chris pulled me into a hug. “You will! It’ll be ok!”

“No!” I wailed. “It won’t! I have to take maternity leave at some point… I have to take a break! I’m losing my mind, I swear! I’m exhausted all the time and then when I sleep, I dream of sewing!”

“Let’s take a little break, get out of this room, go put that crib together!” Chris looked at me expectantly.

“I was dreaming about sewing the baby’s bedding, when you woke me up,” I nearly whispered, shaking my head slowly.

“Oh honey,” Chris whispered, pulling me into another hug.

“I don’t know what to do right now. I’m so tired, I can’t think.” I sniffled, wiped my eyes and pulled my head up to look him in the face, for what seemed like the first time since he woke me. “And I need a shower, so bad.”

“Alright,” Chris stood abruptly. “I’ve got this.”

“You do?” My face twisted in amusement and confusion.

“Yep. You need a shower, a break and some help. I’ve got this.” He straightened up, putting his hands on his hips and surveyed the room again. “Go get in the shower. I’m going to get Kate in here to clean up… AH!” He held up a finger when I tried to protest. “I will pay her for her time today and then I think we should maybe talk to her about either changing her schedule, or taking on more hours.”

“And then what?” I sighed, knowing he was right.

“Then, when you get out of the shower, you’re going to answer those emails,” he motioned at my phone. “Then we can eat something or you can take a nap, but you’ll decide that AFTER you shower. Alright?”

“Alright.” I agreed, succumbing to his help. “Let me get you Kate’s number.”

“You’re silly if you think I don’t already have it,” he chuckled, retrieving his phone from his back pocket. “Get in the shower, now. You smell.”

“I do not!” I protested, standing with the assistance of his free hand.

“You don’t,” he smiled, kissing the top of my head. “But, I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I hear it’s worse once the baby comes,” I teased.

“I won’t like that either, but I’ll do whatever I can to help. I can promise you that.” With a gentle push I was out the door and walking across my back yard. Simply being outside in the fresh air was already a welcome change. I glanced around, imagining playing with our sweet little girl that was yet to come.

“We should get a swing set back here,” Chris called from the doorway of the pool house studio.

“I was just thinking that,” I called back.

“Shower first. I can smell you from here!” His chuckle almost choked off his words.

To say I took a long shower would be the understatement of history. I started with the shower, steaming hot, standing under the cascade with my eyes closed. When my legs tired I longed for a bath and switched to the tub faucet, plugging the drain as I sat down to enjoy the bath.

Chris knocked softly on the door as he opened it slightly.

“Did you fall asleep in there?” His voice was low, as if he didn’t want to interrupt me, had I actually been sleeping.

“No,” I giggled. “Just reveling at how my belly sort of floats in the tub.”

“Just your belly?” I heard his tone change.

“Well, no, but… my boobs always floated,” my giggle bubbling into a laugh.

“I’m sad I never noticed that.” I could hear the smile in his voice before he peeked around the curtain.

“Cool, huh?” I smiled up at him, my hands running down my stomach.

“Very,” his smile turned and he tipped his head to the side. “Is she moving?”

“She’s movin,” I stopped my hand, attempting to feel her kicks from the outside. “Wanna try to feel again?”

“Eh… I’m kinda worried I’ll just be disappointed again.” He shrugged his feelings away and sat on the edge of the tub.

“I have a good feeling this time,” I grinned as I felt a tapping from my belly, on my hand.

“Oh do you now?” He shifted his weight and moved his hand to hover over mine, in a silent request for permission to touch me.

I took Chris’ hand in my free hand, sliding it under my opposite palm. We waited, our eyes locked. I felt a small bubble of movement, deep in my belly and frowned.

“I don’t know…” his face fell completely, dejected and disappointed.

“Shh, give her a second,” I scowled back at him. As if on cue, the tiniest of kicks made my eyebrows shoot up. “Did you feel that!?”

“No.” Chris exhaled through his nose as tears welled in his eyes. “I swear I’m never gonna….”

He was interrupted by jab, straight to his hand, as if to say “DAD! Shut it! I’m here!”

“HA!” I yelped. “You felt THAT!” My face split into a grin and tears spilled over with no warning.

“I did… I… Wow… Oh my god!” Another kick stopped his speech. “I swear, everything she does… it all makes me cry!” Tears streamed down his face, dropping into the tub.

“Well, you’re a daddy,” I spoke softly, my voice cracking with my own emotion.

“I’m a daddy,” he whispered.

“Now you’re really never going to take your hand off my stomach,” I smiled away my happy tears.

“Nope, never!” He straightened up. “Have you even washed yourself or have you just been enjoying the water?”

“Just enjoying the water,” I sighed contentedly, taking his free hand to place next to the one already on me.

“You’ll need to do that. I don’t want to hear any whining about tangled hair or being itchy from the water.”

“I will. As soon as you’re out of here,” I looked up at him through my eyelashes.

“OH, I’m not leaving!” His eyebrows lifted in a i-dare-you-to-tell-me-to-leave look.

“What? Then how am I supposed to wash myself?”

“Oh, don’t let me bother you. I’ll stay out of your way as best as I can!” With that, he grinned and abruptly barrel rolled over me, into the tub, landing between me and wall. Water sloshed out over the edge in a tsunami, soaking the rugs and bath mat.

“Christopher!” I yelped, trying to sit up.

“What?” He feigned innocence, then winked. “Like I said, don’t let me bother you… but I’ll wash your belly for you if you’d like.”

“Your clothes are soaked!”

“Uh… everything is soaked,” he nearly cackled, his hands still firmly on my round stomach. “Lucky for me, I’ve brought extra clothes!”

So there he stayed, while I drained the tub, stood and restarted the shower. I washed my hair and face, all while his hands stayed put. I poured soap into my loofah and eyed him, holding out the sponge, only to be met with a shake of his head and a laugh.

Once my entire body, minus my stomach, was clean, Chris took the loofah from me and began to wash my belly slowly, gently, almost as if I were made of glass.

“Can you still feel her moving?” I nearly whispered.

“I can,” he grinned, washing with the loofah as his free hand trailed behind it, never missing a spot or an opportunity to feel his little girl move.

“This has been simultaneously one of the weirdest and best days.”

“It’s only weird because you fell asleep on your desk,” he teased.

“Uh… and my baby daddy jumped into the tub with me, fully clothed,” I reminded him.

“Baby daddy,” he repeated in a sarcastic chuckle, scowling.

“Hey,” I called to him gently, blatantly ignoring his attempt at letting the moment pass. I lifted his chin with my fingers and felt my face twist in worry. “Hey…” I nearly cooed.

“It’s fine.” He shook his head from my hand and went back to washing.

“Not, it’s not. You’re not fine.”

“No… I’m not.” He stood and rinsed the loofah in the running shower behind me, one hand still on my soapy belly.

“Talk to me?” I nearly begged, standing on tip toe in an attempt to get eye level with him.

“I don’t want to fight.” His voice was low, pain dripping from every word, as he set about hanging the loofah, closing and putting away soap bottles, all one handed.

“I don’t either,” I was taken aback. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He’s tired of the baby daddy joke. Shit.

“Then we won’t.” He forced a smile and turned me away from him, to rinse the soap from my body. His hands moved as slowly and gently as before, with no hint as to how he was feeling.

“Chris, don’t…” I could barely get the words out. Would this be our first fight? Shit! “Please talk to me.”

“No, not right now. Not while you’re naked and we’re in the shower.”

“And you’re fully clothed in the shower?” I wasn’t sure if I meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood, or if I just didn’t know what to say. I knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say, when he recoiled from me, both of his hands coming off of my stomach.

“I said I don’t want to fight… not that I want to joke about it.” His body went rigid.

I spun around in his arms that still formed a barrier around me and reached for his face. He recoiled, again.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my hands falling to my sides. It didn’t seem appropriate to rest them on my stomach, no matter the fact that my stomach was still my body. It didn’t seem appropriate to put my hands where his had just been, in such joy.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was hollow, his eyes filling with angry tears, where there had just been happy tears. “I don’t want this conversation to go like this. Not now, not here, not because I got angry. Not like this.”

“What conversation!?” I was suddenly terrified that my worst fears were coming true. Shit.

“Let’s get out of the shower,” he proclaimed, pulling the curtain aside calmly and stepping out.

I exhaled sharply, my hands flying to cover my mouth. I tried to hide the sob, to hold it in, but it broke through. I surrendered to the desperate crying that took over and looked down, placing my hands on my belly. No, no no no no. Did I just screw things up THAT bad, THAT fast?

“Chris?” I choked through the tears, frozen in the shower.

“Out of the shower, please?” He reached in, twisting off the tap and held out a bath sheet.

That fucking towel. THAT towel? That huge towel you bought for me when I complained that my belly got so big that I could barely get my towel around me. That towel, that you surprised me with!? That’s the towel you’re going to hand to me right before you break up with me!?

I stood shaking, naked, wet and cold, staring into his eyes. I could read nothing. There was nothing.

“Y/N, please!” He thrust the towel towards me as a reminder of its presence. Yet, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t take the towel. Not THAT towel. Not any towel, from him. So I stood. He sighed in frustration and began to dry me off. Squeezing out my hair, gently pressing the terry cloth to my face, my neck, my breasts.

“Stop,” I pleaded through a sob. He continued, gently drying my arms and legs. He turned me from my shoulders, to face away from him, and dried my back and butt. I felt my body heave with emotion as he turned me back to face him. “Stop, please.”

“No,” his eyes stuck on my stomach. “I told you, I can’t do this with you naked, not here, not like this.” He took the towel to my stomach and gently dried my skin of every last drop of water.

“Chris!” I struggled to regain composure.

“Do you need lotion?” A single eyebrow raised on his face and I came undone.

“No, I don’t need lotion! I can’t do this, Chris! Don’t do this to me!” I sobbed, covering my face.

“You can’t DO this?” He nearly yelled, standing up. “What does that mean!?”

“I don’t need lotion! I need YOU!” I wailed now, with no care in the world of the fact that I was naked, no care of who heard me. I couldn’t do this.

“You need ME?” He nearly bellowed the words. “You NEED me? Then why can’t you do this!?”

“What!?” I cried out, nearly in physical pain from the emotion. “Yes, I need you! I love you! You are the father of my child! I need you! Why are you leaving me!? Over a joke!?” I was angry now, ripping the towel from him and throwing it on the ground. I eyed the linen closet, intent on getting myself a different towel.

“It’s not a joke!” He shouted back. I flinched away from his anger, startled and covered my chest with my hands and arms. His face softened and bent to pick up the towel, whispering with a shake of his head “It’s not a joke. It hurts.”

“So why didn’t you tell me? Instead you’re just going to break up with me? You’re going to leave me… you’re going to leave her!?” My hand went protectively to my stomach, forgoing my modesty.

“I’m not breaking up with you!” His face broke into a million emotions. “Why would you think that!? I promised you I’m not going anywhere! WHY would you think I’m breaking up with you?”

“You’re not… you’re… not?” I gasped for air. “I… you’re NOT!?”

“I’m not…” he stepped towards me cautiously and when I didn’t move away, he wrapped the towel around my shoulders.

“You’re not,” I shivered into the towel, feeling my body ready to give way. “I don’t understand… you said this conversation… and… you… you went so cold!” My breath quickened again, my heart racing.

“I just meant about us… about where we are and where we’re going and… I didn’t want to pose it as I’m tired of being called the baby daddy, no matter how much that hurts… I wanted to just have a conversation about our relationship.”

“I didn’t know it was hurting you,” I nearly whispered, holding back tears. “I really didn’t know. I’m sorry, Chris. I’m so sorry.” I gave in as he pulled me to his chest, sobbing into his already soaked shirt. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, please. Please, don’t. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I should have said something sooner. I realized that after I talked to my mom about it and…”

“You talked to your MOM about it!?” I cut him off.

“I talk to my mom about everything, honey… I… ” he trailed off, realizing his mistake.

“So, something that I was doing was hurting you… and I had NO idea… and instead of telling me that I’m hurting you… you tell your MOM that I’m hurting you!?” I was officially hysterical. Hormones be damned, I was angry and sad, furious and broken. Have I really failed him that much as a… a what? A girlfriend? A lover? A… baby mama? Damnit, that word really does hurt!

“I realize now how stupid that was… and I’m sorry.” He pulled me out to arm’s length and crouched to see eye to eye. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this got so bad.”

“She must hate me now!” I whispered, leading into screeching “Oh my god, she must HATE me! Chris!!! I’ll never be able to look her in the eye again!” I threw my face into his chest again.

“She doesn’t hate you. I promise.” He rubbed circles on my back, shushing me. “She told me to talk to you about it, that I was making a bigger deal out of it that it really was.”

“Not if I was hurting you! I don’t ever want to hurt you!” I mumbled into his chest, then pushed off to stare him down. “Damnit Chris! Your FACE, when I said it in the shower! I thought that was it, that we were done!”

“We are not done,” he reassured me.

“But you can’t DO that! You can’t let things get that bad, without talking to me!”

“I won’t. Never again. I promise!” He cupped my face in his hands, caressing my cheek.

“This sucked,” I began to cry again. “Now we can’t ever talk about where we are, without it being tainted by this… this…” I motioned at the shower and let my hand fall back to my side, pressing my forehead to his chest.

“It really did suck,” he sighed the words out, cracking with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” I couldn’t stop the tears.

“Can we try to talk though? Can you put some clothes on and stop distracting me with your naked body, so we can really talk about it?” I felt his impish smile against my head and couldn’t keep a straight face, even through the tears.

“You’re a brat!” I laughed, wiping my face.

“Your brat,” he grinned, drying his own eyes.

“Yes, my brat. Is that what you want me to call you?” I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile.

“Staaaaahp!” He threw his head back, his weight on his heels and came back with a true smile. “Come on, naked lady! I want clothes on you for this conversation.”

Chris led me by the hand, to my bedroom. There I found two loads of laundry washed, dried and folded neatly on the bed. The bed was made, with fresh tulips in a vase on the nightstand, coupled with a cup of tea.

“I assume that was still hot, before you jumped in the tub?” I teased, motioning towards the clearly room temperature mug.

“That is was,” he nodded and led me to the cushioned bench at the foot of my bed. With swift determination of someone that knew exactly where I kept everything, he set to bringing me clean panties, a bralette, tank top and leggings. “Socks too?”

“No, no socks. Thank you.” I smiled, unwrapped myself from the towel and waited, knowing he would not allow me to dress myself.

“No fight over who puts your clothes on?” He smiled down at me.

“No, no more fighting.” I lifted my arms and let him dress me. Each article of clothing was punctuated with a sad, slow, desperate for affection, please don’t ever leave me, deep kiss.

I smiled and fought back tears until I was clothed. When all was said and done, Chris asked if I wanted to lie down.

“No… I was told I have to attend to my emails before I took a nap,” I joked, poking him with an elbow.

“I’d like to talk first?” He smiled, his easy going nature back in full force. I nodded pointedly in agreement, blowing all of the air from my lungs to clear my head.

“You are everything to me and everything to this tiny girl,” I peeked down at his hand, already on my stomach. “I will call you… or not call you… anything you want. I don’t ever want to go through what just happened, ever again.”

“I think you took the words right out of my mouth,” he smiled. “But… before marriage and between dating… there is exclusivity, which usually means calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend…”

“Seriously? You think we’re not exclusive? I know I’m not seeing anyone else… and if you are, I swear to god, Chris…”

“I’m not!” He chuckled, moving his hand to gently cover my mouth. “I’d just like to call you my girlfriend and for you to call me your boyfriend, because I feel like that is the last step before being engaged.”

“I’m not ready to be engaged…” my eyes went wide at the thought and I grabbed at his hand.

“I know you’re not and that is fine. If you are not ready, then I am not ready.” He took my hands in his and squeezed. “I hope I know when you’re ready though… because I want to surprise you. I don’t want it to be a conversation that ends in a decision. Is that selfish?”

“Not at all,” my eyes squinted nearly shut with my smile. “I want to be surprised.”

“Ok… I think we are on the same page?” Those eyebrows, they danced with concern.

“So long as you don’t plan to ‘surprise’ me on Christmas or New Years,” I finger quoted the air and smiled.

“I do not. I promise. No major holiday proposals.” He kissed my knuckles and laid our hands together on my stomach. “And I promise that if something is hurting me or bothering me, I will talk to you about it first.”

“Unless it’s someone else bothering you,” I joked.

“Even if it’s someone else,” Chris smiled and shook his head. “It’s you that I should be going to for help. You are the number one woman in my life. My mom is my mom and I love that woman to death, but this… this is my forever and I need to treat it as such.”

“Don’t tell your mom that!” I giggled at my own joke.

“Ha… well… she knows. We’ve been betrothed since I was six, if you remember,” his smile went crooked as he cocked an eye at me.

“I love you,” I whispered, dropping my eyes to my hands.

“I love you,” he tipped my head up with his finger tips to kiss me gently. I smiled into his kiss at the groan of relief he emitted.

“No moaning!”

“That was a groan,” he insisted quickly, then slid his hand behind my neck to pull me in for a deeper kiss. My voice betrayed me and Chris chuckled. “That was a moan!”

“Do it again,” I quietly begged. And he did. Again and again, each kiss more feverish than the other.

“Why did I even get you dressed!?” he mumbled against my mouth, fumbling with my tank top in an effort to pull it over my head.

“Because I was distracting you with my naked body!” I slid my hands under his shirt, eliciting a true moan from the man before me.

“Distract me again,” he begged. So I did, first removing his grey thermal shirt, then assisting with my own shirt. His eyes went wide at the sight of my chest, nearly bare to him in the lace bralette. “I swear they grow by the second.”

“And get more sensitive,” I pouted.

Chris’ face feigned surprised innocence as he sat back on his heels, drawing a hand to trace the edge of my bra. His eyes met mine in question and I whimpered in response. I knew what he wanted to do. I wanted it too, more than I could describe, but feared for the possible pain.

I was not prepared for the searing pleasure as Chris pulled the fabric aside and took my breast into his mouth. With my gasp as an answer to his unasked question, he continued with fervor. As his right hand cupped my breast, his free hand was left to explore and explore he did, until neither of us could take the wait any longer. Our clothes were nearly ripped apart in the sudden fever of desire. We tangled to the floor, our bodies a writhing heap of passion. I cried out with each climax of pleasure rolling into the next, lost in a daze of lust until Chris met his end, roaring out his euphoria like I had never heard him before.

There we laid, panting and gasping for air, on the floor beside my bed. “Was that make up sex?” Chris mumbled, tucking a tendril of hair behind my hear.

“I think so,” I huffed, still regaining my breath.

“You ok?”

“Yep, just… I had no idea an orgasm included uterine cramps until my uterus got so dang big!” I shifted my weight, away from Chris, turning to my back.

“Cramps? Not like, contractions, right?” He was up on his elbow, peering down in concern.

“No… not real ones I don’t think. They’re just… tight. Really tight.”

“But no pain…” his hand went to my belly, sending those eyebrows up in Surprise. “Wow, that’s… that’s firm.”

“Right?” I laughed away the discomfort. “But no, no pain.”

“Good.” He pecked a kiss to my forehead. “We don’t have time for a hospital visit today.”

“Uh… ok. I didn’t really want to go anyway?”

“Liz should be here any minute… unless she’s already here…” He trailed off, sneaking a look over the bed, out the window, to the back yard.

“What!?” I yelped, struggling with my attempt to leap up into action.

“Slow down lady, you’ll hurt yourself,” he grunted as he got himself upright. “C’mon,” he rolled his extended hand towards me. “I doubt she heard us anyway.”

Our clothes were collected, mine being put back on after a trip to the toilet, and Chris’ hung over the shower curtain rod to dry. All the while, my eyes were leveled at him in judgement.

“What?” He chuckled, avoid my glare by carefully selecting a clean shirt from the dresser.

“You knew. You brat.”

“Maybe I did,” he pulled a black t-shirt over his head and grinned when his face reappeared.

“You DID!”

“I did,” he giggled to himself, slipping on a pair of khaki colored jeans. With his zipper and button in place, he strode over and held my face in his hands. “Are you mad?”

“No…” I smirked. “It’s fine, it wouldn’t be the first time she heard me with someone.”

“What!?” Shock streaked across his face. “Are you serious?”

“No, you crazy man! I just had to get you back!”

“Oh thank god,” he pulled me in for a hug. “Because you know there were NO men before me.”

“Of course not,” I giggled.

“Promise you’re not mad?”

“About Liz hearing us? No. But, let’s try to not ever do that again. Ok?” I spied Liz emerging from the studio, through the window.

“Ok,” he smiled with his cheek against my head before noticing Liz and promptly erupted into a fit of giggles.