Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“All right. I confess. I’ve had a few . . . instances in which I’ve been jealous of you and March.”
He says it formally, as though dragged from the depths of him, but he doesn’t blink or look away from me. Shock prickles my skin. I think about the scene he walked in on.
“You know you don’t have to be, right?”
His expression goes soft. “I do. You’re mine and I’m yours. I don’t doubt that at all.”
I rest my head in the crook of his arm.
“It wasn’t logical,” he admits. “And I hated feeling that about March. He’s my best friend and brother. So I let it go. When I saw you two just now, I was happy. I realized how close you two are. I like knowing he’ll be there for you when I can’t.”
Smiling, I take his hand and set it over my belly. It’s a comforting weight, and he flashes me a quick grin at the action, but doesn’t move away.
“But why were you in the first place?” I ask him. “Is it that stupid crush rumor?”
“You mean the fact—not rumor—that you had a crush on him in high school, yes, that’s part of it. But more so that your mom and my family seem to be shocked we’re together and assumed you’d fall for him.”
“Ugh. First of all. That ‘crush’ lasted a few days at most. And it’s only because he danced with me that one cookout we had, when no one else would, and I thought it was—”
“Do not say sweet. That’s my word.”
Oh, now he wants to claim sweet? I fight a grin.
“—kind of him,” I offer instead. “Second, March has never, ever made me weak at the knees.”
“And I do.” It’s cute the way his eyes light up and his mouth dimples with a grin.
“Pickle, you only have to be you—all pretty-like—and I’m flustered.”
He stares at me for a moment as though he’s thinking things through, almost absently rubbing my belly. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to hear you say that.”
Has he? God, was March telling me the truth? He must have been. They’re so close; March would know. I don’t doubt him, and yet, I still struggle to believe it. All these years? It can’t be true. My heart leaps about in my chest like a startled rabbit at the idea.
“I’m surprised you’re letting me hold you this way.” At his quiet comment, I snap out of my musing and gently touch the hair hanging over his brow.
“What?”
His gaze roams over my face. “You’re letting me rub this cute little belly you have going. Most girls hate having a guy touch them there.”
My nose wrinkles in the darkness. “August, if you’re trying to make sweet word-love to me, this ain’t it.”
He chuckles from deep within his chest and the sound reverberates through me. “You’re right. I’ll shut up now.” Gently, he smooths a small circle on my stomach. “Forget I said anything.”
“Too late,” I say darkly. “Now I’m thinking about all the beds you’ve been in besides mine.” Not really, I’m very good at shutting that part out. He’s with me now. That’s all that matters. Still . . . I frown some more.
“Penelope?”
At his soft query, I turn my head.
When I meet his gaze it’s serious and clear. “You’re the only one.”
“Pfft . . .”
“I’m serious.” He nudges me with the arm tucked under my pillow. “There haven’t been any other girls in my bed. We’re more alike than you think. It’s hard for me to trust too.”
At that, I roll onto my side to face him. “That’s why I let you rub my food baby, Pickle. Because I feel comfortable with you. I trust you.”
August’s long fingers curl over the crest of my hip. In the dark, he’s mainly shadows, except for his eyes. They shine in the moonlight slanting across our pillow, and I see the emotion in them.
“I trust you too,” he says.
It sounds like something else. Something more.
We fall silent and eventually sleep. But deep in the dark of night, when the house is still, I wake and think about how August told me nothing of Jan’s confession. And how, when we’d been drifting off, he hadn’t snuggled me close as he always does, but had turned over and fallen straight to sleep in a huddle beneath the covers.
Thirty-Six
Pen
When morning comes, I don’t ask August about his strange mood the night before. It might be cowardly, but all our family is here. I’d rather leave it for now. At any rate, he’s his normal self when we wake. By that, I mean I’m woken with slow, searching kisses, his large hand gently cupping my cheek, stroking my neck and shoulder as if he can’t believe he’s found me here in his bed.
His voice, gravelly with sleep and soft with tenderness, tickles my ear. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Kisses pepper my temple, the crest of my cheek. “Do you have any idea?”