Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Blakely

“That smells so good,” I say, taking the cake out of the oven and setting it on a rack to cool.

I feel like a character in a movie, bustling around the kitchen in the early evening. The ambiance is perfection. Enough sun hits the room to make it warm and cozy, but just shadowy enough to ease you from afternoon to dinner. The layout had to have been designed by someone who frequented kitchens because everywhere I turn to look for something—there it is.

And the appliances. I can be excited about appliances, after all.

The thought makes me laugh.

I sway to a honeyed voice coming from my phone, singing about flying them to the moon. The saxophones, trumpets, and piano fill the air with a soothing, sexy beat.

The day has been exactly what I needed. After Brock’s bombshell about the baby, I called Ella and named myself godmother before yelling at her for not telling me. Then I promptly started planning a baby shower. Is it too early? Yes. Am I excited? Also, yes.

I’ve always worried about how I would take this day—when my brother begins his own family. I was scared I’d be sad or lonely. Instead, I’m bursting at the seams.

I shut off the oven and start working on the chicken piccata.

After my call with Ella, I took a long soak with the best bubble bath I’ve ever used. The water felt amazing on my sore muscles, and I wound up falling asleep. I woke up to a delivery of clothes from Astrid. I felt like a princess.

I hope I don’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

A smile slips across my lips. I won’t. I know that won’t happen.

“It’s Renn,” I say simply, as if that explains my conclusion.

The music stops and is replaced by a ringtone. I set the salt and pepper down.

“Hello?” I ask, holding the phone to my ear.

“Is this Blakely?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, Blakely. It’s Anjelica from Mason Music. How are you?”

Oh . I lean against the counter. “Hi, Anjelica. I’m great. How are you?”

“Not as good as you.” She laughs. “Congratulations on getting married. How exciting.”

I grin. “Thank you. It’s been … a wild ride.”

I giggle, thinking about my wild ride last night before falling asleep. My sex clenches at the memory.

“What can I do for you?” I ask, redirecting my thoughts.

“You’re not due back in the office yet, but we’ve been having an issue with photographers camped outside the offices. We assume they’re waiting on you.”

My stomach drops. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin. “Oh no. Anjelica, I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t be sorry. They’re trolls. We’ve been able to move them off our property, but they’re now camped on the other side of the road. It’s a bit of a safety issue.”

I hold my head in my hands. Dammit.

“You’re starting a new position, anyway,” she says. “It might be a good idea for you to work from home for a week or two—long enough for them to find something else to fixate on. And they will find something else. They always do.”

Air fills my lungs again.

“Our CEO, Coy Mason, is adamant that we offer employees the ability to work from home as much as possible,” she says.

She drops the name of one of country music’s biggest names like we’re talking about a clerk at the local grocery store.

“If you want to explore the possibility of moving your position remotely, we can look into that. But that’s absolutely up to you. We’re here to facilitate as much as we can to keep our employees happy and with their families as much as possible.”

“Wow. Okay. Yes,” I say, releasing a breath. “I’d love to try to work from home—at least as long as this paparazzi thing is happening. I don’t want my life to affect anyone else.”

“That’s great. Let’s go ahead and write off next week entirely. That will give our IT Department time to get you set up remotely. If you need anything in the meantime, reach out to me. You have my number.”

“I will. Thank you, Anjelica. Truly.”

“You are very welcome. We’ll talk soon.”

“Goodbye.”

I end the call, and the soulful voice plays again.

Turning back to the chicken, I pick up a knife. Just before I touch the poultry, Renn buries his head into the crook of my neck.

I smile, setting the knife down, and move to give him all the access he needs to place kisses against my skin.

“Hey, you,” I say, wrapping an arm around the back of his head. “I missed you today.”

He spins me around and holds me against him.

If I thought Brock looked tired today, Renn is nothing short of exhausted. His eyes are puffy. The lines around his mouth are prominent. His skin is dull and lacking the glow I’ve seen every day since we met at the pool in Vegas.

“Hey,” I say, running my hand through his hair. “What’s wrong?”

His grin is crooked. “I’m just glad to be home.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, and I’m glad you’re here too. But what’s wrong?”

He plants a loud, wet kiss on my lips before letting me go. “Jet lag is a real thing. What are you making?”

“Chicken piccata. A salad is in the fridge, and a cake is cooling on the counter.”

“How are you up to cook? Aren’t you beat?”

I grin. “It makes me happy to be here, cooking for you. And I had all day to relax.”

He moves to the cabinet and pulls out two wineglasses. I turn back to the meat.

“Foxx scared the shit out of the grocery delivery guy,” I say, laughing at the memory. “Then he and I—Foxx and I—had a small … skirmish, about the tip.”

“Oh, really? Who won that one?”

I lift my chin. “Me.”

“I would’ve paid a lot of money to watch that.”

“I’m not sure how you do business around here. But if there are reports filed or something, don’t believe anything he says about me without hearing my side of the story.”

Renn chuckles.

“First, I don’t think he finds me entertaining. He’s also rather perturbed that I have visitors. Brock and Ella were here— oh !” I swing around and point the tip of the knife at him. “Did you know my brother is retiring?”

He takes the knife from me and puts a glass of wine in my hand. “Is that a done deal?”

“ Of course, it is .”

He hums before taking a drink, watching me over the rim.

“I would’ve thrown a fit about it,” I say. “But now he’s going to be a daddy …”

Renn’s eyes hood.

I set my glass down and rest my back against the counter’s edge, smirking. “What’s that look for?”

He places his wine next to mine before caging me against the counter.

“ Oh ,” I say, trailing a fingertip down his face. His stubble bites against my skin. It only adds to the heat building in my core. “Did you not know Ella and Brock are having a baby?”

“I just found out this evening on my way home.”

“So you didn’t know and withheld that information as you did about Brock’s physical—something we will discuss later.”

He nips the tip of my finger. “I look forward to it.”

“Back to the baby … you didn’t know?”

“If I knew, I would’ve used it to talk you into letting me knock you up.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “You don’t really want a baby.”

“Try again, cutie.”

My breath stills as I lift my head. “Don’t mess with me.”

Our eyes lock, and the space between us is charged. He leans forward, pressing a sweet, almost reverent kiss against my lips.

I sag against him. I’m not sure what’s happening, and it scares me a little … but thrills me, too.

He rests his forehead against me. “Tomorrow, after we go to dinner at Mom’s, let’s sit down and talk.”

“Okay …” My breathing is shaky. “Is everything okay?”

With the news of Brock’s medical issues still so fresh in my mind, the sound of let’s sit down and talk sounds like its foreshadowing a dark moment.

“I hope so.” He grins, standing tall. “I’m just dead tired, and you have to be, too. Foxx said you were very active today.”

I gasp. “Did he tattle on me? That fucker.”

Renn laughs. “I guarantee no one has ever said that to his face and gotten away with it.”

“Just wait until I see him.” I pull his head against me and hug him. “How was your physical? I need to know you’re okay, and whatever you want to discuss has nothing to do with that. Humor me.”

“I’m good.” He pulls away. “Healthy as an ox. Very capable of giving you a baby, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I smack him. “I’m worried about your other head, thank you.”

“It works good enough to know a damn good thing when I see it.”

He holds my gaze, my words from the night on the plane to Australia returning to me.

“A nice man knows a damn good thing when he sees it.”

I reach for his hand, entwining his fingers in mine. His eyes are soft and full of an emotion that melts me from the inside out.

“He knows a damn good thing when he sees it. And … he loves me.”

My eyes search his, begging him to tell me what I want to hear. Tell me you love me, Renn. Please.

“My brain is fine,” he says softly. “But I love it that you worry about me.”

The irony of him using the word love in the wrong context is not lost on me.

I sigh. “Of course, I worry about you. I’ll worry every time you take the pitch. How long is your contract? A year? Is that right?”

He brings my hands to his lips and kisses them. Then he lets them go.

“Dad bought the Arrows today.” He lifts his wine and downs the whole glass. I watch him curiously as he refills it. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

I start to ask him why I’d care … but stop.

My stomach hits the floor.

If he had his meeting today and it went well, and if his father’s deal is done—and if the media isn’t as bad as we expected—then our marriage isn’t really needed anymore.

My lips part, assisting my brain with keeping me alive by allowing my lungs more oxygen. Still, it feels like the room is void of it. Like I’m quietly suffocating.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Does that mean …”

“No. That’s not what that means.”

I grip the edge of the counter. “Renn—”

“We’re both tired. Today has been stressful—for me, at least. All I’ve looked forward to since I left the house this morning was coming back to you tonight.”

My sight grows cloudy.

He stands between my legs, tipping my chin up with his finger. “Tomorrow night, we talk. Promise me you won’t panic until then.”

“Should I plan on panicking then?”

He holds my face in both hands and kisses me slowly, deliberately. This isn’t one of his hungry kisses. It’s not fueled by lust. It’s triggered by something else, something deeper and more meaningful.

Something I’m too scared to name.

“How hungry are you?” he whispers against my lips.

“Not much.”

“Come to bed with me. I need you, Blakely. More than I’ve ever needed anything else.”

That’s all he has to say.

Because even though I’m worried, scared, and unsure about the future, I know I’ll be there if he needs me.

And really—I need him too.