My heart flutters in my chest. I’ll never get tired of hearing him talk about me and our baby like this. The hope I had just triples.
“There is steak. Chicken. Pasta. Bread. Cheesecake.” He continues as he opens several more. “What will it be?”
“Steak … and cheesecake.”
“My kind of girl.” He pulls the other food off the table, then joins me on the bed with his chicken.
“Do you want the TV on?” he asks casually.
I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
He puts on a rerun of a sitcom, and we both sit on the bed as we watch and eat. It feels like we are back in my apartment, just hanging out together.
Eventually, after we’ve devoured way too much food and I see his eyes getting heavy, I nudge him.
“Hey, where are you going to sleep tonight?” I whisper.
He looks over at the chair. “They said that can turn into a bed somehow.”
I look skeptically at the cold leather chair. “It doesn’t look comfortable.”
He laughs. “I don’t think it was made for comfort.”
He stands up and drags an ottoman over to the chair, then sits down and leans the back of the chair down. There’s a pillow and blanket behind him on the edge of the windowsill.
“Come on.” I fix my gaze on him. “There is no way you’re going to fit on that.”
He makes a big, dramatic show as he lies down and covers himself with the blanket. “Snug as a bug.”
“Your feet are hanging off of the ottoman.”
“I am perfectly cozy on my chair. Now, get some sleep. Let me know if you need anything.”
I sigh, but don’t exactly have any better alternatives. I’m currently hooked up to machines and have my IV. I don’t foresee a safe way for us to squeeze in my bed all night.
“Good night,” I whisper.
“Good night, you two.”
A few tears escape at his words.
My eyes squint open as the early morning sun shines through the large hospital room window.
I crane my neck to look over at Roman. He’s typing away on his phone, the pillow and blanket back on the windowsill as he sits up straight in the chair.
“You’re up,” I state as I watch him.
He puts his phone down immediately. “Bright and early. Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
I groan. “Mmm … both. What am I allowed to have? Is a decaf coffee okay?”
“Let me go find the nurse. I’ll be right back.”
He comes back ten minutes later with two coffees in hand and a brown paper bag. My eyes light up.
“Your decaf coffee and two bagels.” He places the bag in front of me, then pulls out sugar and creamer. “I didn’t know how you took your coffee,” he admits, sounding slightly upset about it.
“Just like this.” I smile, then take a sip. “Thank you so much. They said coffee was okay?”