“So, do you forgive me for not telling you how I felt sooner?” He leans toward me, and I notice the strength in his frame beneath the soft grey shirt. My chest tightens with longing.
“Absolutely.” I gulp, letting my nerves settle. “I can forgive you for what’s in the past and we can move forward. Now, if I came all this way and didn’t do this, I’d be sad.” I lean in and kiss him lightly, tentative, testing the waters, inviting him in. I pull back and look into his eyes.
“No regrets?” he teases.
“That’s the idea.”
“Then come here.” He pulls me closer, and when our lips meet again, it’s urgent, warm, all-consuming. I let the rush of emotion guide me as he leads me down a hallway.
We stop at a closed door. Ben pauses, blocking the room, and I recognize the bedroom where we used to talk late into the night. He lifts my chin gently and kisses me again. “Do you want to come in?”
I understand the question for what it is: a chance to back out. But there’s no turning back. I lay a hand on his chest, feel his steady heartbeat, and take a small step forward. He responds immediately, pulling me inside.
The room is familiar—the dark blue comforter, the desk, the rolling chair. My heart swells with memories. Ben’s hands are warm on my sides, and his eyes search mine, silently asking if I’m certain.
“Yes,” I nod.
He settles beside me on the bed, and the closeness is electric. He lays a hand over my stomach, a quiet question in his touch. “How does this work, with… that?”
I smile. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t change anything.”
Spurred by trust and desire, I let myself be closer, to feel him, to be with him. We move together, hands tracing familiar and new contours alike, lips exploring, hearts racing. There’s a shared hunger in our touch, a wordless conversation that has waited years to be spoken.
When we pause, breathless and smiling, he props himself on one elbow and traces a finger along my arm. Goosebumps rise, and I shiver in anticipation and delight.
“I knew I’d get you to open your eyes for me one day,” he whispers. The memory of an old promise floods me with warmth, and I smile back, genuine and full, knowing that, finally, we are here together.
Chapter 62
Ben, April 18
I cannot begin to explain the ecstasy of this morning. To have Liz know how I feel—and to have her accept it—was spectacular. To finally show her what I’ve been holding in for so long… there aren’t words for that yet.
The sun streams through my window now; it must be nearing noon. Liz is sleeping peacefully beside me, her breaths soft and even. With the time change and the flight, she must be exhausted. Plus, I grin to myself, the physical exertion of earlier can’t have helped her energy levels.
I lie still, watching her. This amazing woman, the one I’ve wanted for so long, came all this way to surprise me. And now she’s here—in my bed, no less—real and radiant in a way that exceeds every expectation I ever dared imagine.
But there’s one thing I never prepared for.
Checking that she’s still asleep, I reach out tentatively, resting my hand against the curve of her swollen belly. I don’t know what I expect to feel. It’s firmer than a thigh or an arm, a different kind of solidness. I press a little more, cautiously, and then—suddenly—the surface shifts beneath my palm.
I snatch my hand back like I’ve been burned, staring. “Did you just move?” I whisper. I’m not sure if I want Liz to answer, or if I’m speaking to the baby.
Leaning closer, I wait. Nothing. Slowly, I place my hand down again. It feels softer now, but as I move it toward her belly button, there’s another firmer spot. I press gently, but this time nothing happens.
“She doesn’t always move when you want her to,” Liz murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.
I freeze, caught. “She?”
Her eyes flutter open, and she smiles. “Yup. The doctor told me last week. It’s a girl. I’m thinking of naming her Emma.”
“Emma,” I repeat softly, trying the sound on my tongue. “Emma what?”
“Emma Michelle.” She beams, the kind of joy that radiates from deep inside, lit by the thought of someone she hasn’t even met yet.
“Emma Michelle Banks,” I say before I can stop myself. The name rolls out naturally, and then I realize my mistake. This baby isn’t just Liz’s. The baby certainly isn’t mine. No matter what I’d like to imagine, Emma belongs to another man. I clear my throat. “Sorry. That’s not right, is it? What’s Matt’s last name?”
“You were right, actually.” Her hand smooths protectively over her belly. “Matt and I agreed Emma should have my name. It’ll make things easier.”