Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“He looks so much like Cross, it’s unreal,” she murmured.
Tom tipped his head up—seems she knew he was there, after all. “He does, yeah.”
Cam looked over at him. “Came to find me, did you?”
“Your brother caught onto your little disappearing trick, babe. Sorry.”
She shrugged, but went back to the baby without saying a thing. It was the look on her face that made Tom step quietly into the room, and close the distance between them. Not sadness, or embarrassment that usually came along whenever someone asked why they were still childless—as though it was anyone’s business—but rather, just ... curious.
“What is it?” Tom asked when he was close enough to snake an arm around her waist, and pull her close. “Tell me, Cam.”
Cam rested her head on his shoulder. “I was just thinking ...”
“Mmm?”
“Do you know why I’ve always put having kids off?”
“Because you’re not ready,” Tom said simply.
Cam made a quiet noise. “That, too, yeah.”
“What else?”
She glanced over her shoulder, and peered at the items littering the nursery. Baby things, and whatever else. Nappies, lotions, and more filled the top of a dresser. Perfectly cute, and small outfits hung from an open closer.
Baby toys and knickknacks—baubles in every corner—filled the space.
All the stuff that came along with babies.
“This kind of freaks me out,” Cam admitted.
“What?”
She turned, and gestured at the room. “This, Tom. All of this. The baby swings, and the swaddling blankets. Rattles and teethers. Do you know how many different kinds of bottles there are—or Christ, soothers?”
Tom blinked. “No.”
“I do. I do because I’ve looked it up. Hundreds, Tom. There are hundreds.”
He blinked again. “Okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. Because which one do you even choose? How do you decide? And that’s before you get into which beds, or swings, or diapers, or—”
Tom had enough. He kissed his wife hard enough to quiet her, and all her anxieties that he never even knew existed. Because that was Cam—she kept shit bottled up until she couldn’t hold it in anymore and it exploded out of her in verbal vomit.
Not that he minded.
Cam let out a shaky sigh when Tom pulled away.
“Okay,” he said.
Her gaze drifted up to his. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he repeated.
“But—”
“But nothing. You don’t have to justify shit, Cam. You don’t have to excuse anything to me. As long as you’re happy, then I am happy. That’s how this has always worked.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. A habit he wished she would break because he hated when she abused her mouth like that for all the wrong reasons.
“I do, though,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Want kids.”
Tom grinned. “Oh?”
“Just ... without all the stuff that freaks me out,” she added quickly.
“Easy enough.”
Cam gave him a look. “You think?”
“It’s called minimalism, babe. You think babies need all this crap? No, they need to be loved, comforted, dry, fed, and happy. That is it.”
“But ...”
“What, Cam?”
“I don’t even know how to be a mom, or ... whatever.”
Tom dragged his wife close again. “Not everybody does. It’s not some bred instinct you have the moment you’re born. And some people are born mothers, and still don’t have kids because that’s just not what they want in their life. Look at Theo and Eve, right?”
Two of the most paternal and maternal people he knew, and yet, never had their own biological kids. They fostered for a lot of years—still did, when they found a child that really needed a different kind of safe place to heal—but never their own blood.
“Do you want kids?” Cam asked.
“I want what you want.”
And that was—his hand to God—the truth.
Some people just went about their life differently. Cam had always been a little different, anyway. Tom didn’t mind this being the same.
The News
“I’m starving, Ella,” Tommas grumbled.
From behind the kitchen island, his wife shot him a look that could kill. He swore he had become accustomed to this kind of game with his wife over the years, and frankly, Abriella had mastered this shit with him. All it took was one look from her, and Tommy knew whether or not he should keep pushing, or back the hell off.
This time was different.
His daughter-in-law was there.
Abriella was far less likely to throw something at him for his pestering when someone else was around. She was predictable like that. Tommas knew which buttons to push with her, and when, for that matter.
Marriage was all about compromise, after all.
“I think what you mean to say is, you’re spoiled, Tommy,” Abriella muttered. “The food is almost done. Surely, you can wait another ten minutes for us to plate everything, and get it set out on the table.”
“But it’s done now.”
“And you can wait to eat with everybody else just like you always do.”
“Ella—”
“I swear to God.”
Tommas chuckled under his breath, knowing he had pushed his wife to her limits. Really, it was only when he pestered her inside the kitchen that Abriella got touchy like this. Anywhere else, and she had far more patience for his shit.