“Me?” I scoff. “I’ve got about as much charm as a stale slice of bread, Owen. I’m overly blunt, sometimes rude, and the mouth I have on me would make a sailor blush.”
He pauses, looking at me, his features morphing into a soft smile. “Maybe you see it that way, but to others it’s different.”
“Uh-huh, and how is that?”
“You’re not blunt but honest, you speak out against injustice, and you’re not afraid to use your colorful vocab.” He sits back on the couch, clearly satisfied with himself. I know he’s keeping it light, but it’s hard to ignore how my heart clenches at his words. Maybe it’s all these pregnancy hormones, but his words manage to hit the chilly frost that covered my heart all those months ago. Now that I think about it, he’s been melting that for some time.
“Well,” I say, letting out a breath, “that’s one of the nicest fucking things I’ve heard in a while.”
“I wasn’t trying to be nice, just truthful.”
I shove his side. “Stop it!”
His eyes scrunch together. “What?”
“Stop being nice!”
He laughs. “I’m just saying it how it is, Lottie.”
I grab a pillow from beneath me and toss it at him.
“Are you crying?” Suddenly he’s serious.
“No!” I shout, getting off the couch, trying to hide the emotion from his kind words.
“Lottie!” He’s half laughing, but I hear concern.
“It’s all these hormones.” I wave my hands in front of myself and my small rounded belly. I can only wear tight clothes in the house because I don’t want anyone finding out.
Owen gets off the couch and comes over to me. He invades my space, but I let him, knowing I’d probably let him do a whole lot more if I weren’t up the duff.
Ever so softly, he grabs my arm and pulls me into him. His hand comes up to cup my face, and it takes everything inside of me to keep breathing.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry. But it’s important you don’t pick apart aspects of yourself you don’t like. You’re a strong, badass woman, and pregnancy doesn’t change that.” He looks into my eyes, his own a swirling hurricane. “Badass women also cry,” he adds before catching one of my tears with his thumb.
“I know,” I confirm. “I guess I’m just not used to someone hyping me up all the time.”
He grins. “I can hype you up every day if needed.”
I laugh, burying my face in his warm, hard chest. His arms link around my waist, our fronts aligned. Although Owen and I are close, this type of hug doesn’t really happen. Correction, it never happens. This spells out intimacy, not friendship. Yet I can’t seem to pull away despite a million warning bells going off in my mind.
We stand here for a few more minutes, Owen’s hands rubbing up and down my back, my mind knowing it would only take a small movement for my head to tilt up and our lips to meet. When that thought crosses my mind, I quickly pull myself out of his grasp.
“Better?” he asks, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long. “So, about Christmas?”
I smile up at him. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Grinning, he leads me over to the couch, where we watch some Vince Vaughn movie. On opposite ends of the couch, all my doing. I couldn’t tell you what we watched specifically or what it was even about, my mind running with tonight’s events.
Owen and I nearly crossed a line tonight, yet fear of losing him, losing this stops me from acknowledging it aloud. What’s the saying? Ignorance is bliss. For once I’m fine being a happy pig rather than an unhappy Socrates.
The rest of November and most of December flies by, with work busier than usual and my belly growing by the day. Before I know it, Owen and I are driving to Evie’s for Christmas, with Ali, Em, and Stana all in Edinburgh for the holidays.
After accepting Evie and Owen’s invitation, I didn’t have one ounce of regret. I knew going to Edinburgh would have been a huge mistake, and I’m glad I trusted my gut.
Things with Owen have been the same since that night in his apartment, both of us going back to our normal behavior, but is it really that normal? With my due date only three months away, I can’t help but overthink every little thing between us. How he’s basically given up any chance at a relationship and social life, dedicating all his time to me.
I know I need to set better boundaries, not just for Owen’s sake, but for my own too. He won’t always be here and it’s not healthy for me to depend on him for everything. Once the baby arrives at the end of March, it will just be the two of us, and I need to start preparing for that.
But that’s an issue for me to tackle in the new year. Selfishly, I just want to enjoy our time together now and keep the peace.
“So, have you spoken to your parents?” Owen asks, his voice cutting through the music. I know what he’s really asking—when am I going to tell them about the baby? But he won’t outright say it for fear of overstepping.
“Actually, I have,” I reply. “I spoke to Mum this morning. She’s happy I’ve got someone to spend Christmas with, especially after I declined Stana’s invitation. I know she wanted me to spend it with them in France, but for obvious reasons…” I motion to my growing stomach, despite Owen’s eyes being on the road. “And I’ve made a decision about telling them. Well, telling everyone really.”
“And that is?” he asks.
“In the new year. I refuse to monopolize everyone’s Christmas and the devil knows if I told Stana before her trip to Edinburgh, she’d track down Beck and give him the beating he deserves.”
“Stana as the violent type?” Owen laughs, clearly having a hard time imagining it.
“Well, maybe not violent, but
