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Collins nods and starts that way. “Thanks.”
I head into the kitchen as she disappears down the hallway, pulling two plates out of the cabinet and setting them on the counter. I grab the containers out of the takeout bag, fold it up, then walk down the hallway and tap on the closed door.
“Collins? Do you want?—”
“One sec,” she interrupts.
The door opens a second later, and it’s a struggle not to react as I watch her tug the sweatshirt down and pull her hair free from the collar.
Meaning her hair is loose. The last time I saw her hair loose, it was spread wildly across white sheets.
And Collins Tate, standing in my home, wearing my clothes,carrying my baby? It ignites some primal, possessive urge I never knewexisted.
I’ve felt jealous, seeing her with other guys, but I never had any real right to be. I still don’t, I guess. Yet, for the rest of our lives, we’ll share a kid. A bond that nothing—not time or distance or any other barrier—can break.
That’s daunting. But it’s also comforting. Ilikethat we’ll have that in common.
I’d step up and take responsibility in this situation with anyone. But it would be straightforward. More … clinical. It’d be easy to focus exclusively on the baby. With Collins, my brain gets too muddled withher.
I’m going to pitch her moving in as practical, but a large part of it is selfish. I want her here, with me, not across a bridge in Brooklyn. And full honesty? It’s not entirely tied to the pregnancy. If this were happening with another woman, I’d offer to rent her an apartment near me, not suggest she move into my home.
“Kit?” Collins is staring at me, hesitation written all over her face.
Which is when I realize my reaction was freezing in place. Who knows how long I’ve been standing here, silent, just looking at her? So much for acting casual and making her feel comfortable.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “I was checking to see if you wanted Parmesan on your pasta. Hard cheese is okay, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Parmesan is okay, and, yes, I’ll have some.”
“Great.” I glance past her, at the bed. “Also … I’m thinking of this room for the nursery.”
Collins spins to survey it. “This room? It’shuge.”
“This bedroom is smaller than the primary suite. And the rest of the guest rooms are upstairs. I should be close by, right?”
She gnaws on her bottom lip. “I guess you could add a crib in thecorner?”
I laugh. “What? Monty, I’d get rid of all of this.” I gesture toward the current furnishings. “My kid isn’t sleeping in the corner. Plus, there needs to be room for toys and all the other baby shit. A guy I went to school with, Pierce, has a sister who paints. I was thinking of asking her to do a mural on that wall.” I point toward the one the headboard is pushed up against.
“A mural. Wow.”
“Is that a bad idea?” I wonder.
“No, I think that’s a really nice idea. I just …” She glances around again, shaking her head. “This room is about the same size as my entire apartment.”
I seize the perfect opening. “So, move in with me.”
Her chin jerks in my direction. “What?”
Maybe I should have attempted a more gradual segue. Too late now.
“Move in with me,” I repeat.
Collins is already shaking her head. “No, I—Kit, that’s crazy!”
“What’s crazy about it? I can’t contribute much until you, you know, birth the kid, but I can do this much. And once Plum is born, we won’t have to shuttle him or her between here and Brooklyn. You haven’t even seen the upstairs. I’ve got plenty of space.”
“We talked about boundaries, Kit.Living togetheris not boundaries.”