Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
And there it was again.
My woman.
“Need me to do anything?”
I glanced up at him, giving him a pointed look. “You know better than to ask that. Sit. I’ll bring it over.” I waved to the small breakfast nook that looked out over the ocean. There was also a larger dining table, but I liked looking at the ocean.
“No,” Kane said.
Hands on my hips, I gave him a patented Avery Hart, head chef glare. “What did you just say?”
He didn’t so much as blanche. “You heard me, Chef. Finish what you need to finish, then you go sit down, and I’ll bring everything over.”
“Kane,” I sighed in exasperation. “I’m pregnant, not terminal. I can carry plates.”
“I know.” He dipped a finger in the pesto, his pink tongue darting out to lick it off. “But you just cooked a whole ass meal, on your feet for at least an hour when you haven’t done that in months. Your center of gravity is off. You could make it over there with plates, but I don’t want you to.” He jounced his eyebrows “And this smells like it promises to be the best meal I’ve had in months, and I don’t feel like eating it off the floor because my pregnant woman got clumsy.”
“I’m not clumsy.” I narrowed my eyes, though my insides danced at his warm, teasing tone.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m not chancing it. Finish plating, Chef.”
I glared at him then went back to work wiping and garnishing the plate. “Getting ordered around in my own kitchen,” I muttered, forcing back the smile wanting to curl my lips at him calling me Chef again.
“I won’t make a habit of it.”
“You better not.” I looked at the plates. Not exactly Michelin star, but I already knew it was good. Great, really.
“Okay, go sit your ass down.”
I tilted my head up to gawk at him. “I thought you weren’t making a habit of ordering me around.”
“I lied.” I caught the twinkle in Kane’s eyes before he leaned down to kiss me on my nose, cradling my stomach lightly. “You’re too cute when you’re pissed. Now go, I’m hungry.”
I swallowed my smile and heeded his order, feeling lightheaded. It had nothing to do with being on my feet.
“Well, that was the best thing I’ve eaten in my fuckin’ life,” Kane declared, leaning back from his clean plate.
Mine was clean too.
It was pretty good.
It felt nice to cook again. To feel hungry again. To enjoy food, my one passion.
“I bet the baby fuckin’ loved that,” Kane continued, looking downward. “Is she doing somersaults in glee right now?”
My previously relaxed energy disappeared.
Dread invaded my bones.
“I haven’t felt her move,” I whispered, horrified.
Kane reached over, his hand settling on my stomach. “What do you mean?” he asked, rubbing again.
My blood pressure boomed in my ears. “I mean, I haven’t felt her move in … since you left, since you said goodbye. Hours ago.”
Hours.
“I was distracted,” I whispered, guilt thickening my words. “With you, the mortgage stuff, the ‘taking care of us stuff,’ the apology you’re owed. Then the cooking, and I got … swept away. How could I not notice she hadn’t moved?”
The room began to spin.
“Chef.” Kane’s hands rose to either side of my neck, his eyes on mine.
“Breathe,” he commanded.
I struggled to obey.
“Again,” he murmured, rubbing behind my ears with his thumbs.
I mimicked the way he drew in a long breath before pushing it out, the spinning of the room slowing then finally coming to a stop.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “She moved this morning, that’s good. You said she’s a nocturnal baby. How often does she normally move during the day?”
I focused on him, forced myself to think analytically though tears burned the backs of my eyes. “A lot. I mean, she is nocturnal, but she usually gives me a few jabs throughout the day to remind me she holds dominion over my bladder.”
I rubbed at my stomach, carefully prodding as I had done in the past to get a responding kick.
I held my breath.
Nothing.
Heat began slithering up my neck as I began panicking again.
“What can we do to get her to move?” Kane asked me pragmatically.
“Um, something cold. Ice cold. Sugary.”
Kane didn’t wait for more details, rushing to the fridge, getting a can of soda, dispensing ice into a glass then filling it.
My hand was shaking when he handed it to me, clattering against my front tooth when I brought it up to my mouth.
I gulped down the entire glass without tasting it. In the past, when I’d been concerned about lack of movement, it had taken minutes for something sugary and cold to wake her up.
We waited, Kane trying to talk to me and me muttering things back, trying to distract us while we waited, hoped.
Nothing.
The world swayed again. I looked at him, vision blurry. “Kane,” I whispered, my voice drenched in fear.