He couldn’t sing to save his life. Although the words were right, he couldn’t hold a single note and the tune of the song was hardly recognizable. It was adorable.
He didn’t seem to mind, and neither did she. Getting dressed for bed, she looked at him. Even months after being married to Charles, she still had a hard time believing her life with a man who shouldn’t even be here was real.
She had hardly found a comfortable position on their bed, quite a feat these days, when he slid in right beside her, his smile tender, loving.
“Think you can sleep?” he asked.
“I’m tired enough to sleep for year.”
And she was. Her days were long, and the extra weight she was carrying along had her tire even faster.
“What about the little one?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.
She sighed. “I think she’s far from being tired.”
“How can you be so sure it’s a she?”
She hummed, a noncommittal sound. “I just do.”
Bending over her belly, he stroked the taut skin, rubbed it in steady circles.
“Your mother is a smart woman, little one.”
“She’ll take good care of you. As will I.”
“Although sometimes she’s a little bit impatient.”
“Charles Lattimer. Don’t talk as if I weren’t even in the same room.”
“This is what I mean. But she doesn’t mean it. She loves me. And she loves you.”
“Loving you has gotten me here in the first place.”
It still sometimes came as a shock to her, to speak that openly to a man, to voice what she thought, but it was liberating, freeing, and here in the sanctuary of their bedroom, she didn’t have to hide what she felt or thought.
“She’s a bit grouchy, because her days are so long. How about you let her sleep a bit?”
“You think that will help?”
“I’ll sing you a song.”
Lying so his head lay beside her belly, he began to sing.