Starting With You

28. I want to whoop like a little girl right now.

Teddy

STEAM RISES FROM THE PAN AS I brown a pound of burger in Jensen's apartment. The dog scampers around me, occasionally pausing at my feet to beg for scraps. When Jensen isn't looking, I toss a few crumbles of beef onto the ground, Scout immediately pouncing on it.

"Saw that," Jensen grumbles from his perch at the counter. He's sorting through a neglected pile of mail, ripping through envelopes only to toss the contents onto the growing discard pile.

The whole scene feels so domestic. Familiar. Comforting. Our new routine is quickly becoming engrained into the fiber of my being, and I want to hang onto it forever. Playing house with this man feels more and more real every day, less emphasis on the play and more on the reality.

Is this what a life with Jensen would be like? A series of ordinary moments made extraordinary by the man I would get to share them with.

Just to test Jensen, I throw another chunk of meat on the floor. Scout doesn't miss a beat and eats it up with a greedy gobble.

"Saw that, too." This time he looks up wearing his customary grumpy expression. "You spoil that damn dog. Is this how it would be with our kids? You spoiling and me scolding?"

The mention of kids sends a rush through my body, and I suck in a breath. I try to disguise the reaction by turning back to the stove, giving the meat way more attention than is required.

When I feel the warmth of his body behind me, I try to still my racing heart.

"Teddy," he whispers roughly into my ear. He takes the wooden spoon from my hand, setting it aside, and turns me to face him. "What was that? What just happened?"

"Uhhh," I stall, trying to unscramble my thoughts enough to formulate a sentence.

"Was it the mention of kids that rattled you or is it something else?" He studies me as if he can pluck the thoughts straight from my brain. "You want kids, right, Teddy?"

Heat flushes my cheeks and I bury my face in his chest to hide my embarrassment. It's not that I don't want kids. I've always seen myself as a mom. But when I pictured it, I was always the mom to Jensen's kids; and since these daydreams felt so taboo and forbidden, I'd shove them down in the recesses of my mind where I'd keep them locked in a box alongside my true feelings for the man.

Bringing them out in the light of day still feels wrong somehow, and I'm embarrassed to admit this out loud.

Jensen engulfs me in a hug, and I snuggle into his warm body, greedily accepting the comfort he's offering. Rubbing a hand up and down my back, he waits patiently for me, not prodding or poking me to divulge until I'm ready.

"Yes, Jensen," I finally answer, my voice muffled into his chest. "Of course, I want kids."

Instead of responding, he removes the hair band from the end of my braid and unravels the strands from the bottom, working his way up. This has become part of our nightly routine. At some point, he'll free my hair, bury his nose into the strands and inhale like he's getting a fix he's been starving for.

Finally, his hands settle around my neck, his thumbs pressing under my chin to lift my face up to his. The way he looks at me has my heart galloping in my chest. Gone is the grumpy façade, replaced by a warmth I'm growing used to seeing from him. Concern dances in his eyes as he peers down at me.

"Care to share what happened just now?" His thumbs caress my heated cheeks.

I circle my hands around his wrists and blow out a steadying breath. "Not really. It's embarrassing."