“Not very. You?” He stepped closer to me.
“Er, no. I had a late lunch. Kind of a big lunch.” I backed into the counter and peered up into his somber green eyes.
“How was shopping?”
I sucked in a breath. “Fine. Didn’t find anything … but it was so nice out.”
He folded his arms and sighed through his nostrils. His lips twitched. Shit, what was that look on his face?
“Hannah, I’m sorry I withheld your orgasm with no … verbal contract.”
My mouth fell open, my mind racing to grasp his meaning.
“Oh,” I whispered. Right. He meant last weekend, the “punishment” in the hotel room. I’d wanted to discuss that with him, but I never plucked up the courage.
In fact, I’d never asked to see the weird e-mail he got.
I’d willfully forgotten all of it.
“How did you—” He sneered.
“Baby, what is it?” I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“How did you feel about that?”
“Um … confused, I guess.” I stroked his neck. “You’ve never done that before.”
“Mm.”
“What do you mean, ‘verbal contract’?”
He frowned and folded his arms around me. “No idea. It’s something Mike said.”
“Mike?” My stomach somersaulted. “You told him about that?”
“Not exactly. We’ve been—I—”
Three loud knocks interrupted him. No! Matt disentangled himself and stalked over to the door. Fuck,I wanted to talk about this. I glared at his back as he greeted Chrissy.
For one weird, paranoid moment, I wondered if he timed this—planned this discussion on the cusp of Chrissy’s arrival so that it couldn’t actually become … a discussion.
“Hey, Chrissy.” I hugged my sister. She looked cute in leggings and a purple-to-white ombré tank top. My eyes darted to her stomach, then swerved away. “Come on in.”
We sat in the TV room, Chrissy in an armchair and Matt and I on the couch.
Hm. What now?
Matt was giving Chrissy an intense, scrutinizing stare, and Chrissy looked embarrassed for the first time in her life.
“Do you want something to drink?” I offered.
“Yogurt?” Matt said.
I blinked at him.
“Matt…” I patted his thigh. “We don’t have yogurt.”
“I bought some.” He moved briskly to the kitchen. “It’s low-fat,” he added. “Did you know that one cup of this is better than milk? More calcium. You need calcium, Chrissy. And protein, too. You like blueberries?”
“Uh, sure,” Chrissy said.
I twisted around on the couch and gaped at Matt.
Who was this guy, and who body-snatched my fiancé?
“Good. I threw a few on top. Berries are”—his brow knit as he returned with the yogurt—“a good source of fiber and vitamin C. All stuff you need right now.” He handed the bowl to Chrissy and returned to the couch. I grasped his hand.
“Can we talk for a moment?” I whispered.
“Sure.” He gazed at me evenly.
“In … private?”
My sister spooned yogurt into her mouth and watched us. The Matt and Hannah Show.
“Why? Aren’t we supposed to be getting things out in the open?” He gestured to our tiny living/family room.
“Fine,” I muttered. Apparently I should have prepped him for this conversation. “The thing is, Chrissy isn’t sure”—I smiled apologetically at her—“she wants to keep it yet.”
Matt scowled. “Could we avoid that phrase? ‘Keep it.’ Sounds so fucking inhumane. ‘It’? Is it a boy or a girl?”
“She’s only eight weeks. We don’t know yet.”
“Well, then.” He stood and paced beside Laurence’s hutch. The rabbit, who was as sensitive to Matt’s moods as I was, darted into a corner. “I don’t see why we can’t be prepared for the possibility”—oh boy, Matt was getting irritated—“that she might want to have the child. I bought you some groceries.” He addressed Chrissy, ignoring me now. “Frozen salmon filets, some whole grain bread and cereal. You need eggs in your diet. I read about it.”
My mouth hung open, jaw unhinged.