Nodding, I giggle like a stupid schoolgirl under his gaze. "I want to enjoy what you enjoy."
Caressing the bruised skin, Brad looks genuinely touched by my effort. I think to remind him about the ease of researching with Google, but I decide to enjoy his approval instead.
"I'll be more careful," he murmurs, leaning over to kiss my stomach.
"No, don't change a winning technique."
Brad gives me an uncertain look that I choose to ignore.
"Ruth is warming up to me," I say, approaching a subject bound to cause issues. "She even hinted about grandkids."
Brad doesn't hesitate before replying, "I think she wants a granddaughter to dress up."
"Do you want kids?" I ask, pushing him to consider what a future with me might look like.
"Of course. Little redheaded babies. Well, maybe not so little. I was a big baby. Eleven pounds, I think."
I look at my hands and try to imagine holding a child. "I don't know that I'd be a good mother. I've never even held a baby before."
"I have, and the little guy cried like I was the devil. The mom wouldn't take him back either," Brad says, looking horrified by the memory. "She kept saying I needed to soothe her baby. I tried bouncing, humming, and even patting the kid on the back to make him burp, but nothing worked. He was miserable but stopped crying the minute Nell took him."
Brad pushes out his lower lip as if pouting. "Kids don't like me. One even kicked me in the leg once."
"Maybe we shouldn't have kids then."
Frowning, Brad takes my hand. "Our kids will be ours. Apparently, parents understand their kids babbling and think they're cute even when they cry. I think the parent-child connection makes it work. I know Nell thinks I'm considerably less adorable than Mom does."
Even grinning, I ask the important question. "Do you want a killer as the mother of your children?"
"No. I want you to be the mother of my children."
"Love doesn't wash away the past."
"Really?" he mutters.
I share his frown. "You have a good life here."
"I have a cult of freaks trying to kill me."
"They'll be dealt with, and you'll be free to live your life quietly the way you want."
"And you'll be free to live your life quietly with me. You're not Little Maven anymore."
Caressing his face, I say, "These hands have committed violence you can't imagine. How can you want them holding your children?"
"Our children," he insists.
"What if I become my mother?"
"That'll never happen. You're a smart and capable woman who took over your mother's business when you were seventeen. You handled that all alone, but you won't be alone when we have children. You'll have me fumbling around to help you. Oh, and Mom and Nell."
"Would we live here?" I ask, brushing the hair from his sleepy eyes.
"That'd be up to you."
"I like it here. The location feels secure."
Brad smiles. "Talking like this is nice. I was scared shitless to tell you how I felt, but I don't want to waste time. Not with you."
"I guess it's premature to talk about kids."
"Don't backtrack," he says, tugging me down until I'm pinned under him. "We're making babies, woman. Just accept that and allow me to practice my technique."
I giggle when his teeth nip at my earlobe. "Practice away"
We roll around in bed as our bodies discover new ways to find pleasure. After he claims to have worn me out, we dress before stumbling into the kitchen for an early lunch. Ruth sees us and only gives a friendly hello. I feel strange, as if I need to apologize to her for keeping Brad busy through breakfast. Is this what happens when someone falls in love? Do they feel too much about everything? After a lifetime of feeling only enough to survive, I'm learning I can no longer hide. My heart is broken wide open, and no pain or pleasure remains off limits.
28
Saskia
Selling My Heart for the Man I Love
The next few days, I remain glued to Brad. We watch his ghost shows and a few paranormal movies. I tend to laugh at the scared reactions of the characters while he really gets spooked by the plots. We eat popcorn a lot once he realizes how much I enjoy it. Brad gets me anything that makes me happy.
If I like the brisket sandwiches at Firehouse Subs, he buys me one every day. I help him too. Like when we run to the local strip mall to pick up food, I convince him to watch a horror movie in the theater. He worries about crowds while I'm more worried about cult freaks. We both find no one bothers us.
The stalker's activities around the property stop as soon as we install the cameras. No more drones fly by at night. No one creeps around the property leaving gruesome gifts. I almost wonder if the guy from New York was the last cult member, and the threat is over.