My Perfect Fix (The Fix Book 4)

by Carey Heywood

  What stinks is she might have a point. Last month I made a boo-boo, a boo-boo I’m not willing to call a mistake because it doesn’t feel wrong. I also wasn’t one hundred percent conscious when it happened, so there’s that.

  “Don’t try and tell me you’re just friends again.”

  “But we are,” I argue.

  “How many friends do you know who nap together? We’re friends, dare I say best friends, and we have never spooned each other while napping.”

  Who knew one sleepy request to cuddle would turn into a gateway nap buddy addiction?

  One month ago, I asked him to hold me while I slept. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking at the time other than he was big and warm and smelled like something I wanted to shove my nose into and inhale for a few hours.

  That one nap was so good, when he left, all I could do was think about it. The next day, thinking about it shifted into obsessing about it.

  It didn’t help that I was so sleepy the next time I saw him. All I could focus on was how good I felt after our nap. He kept asking me to come to a big birthday party. For some reason, I agreed in exchange for him napping with me again.

  The birthday party was weeks ago, but here we are, still nap buddies.

  “We’re not dating and I can prove it. He is a notorious ladies’ man in town. If he was interested in me that way, don’t you think he would have tried to cop a feel or kiss me by now?”

  There’s a long pause before she says, “Maybe he wants to take it slow because you’re pregnant.”

  He could have anyone. On more than one occasion, I’ve seen women throw themselves at him even if I’m with him. The last person he’d be interested in is me. I’m like another sister to him and he has a vested interest in this house. Those are the only reasons he comes around as much as he does.

  We’re friends. “Or maybe all he wants to be is friends.”

  “Okay, where is he right now?”

  Crap.

  I can’t help it, I cringe.

  “Lucy? Are you still there?”

  Closing my eyes, my grip tightens on my phone. “He’s out grabbing some food.”

  “What kind of food?” Mock innocence cloaks her words.

  “He’s getting me stuff to make a root beer float.”

  Her laugh is so loud I have to pull my phone away from my ear. “What’s so funny?”

  Her laughter fades but the amusement in her voice doesn’t. “This isn’t the first time he’s gotten stuff for one of your pregnancy cravings.”

  “So?” I ask defensively. “He’s just being nice.”

  She snorts. “I wish I could check your temperature right now because you must have a fever and be delirious or something. He wants in your pants, baby or no baby, and is taking it slow because your sperm donor was such a massive tool.”

  Ugh, just the mention of Derek makes my blood boil. “I’m in a good mood, let’s not ruin it.”

  “Fine,” She grumbles. “But I’m right about Gideon. He would not be spending all of his free time with you if he wasn’t interested.”

  “We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that and talk about something else. Oh, I know, like when you’re coming to visit again.”

  “What’s the temperature there right now?”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t know the exact number but it’s April in New Hampshire. Right now it’s still cold in the morning, and warmer by the afternoon. I think we’re in the sixties.”

  She sighs. “I want it to be warm enough for me to swim in the lake.”

  I hear a car door slam outside and my mouth starts watering for my float. “That might not happen until June or July. Don’t you want to visit again before the baby comes?”

  “Only if I can come back when it’s warm enough to go swimming.”

  There’s the telltale jingle of the front door opening. “I’m not saying this again, you are always welcome. I’m not stopping you from visiting, your schedule is.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. Okay, I will look at flights after we hang up.”

  Gideon comes into view and his face, and her words, give me two reasons to smile from ear to ear. “Gideon’s back so I better go.”

  “Ditching me for a man. I see how it is.”

  He starts unloading the grocery bag. “I’m ditching you for ice cream and root beer. There’s a difference.”

  She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to hang up. “What are you two doing after floats?”

  How she manages to make such a simple question sound so suggestive is beyond me. “We’re putting together the baby furniture.”

  Gideon frantically waves his hands in a no gesture.

  I press my phone to my chest. “What? What’s wrong?”

  His gaze moves to my phone. “Is that Abby?”

  I shake my head and watch as he sags with relief, actually sags. “It’s Rissa.”

  “Thank God.”

  I’m thoroughly confused now. “What’s wrong with talking to Abby?”

  He pulls a tall glass down from my cabinet and scoops some vanilla ice cream into it. “If you told her we were assembling furniture she’d invite herself over to help.”

  I decide against asking why that would be a bad thing, afraid his answer would only add fuel to the fire Rissa started.

  Bringing my phone back to my ear, I tell Rissa, “I have to go. Text me whatever flight you pick.”

  My float is ready by the time I set down my phone. I’m close to jumping up and down when Gideon hands it to me.

  “Thank you so much,” I gush before going in for a long gulp.

  He offers me his hand. “Let’s do this.”

  Do this? Could he mean get together… physically? If I take his hand, is he going to lead me to my bedroom and make my body his? Vivid images of all of the things we could do start flowing through my mind, the first one with me ripping his flannel shirt off him, buttons flying everywhere.

  “Lucy?”

  I’d push him down onto my bed and trail my tongue over the defined ridges of his chest down to his abs before I’d move lower and...

  “Lucy?”

  I blink away my naughty daydream as heat rushes to my face. “Yes?”

  Gideon’s brows knit a line. “Are you okay? You spaced out there for a minute.”

  A minute, that’s all it was? If only I had a bit longer to imagine all of the things I’d like to do to him. My cheeks redden further. Can he tell what I was thinking? I’d never be able to look him in the eyes again if he could.

  “I’m fine, really.” I lift my glass. “I was in a root beer bliss fog.”

  One side of his mouth hitches up as his brows relax. “A root beer bliss fog?”

  I shrug, grateful I have a believable sounding excuse. “It’s a thing.”

  His smile widens. “For you maybe.”

  “What can I say? I’ve always been food-focused.” I slide my hand over my belly. “Especially now.”

  He lowers his hand and turns away from me, reaching into one of the grocery bags. “That reminds me. It looked like you were running low so I decided to restock your stash.”

  Trying to peek around him, I ask, “My stash?”

  There’s a telltale crinkle of plastic before he offers me what looks like five, maybe more, bags of peach rings. “Can’t have you running out.”

  Setting down my drink with a laugh, I impulsively launch myself at him. “Thank you.”

  Strong arms settle around me, all the bags of peach rings now pressed to the small of my back. “If I knew you would react like this I would have bought you some weeks ago.”

  I stare up at him. “Gideon.”

  He moves quickly, pressing one sweet kiss to my forehead, before releasing me to set the candy down. A second later, he has my drink in one hand as he leads me toward what will be the baby’s room.

  “Time to assemble some baby furniture.”

  From start to finish, I went from being in his arms to now walking down a hallway in
less than ten seconds. Had I completely misjudged the situation? Inwardly, I cringe. This is all Rissa’s fault. I never would have thrown myself at him if she hadn’t said all the things she did.

  What if I made Gideon uncomfortable? What if he only sees me as a sister to take care of? I’ve reached a new level of pathetic. Pregnant with another man’s baby and hugging a sexy single guy because he brought me candy.

  Gideon stands in the center of the room, and points to the one wall. “I think the crib will look good on this wall.”

  His words whoosh right past me as all of my attention is focused on the stunning wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room. “Where did that rocking chair come from?”

  From the corner of my vision I see Gideon move closer to me, but I can’t look away from the chair. It is quite possibly the most beautiful rocking chair I’ve ever seen, with its warm honey wooden color to its edges so smooth they catch the light.

  “It’s a gift.”

  Peach Rings are one thing, this is entirely another. “Gideon.”

  He moves to stand behind it, rubbing his hands across its curved top edge. “Do you like it?”

  Like is not the right word. “It’s too much.”

  His head jerks. “Every nursery needs a rocking chair.”

  I shake my head. “It looks handmade.”

  Moving closer to me, he takes my hand and ushers me to it. “It is handmade. Try it out.”

  I’m sitting before I have a chance to argue and it is without a doubt the most comfortable rocking chair I’ve ever sat on. “It’s too much.”

  Gideon leans over me, a hand on each arm to rock me. “Asher owed me one so you can stop worrying about it being too much.”

  What on Earth could Asher have owed for a chair this beautiful?

  He cocks his head to the side and gives me a smile impossible not to return. “You like it?”

  I nod, incapable of telling him exactly how much I liked it.

  Taking my hand, he pulls me upright and turns me to the opposite wall. “Good. Now, back to what I was saying earlier. I think the crib should go on this wall.”

  Standing beside him, I imagine it there. “Why this wall?”

  He steps around the pile of furniture boxes to move closer to the wall. “You don’t want the crib too close to one of the windows or on the same wall as the door to the hallway.”

  Makes sense. “What about the dresser?”

  “It could go on that wall since its height would partially block either of the windows.”

  Moving to the window that faces the backyard, I push aside the curtain. “I bought some low bookshelves I was thinking could go under this window, and then if I framed it with taller bookshelves on either side and put a cushion on it, it would be like a little window seat.”

  He nods approvingly. “You could even run it all the way to the corner and have the wall act as your border on one side.”

  As Gideon talks about how to arrange the nursery, part of me still wishes I could be experiencing this with Derek. This pregnancy, and raising our child should be something we would have faced together. Derek left a hole when he took off and today it’s harder to ignore. As hurt and angry as his choices made me, that doesn’t erase the fact that I loved him.

  “Now that we know where everything will go, what should we put together first?”

  He motions for me to sit in the rocking chair. “I’ll get started on the crib while you finish your float.”

  Classic Gideon.

  I don’t argue, instead I get situated and once I’m comfortable, ask, “Why wouldn’t you want Abby to help put stuff together?”

  He reaches for a box cutter and his biceps flex as he slowly slices through the packing tape at each seam. “I like it when it’s just the two of us.”

  Instinctively, I caress my rounded middle. “It won’t be just the two of us much longer.”

  He lifts his head, and I’m startled by how tender his expression is. “When the baby comes, I’ll like it best when it’s just the three of us.”

  My throat thickens and for a moment I struggle to catch my breath. “Gide—”

  “You’re in charge of the directions,” he cuts me off as he reaches into the box and retrieves a paper booklet with step by step instructions.

  Unable to think, let alone argue, I say, “Okay.”

  I watch as Gideon unpacks the entire box, carefully checking each piece before organizing them by size and how they’re labeled.

  As soon as he’s done, he smiles at me. “Okay boss, what’s step one?”

  Boss? I grin. “All right, using the Q screws, A gets attached to E on the right side and F to the left.”

  Page by page, I walk him through the assembly of the crib. It’s not until I’m done with my float, that he accepts my help.

  Sitting cross-legged, with the crib between us, I point and then hold up the booklet to show him the picture. “Those tracks are for the storage drawer under the crib.”

  Carefully, I watch as he uses a small drill to fix the track to one side of the crib.

  Once he’s finished, I ask, “Can I do the other one?”

  “Sure.”

  I scoot over to where I need to be and jump when he moves to sit behind me.

  He passes me the drill and makes a little pile of screws in front of me.

  Then with one arm on either side of me, he reaches around me to hold the track in place for me. Surrounded, not only by his bulk, but by his scent, his body heat, and even his breath, I fumble to hold a screw still enough to drill.

  After dropping it a few times, I consider giving up.

  He leans in closer. “You can do this.”

  I gulp and pick up the screw again.

  Narrowing my gaze on it, I ignore what a distraction Gideon is. This time, I don’t drop it. By the time it’s in, I’m relieved and exhausted from the effort.

  “One down, four to go.”

  I can’t quit now. When I turn my head to tell him that, I’m greeted by the thick column of his neck. Two inches is all it would take for my lips to reach him. Snapping my attention forward, I pick up the next screw.

  What took him a couple minutes, takes me closer to twenty. With the exception of his words of encouragement, he says nothing else. No complaints, no sighs of annoyance at my taking longer than he did, nothing.

  I’m grateful for his silent support. It’s another thing, on the never-ending list of things I like about Gideon Thompson.

  “Nice work. Ready to flip it upright?”

  I nod, figuring it’d be safer than opening my mouth, because lord knows what I’d say right now.

  Shifting onto his feet, before I can refuse, his hands go under my arms and he pulls me up. Both surprise and gravity come into play making me fall partly against him, my back to his front. His hands go to my waist, steadying me. “You good?”

  I look back at him and his nearness has me instantly regretting it and facing forward again. “Yes, thank you.”

  When I go to step away, his hands briefly tighten on my waist before falling away.

  He frowns once we’re on either side of the crib. “Are you sure you should be lifting anything?”

  His concern is sweet but not needed. “We’re only setting it upright. I promise. It’s fine.”

  He doesn’t look happy, but he nods. “Okay. On three. One, two, three.”

  I’m not sure how he does it, but he lifts it in a way that makes my side insanely light. Then, before I can do it, he’s picking up the drawer and sliding it onto its tracks.

  Moving to the closet, I collect the crib mattress I’ve been storing there since it was delivered. Even though my parents now live miles away, my mom has averaged at least one delivery of stuff for the baby a week. The crib mattress came last week.

  “Here, I’ll take that,” Gideon says, as if it was too heavy for me.

  Arguing is pointless so I surrender it, grateful for his thoughtfulness instead of annoyed by it.

  Once
it’s in place, Gideon takes a step back from the crib and starts unbuttoning his flannel.

  Catching me staring, he says, “It’s warm in here.”

  He’s done more physical labor than I have so it’s not shocking. Me, I was perfectly comfortable moments ago. Now, watching him strip makes me want to fan myself.

  “Want something to drink? I could get you a glass of water or make you a float.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Do you want to get started on the dresser, or are you wiped for today?”

  My gaze moves to his firm forearms. In theory, I do have enough energy to get through putting the dresser together. The thing is, if I admit that, it will cut into our nap time.

  My new favorite thing is to curl up in his arms, my cheek to his chest, and pass out for an hour or two in the afternoon.

  Faking a yawn, I stretch. “Maybe we should work on the dresser tomorrow.”

  If he’s on to me, he doesn’t show it. “Go lie down. I’m going to clean up in here and I’ll be right there.”

  Smiling to myself, I move to the door and pause to look back. It’s the crib I focus on, not Gideon. That’s where my baby is going to sleep. There have been many points during this pregnancy that have made it seem real. Looking at the crib is one of them.

  Over the next few weeks this room will become a nursery. The idea of setting it up is fun. It’s the panic that I’ll be doing this all on my own that sometimes overwhelms me.

  Gideon shoots me a concerned glance.

  Holding up my hands, I say, “I’m going.”

  My bedroom is only steps away, my bed a welcome retreat. While my job isn’t exactly labor extensive, it is tiring.

  Before my call with Rissa, I knocked out a marathon recording session. The more hours I can complete between now and when the baby comes means more time I can spend focusing on settling into motherhood.

  Tugging off my cardigan, I toss it onto a decorative stool at the foot of my bed before crawling onto my mattress. Gideon runs hot, in more ways than one. I learned early on not to wear extra layers during our nap sessions. Anytime I did, his body heat would make me sweat.

  As comfy as my bed is, I need him here before I can fully relax. Still, I close my eyes to look more tired than I am.

  His footsteps announce his arrival, then the bed dips as he climbs onto it. Four seconds later, I’m in his arms.