My Perfect Fix (The Fix Book 4)

by Carey Heywood

  It’s a mistake to get this close to him. In the end, I’ll only get hurt. Snuggling closer, I decide to worry about that another day.

  15

  Gideon

  I pat my lap. “Come on. You know you want it.”

  Lucy bites her lip and looks away. “I’m fine. Really.”

  With a groan, I lean forward and wrap my fingers around one of her ankles. She doesn’t resist and I settle both of her feet in my lap. “You heard the doctor, you need to keep your feet elevated when they swell up like this.”

  I run my thumbs up her arches making her toes flex as she sighs. It’s ironic. She’s the only woman I’ve ever given a foot massage to and we still haven’t kissed. I’ll nap with her, rub her shoulders, back, and feet, but I’m not going to kiss her until she initiates it.

  Her shoulders relax, and she presses her cheek to the back cushion of her sofa.

  “Did you finish up your editing today?”

  When she first told me she worked as a book narrator, I assumed that was all there was to it. It turns out that’s only one piece. She also has to edit the files and format them to build in chapter breaks.

  Her lips tip up. “I sure did, and got started on another book.”

  I press harder into her arch and watch her eyes flutter closed. “Don’t overdo it.”

  She nods. “I won’t. I promise.”

  We both know she’s lying but I don’t call her out on it. “Have you decided what you’d like me to plant in the back flower bed?”

  Her eyes open. “I told you, you don’t have to plant anything more.”

  I’m a landscaper, it’s what I do. As soon as it got warm enough, I started adding to the already elaborate landscaping in the backyard. Now, there’s a baby friendly section perfect for the baby to learn and practice crawling in.

  There’s also new lounge furniture I convinced her was given to me as a discontinued display set. If it were warmer, we’d be out there right now.

  Even though it’s the beginning of May, the cool days still outnumber the warm.

  Lucy sits upright and pulls her feet from my hands. “I forgot to show you something.”

  She stands and motions for me to follow her. I do happily. Now, seven and half months into her pregnancy, you can just barely tell she’s pregnant from the back.

  It’s something Finley has voiced her annoyance over more than once, since she’s carrying her baby weight all over and not only in the front like Lucy.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She lifts her index finger and shakes it. “Not telling, it’s a surprise.”

  Stopping at the door to the baby’s room, she turns and presses her back to it, her face splitting in an exuberant smile. “It’s done.”

  When I see her smile, I can’t help but return it. Then her words connect and I frown. I shouldn’t be hurt that she finished the room without me. It’s a reminder that I not only have no claim on her, but no claim on her baby either.

  I was here yesterday. “When did you finish it?”

  She steps toward me, her hand moving up to cover my eyes. “This morning. Now, no peeking.”

  Her hand is soft. Her body is pressed to mine as she opens the door and leads me into it. It’s maddening how much I want this moment to last forever. I want to wrap my arm around her waist and keep her beside me always.

  Too soon, she moves away, dropping her hand. “What do you think?”

  Since I helped paint the room, and put the furniture together, neither of those surprise me. What’s done are all the finishing touches, the things that transform these four walls into a space full of her love.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Lucy decided against finding out the baby’s sex so everything is gender neutral. The walls are a soft sage green, the light wooden tones of the baby furniture complimenting it. The crib now has sheets on it, and a blanket with a patchwork pattern draped over one side.

  Above the crib, and in a border across each wall are a series of framed images from nursery rhymes. Hansel and Gretel, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Pied Piper, Little Red Riding Hood, The Three Little Pigs, and Old Mother Hubbard.

  There’s a small bookshelf already full of books beside the wooden rocking chair, a floor lamp on the other side.

  Lucy moves to the dresser and opens one of its drawers. “Look, I even washed and put away all of the baby’s clothes.”

  She takes out a onesie and holds it up to her middle.

  I move closer. “It’s so small.”

  Passing it to me, she says. “You think that’s small, wait until you see the socks.”

  Another drawer is pulled open and a tiny pair of socks appear and are given to me. I hold them up in wonder, amazed by how small they are.

  “Are you sure these aren’t for a doll?” I ask.

  She laughs as she takes both the socks and the onesie back and carefully puts them back into the dresser. “It’s hard to believe they’re real.”

  “You did a great job on the room.”

  Looking away, she replies, “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without you.”

  I try to cut her off. “That’s not tr—”

  Her eyes meet mine. “It’s true. Gideon, I haven’t been here long, but your friendship means so much to me.”

  As she speaks, her voice trembles.

  “Come here,” I say, pulling her into a hug.

  She continues to speak, this time with her forehead pressed to my collarbone. “You’re my best friend, and if you tell Rissa I said that she might bury you in a shallow grave somewhere.”

  There’s truth to her words, Rissa seems territorial. “I’ll tread lightly.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m nesting or overcompensating because I’m scared.”

  My arms tighten around her. “It’s okay to be scared. Hell, even Finley is freaking out and she’s one of the bravest people I know.”

  She pulls away, discreetly dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I need to start the next chapter of the book I’m narrating.”

  Here’s my chance. “Can I listen? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

  Pursing her lips, she squints at me while she makes up her mind.

  I clasp my hands and silently beg.

  She shakes her head and points at me. “One peep and I’m kicking you out.”

  Giving her a salute, I say. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

  Waving her hand, she motions for me to follow her. We stop in the kitchen for her to get a glass of water.

  “Do you want anything?” She asks.

  Worried I’ll inadvertently gulp loudly I shake my head.

  “You have to also promise you won’t look at me.”

  I wasn’t expecting that condition. “Why can’t I look at you?”

  She shrugs. “I get nervous when people listen.”

  I’m nervous and she’s the one who’s doing it. “Fair enough.”

  Once we’re upstairs, I slump onto her giant beanbag and focus my gaze on the skylight while she gets situated.

  “Okay, I’m going to start recording now, but there will be a delay before I start talking.”

  Lifting my hand, I give her a thumb’s up.

  I listen as she takes a drink of her water before setting her glass back down. There’s silence, and then she speaks.

  “Chapter 12

  McKenzie

  I peer over Mitch’s shoulder to see Rachel standing there, her mouth hanging open at the sight of us on his bed.

  ‘Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I’ll just go,’ she shouts, turning on her heel and running back up the stairs.

  I faceplant into Mitch’s chest and laugh. It takes me a moment to notice he isn’t laughing. In fact, he seems stiff and tense. I lift my face to look at him, my cheeks heat as I remember what we were doing before Rachel interrupted us.

  His face is hard, his eyes no longer melting with desire. I move to press my lips back to his but he pulls away.

  ‘No,’ I snap. �
�You don’t get to go all cold on me now.’

  He closes his eyes but instead of moving farther away, he tucks his face into my neck and coils his arms around me. I soften against him circling him with my arms. I’m not sure why he kissed me, I’m certain though that it won’t be the last time, if I have anything to say about it. It was the best first kiss… scratch that, the best kiss I have ever had.

  I rest my cheek against his temple. ‘How did you know I was in trouble?’

  He starts to pull away. I move my hands to frame his face when he doesn’t answer. ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I’ll stop asking.’

  I pause and press my forehead to his. ‘He was going to hurt me,’ my breath hitches, ‘he used to hurt me when we were together.’

  I pull my face back and slide my thumbs back and forth over his cheekbones. ‘Thank you for saving me,’ I suck in air, and wetness hits my eyes. ‘I’m so sorry you got hurt.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he whispers, moving forward to kiss away the first tear that spills from my eyes, and then the next.

  ‘Even from the first night I met you, even though you look scary.’

  His lips tilt up at this and I continue, ‘somehow I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.’

  His eyes close briefly before he opens them and nods, the look in them filling my belly with warmth.

  ‘You won’t will you,’ he looks confused so I keep going, ‘ever hurt me.’

  I answer for him, ‘you’ll keep me safe.’

  He pulls me tightly into his arms and kisses my forehead. I settle against him, exhausted from our earlier activities and then our conversation and fall fast asleep.

  ‘McKenzie.’”

  It’s impossible not to get lost in her narration. Everything from her voice, to the way she emphasizes certain words, draws a listener in. Even though I jumped in at the middle, I’m already sucked in. I want to know more about these characters and what he’ll keep her safe from.

  Questions I can’t ask because I’ll interrupt her if I do. Staying quiet is harder than I expected it to be.

  Minutes go by and I’m pulled deeper into the story. When she stops recording, I remain still, waiting for the go-ahead to move or speak.

  She takes a long drink of her water before saying, “What do you think?”

  With permission, I bolt upright. “I need to know what happens next.”

  Covering her mouth as she laughs, she shakes her head. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  I nod, only making her laugh more. “That’s it for me today, my throat is getting scratchy so I don’t want to overdo it.”

  “Have you ever lost your voice?” I ask.

  Bringing her water with her, she moves toward me. “A couple of times before I got smart about recognizing when I need to rest my voice.”

  I awkwardly stand, learning there’s no easy way to get out of a giant beanbag. “Is it okay to talk now?”

  She lifts her water. “I’m fine, I just need to hydrate.”

  I follow her back downstairs and watch as she eases herself onto her sofa.

  “It feels good to lie down. I try to sit right, but my posture is crap while I record.”

  Reclaiming my earlier seat, I meet her gaze. “I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t allowed to look at you.”

  She pushes her foot into me, lightly kicking me. “Trust me. It was bad.”

  Rubbing the spot where she kicked, I don’t argue. “Anything else on tap for today?”

  Fidgeting with her hands, her focus drops to them. “I was going to, well, never mind.”

  She’s being shy about something.

  Tugging on one of her feet, I say. “Come on, spit it out.”

  Her hands move to cover her face, the telltale pink of her blush framing them. “It was nothing.”

  The fingers of my hand curl into tickle mode as my grip tightens around her ankle. “Want me to tickle it out of you?”

  Laughing, she tugs at her foot as she shakes her head. “Please no.”

  Lifting my tickle ready hand higher, I impersonate a vampire puppet from the kids show I watched growing up. “Ah, ah, ah. I vont to know vhat you vere going to say.”

  Still laughing, she continues to shake her head and uses her other foot to push at my hand. I only move my tickle ready hand closer.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.”

  I release her ankle, and she pulls both of her legs in while she catches her breath.

  Not talking fast enough, I make to reach for her ankle again.

  Holding out her hand to stop me, she says, “Will you help me do a plaster mold of my belly?”

  Dropping my arm, I blink at her. “A what?”

  Sitting up, she gestures with her hands. “My mom sent me a kit. I read the directions and don’t think I can do it by myself.”

  I sit up as well. Even though I’m still not sure what it is, I can’t ignore the way her eyes light up talking about it.

  “Of course I’ll help you with it. Why were you even nervous about asking?”

  Her earlier blush returns and she looks away. “It’s a weird thing to ask for help with.”

  “That’s not what I meant. It doesn’t matter what it is, you never have to be nervous to ask for my help with anything.”

  Her face turns, her eyes on me. They’re brimming with tears.

  Moving closer to her, I pull her into a hug. “Why are you crying?”

  She sniffles against my neck. “You’re so nice to me.”

  I resist shaking her. “You’re my favorite person. Being nice to you is a given.”

  Lifting her face, she says, “I’m your favorite person?”

  Brushing my thumb across her cheeks, I wipe her tears away. “You didn’t know that?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Want to hear who my second favorite person is?”

  Instead of answering, she gulps.

  I place my hand on her belly. “This little guy or gal.”

  Her lips part. “Gideon.”

  Neither of us says anything for a couple minutes while my words sink in. Then, not wanting her to feel pressured, I take her hand and stand. “Where are we doing this mold thing?”

  When she doesn’t answer the abrupt subject change of my question, I say, “How about the kitchen?”

  She nods and I help her up. On our walk to the kitchen, I keep her hand in mine.

  It’s Lucy who lets go first. “Let me grab the kit.”

  Leaning up against the counter, I wait for her to return.

  She comes back carrying a big box and I move into action to take it from her. “I could have carried it.”

  Once I have it, she smirks at me. “It weighs next to nothing.”

  In my defense, it looked a lot heavier than it is. “How does this work?”

  She fishes into the box for the directions and holds them up for me to read. Like she said, they seem straightforward.

  Setting the box down, I reach for the sheet. “Did you want to change?”

  She glances down. “These pants are good. It’s okay if they get dirty.”

  “I’ll grab a bucket for the mix.”

  Pulling a measuring cup from a cabinet, she says, “Sounds good.”

  Once we have everything we need, I work on mixing the mold solution with water, while she takes off her shirt and begins smoothing the skin protectant all over her middle.

  She’s wearing the equivalent of a sports bra, something I’ve seen hundreds of times at the gym. That doesn’t stop me from staring. It’s the most skin I’ve ever seen of Lucy. With her pregnancy, her body has changed in many ways. One of them being the size of her breasts.

  I was attracted to her from the first time I saw her, and that attraction has only grown as she has. I want nothing more than to uncover more of her skin and take my time exploring all the ways I can bring her pleasure.

  My eyes drop to the mold solution. Here she is wanting to memorialize her pregnancy, and I’m fantasizing about undressing her.
r />   “I think I’m all gelled up. How does it look? Did I miss any spots?”

  Her skin gleams in the most tempting way and she expects me to be able to tell if she missed a spot?

  I swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat and focus on the task at hand, confirming all her skin is coated.

  “Ready to rub goop all over me?”

  I cough and decide nodding is the safest way to answer any question about me rubbing anything onto her.

  She points to the pile of supplies. “You’ll need to wear those gloves.”

  It’s a shame we won’t be skin to skin, but given where my head is, it’s probably for the best.

  After sliding the gloves on, I move to stand in front of her. “Where would you like me to start?”

  She covers her face. “This is weird, right?”

  It’s something all right.

  “It’s not weird. It’s cool and you’re going to have an awesome keepsake.”

  Lowering her hand, she says, “Anywhere is fine.”

  Dropping to my knees, I reach into the bucket and grab a handful of the mold solution.

  The second it touches her skin, her hands grip my shoulders. “Man, that’s cold.”

  I glance up at her. “I’m not sure if we can warm it up.”

  She nods. “I’ll be fine, keep going.”

  In silence, I work, carefully smoothing the solution over her rounded belly.

  “When I first found out I was pregnant, I thought my world was ending. It’s crazy that here I am months later wanting to remember parts of it forever and so excited about becoming a mom.”

  Yes, it’s crazy how quickly things can change.

  16

  Lucy

  He’s on his knees in front of me, his hands moving confidently over my skin. When I’ve allowed myself to dream of this moment, he wasn’t touching me to make a mold of my belly. No, in my dreams his arms would be wrapped around me while his lips were pressed to mine.

  My fingers tighten on his broad shoulders.

  He stills. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I gulp. “Keep going. We’re almost done.”