Do You Take This Baby?

by Wendy Warren

  While that wasn’t remotely true, it was flattering. And yet...

  I only want to be married to you.

  Tonight was more surprising and confusing than she’d dreamed it would be. One thing, however, was clear: Ethan was her husband, and she found him more multilayered and fascinating in this moment than she ever had before.

  “How can you say you’re not smart?” she asked, genuinely amazed. “You’re a businessman, you told me you helped design your house, and you strategized getting into the NFL. Then you won a Super Bowl with all that entails afterward—all the interviews and endorsement deals. I bet you’ve even spoken to heads of states. And nobody discovered your secret. I think you’re brilliant.”

  He gave her a “come on” look, but she saw gratitude and a glimmer of hope in his eyes. She had some information for him, too, and was excited to tell him.

  “Ethan, when I first began teaching, I had a student who sounded exactly like you. He was older than the others by several years, because it wasn’t until after high school that he found out he had a learning disorder. It prevented him from learning to read the way his peers had. Once he made the discovery, he was able to acquire strategies that helped him. He went to night school, caught up and enrolled in college. Even then, we had to make accommodations to facilitate his learning. He kept growing and acquiring new reading skills. Eventually, he became a master’s student.”

  “I saw the special ed teachers, Gemma. They tried to work with me when I was a kid, but—”

  “We didn’t know as much back then,” she interrupted, her enthusiasm mounting. “I realize it doesn’t seem that long ago, but in terms of specialized education, tremendous gains in understanding student differences are being made all the time.” Bounding out of bed, she grabbed her purse, found her cell phone and got on the internet. “Wait till you see this. It’s a documentary called The Big Picture. It’s wonderful. It even helped a colleague of mine realize why she’s had so much trouble reading over the years. We can watch it while we’re waiting for room service.” She looked up, delighted. “I know I’m talking fast. I always do that when I’m excited. What?” she asked, becoming aware he was staring at her intently. Not smiling. Not reacting to her good news. “Don’t you want to watch it? It’s really interesting. Richard Branson, the billionaire head of Virgin Airlines, is dyslexic, and he couldn’t...he couldn’t...he... Why are you staring at me like that? Why aren’t you talking? Would you say something, please?”

  Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “What are you wearing?”

  * * *

  The expression on his new bride’s face would have been hilarious if Ethan had felt like laughing at that moment. Unfortunately, he’d developed a pounding headache at their wedding reception. Talking to people who had known Gemma since her childhood had finally slammed home the enormity of what he’d done: he’d married a woman who could pepper the most casual conversation with literary references. A woman so well-read, she had no trouble shifting from one conversation to the next without struggle. Unlike the man she’d married. Ethan had stood beside his wife, exhibiting his aptitude for PDAs while she discussed the latest bestseller. It had seemed most everyone wanted to discuss books with the college lit teacher. And the crazy thing? Ethan realized Gemma’s mind was one of the sexiest things about her. Every touch, every kiss, had heated him up to the point of internal combustion, and when she talked books, he got so turned on, he’d almost had to excuse himself to take a cold shower in the middle of the reception.

  When they’d arrived at the hotel, and he’d first taken note of the bed, he’d cursed the day he agreed to ninety sexless days of marriage. Hopping into the hotel shower, he’d kept the water as cold as possible and tried to shock the desire for her out of his system. He knew damn well, after all, that he was the wrong man for her in the long run. All through the reception, he’d begun to feel guiltier and guiltier. Living in the narrow world of Cody and his needs, where it was mostly just the three of them day in and day out, marriage had seemed possible. Advisable, even. Watching Gemma interact in the larger world, he’d known damn well that she deserved better.

  When he’d emerged from the bathroom, she’d been shrouded in the sheets and blanket with only her head poking out, and he’d figured the ninety-day no-sex policy was in full effect, so whether to seduce or not seduce was a moot point. But then she’d leaped out of the bed, and his heart rate had leaped right along with her.

  “You look,” he said, forming words out of sawdust, “really good.”

  Gemma’s hands flew to her breasts. She glanced down at herself and quickly repositioned the hand holding the phone at her crotch, like a cellular fig leaf.

  “Elyse bought this,” she hastily explained. “She took the pajamas I packed out of my suitcase, and this is all that was left. I’m going to kill her when we get back to Thunder Ridge, but I can’t do anything about it now unless I sleep in my wedding dress.”

  So she hadn’t changed her mind. Ethan turned and walked to the closet. Pulling a T-shirt from the duffel he’d deposited on the luggage stand, he tossed it to her.

  Wasting no time at all, she slipped it over the brilliant garment her sister had sent along. He’d love to thank her, but lust and disappointment were going to make for a long night. His next move was either another cold shower, or... “You want to show me that video?”

  His suggestion met with a relieved nod. “Yes. Yes, that’d be good.” She glanced toward the bed, but they both knew watching the video in the king-size invitation to sex would be awkward, to say the least. Ethan walked to the sleek table and chairs provided for their convenience and sat down.

  “Ready when you are,” he said.

  She joined him, notably self-conscious, but still endearingly excited as she set her phone between them and tapped Play on the video titled The Big Picture: Rethinking Dyslexia.

  “Dyslexia?” He frowned. “Isn’t that when numbers and letters are mixed up or turned around or something?”

  “That’s true for some people, but there are varying degrees and different forms of dyslexia. The colleague I mentioned? She has no trouble at all writing, but reading is so challenging that she was only able to get through college by taking enough notes to practically publish her own textbooks. Watch.” She angled the phone toward him. “You’ll see.”

  He did see. As the video played, Ethan became riveted by the stories of talented people at the top of challenging careers, the kind of people he’d always envied, who had been abysmal students. They had been as mystified by their difficulties as he was by his. By the time the credits rolled, he felt as if he was awakening from a bad dream.

  “I can’t believe it.” He sounded as shocked as he felt. “Surgeons, executives...” Still somewhat disbelieving, he ran a hand over his face. “I thought I was just stupid.”

  Her touch on his arm felt cool and comforting. “Now you know the truth. It has nothing to do with intelligence. And it doesn’t have to limit you in any way.”

  Ethan shook his head, but in wonder rather than negation. Feeling almost shy, he admitted, “Funny thing, I always wanted to be a high school coach once I retired from the NFL.”

  “You’d be an amazing coach!” Gemma sounded like she loved the idea.

  His looked at her gorgeous, eager eyes. At her enthusiastic smile. “I’d never get through college.”

  She grabbed both his hands. “Can you see now that’s not true? You can go back to school. You’ll simply need the right kind of help. Ethan, I’ve known you a long time and even lived with you for a little while now. I know you’re intelligent. Your expressive and receptive language skills are absolutely fine. I’m a teacher, so you can trust me on that.” She gave him an adorable, impish smile.

  “I wouldn’t have any idea where to start.” But for the very, very first time, the notion of becoming a coach...it didn�
��t seem as crazy as it would have an hour ago.

  “I know some very talented special ed folks we can talk to, and of course I’d be happy to help. I mean, after all, reading is my thing, and I’d like to work with you. I’d love it, actually.”

  Ethan leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. Couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to ruin the moment or jeopardize the easy bond between them right now, but the way he felt this minute was how he’d have felt after winning the Super Bowl if he’d been married at the time. He’d have needed to kiss his wife to seal the victory.

  “You really think I can be a high school coach?” he asked, ignoring her surprised expression. “Maybe I should start with something smaller, like preschool.” He was fishing for another compliment, because hearing Gemma say she believed in him was as addictive as great sex.

  “You’d be perfect for high school. Think of the kids you could help on and off the field.”

  “Kids like me,” he acknowledged, the idea growing on him by the minute. His heart pumped on pure adrenaline as he realized one of the most awesome things of all. “I might be able to read to Cody.”

  “You will read to Cody.”

  They sat with their hands clasped on the tabletop, grinning at each other, the phone with its miraculous video lying between them. Even though he was pretty sure no normal bride and groom would choose to spend their wedding night the way they were, he felt a sense of hope and promise he’d never experienced before. Suddenly, this seemed like absolutely the sweetest way he could imagine to begin his marriage to Gemma.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next evening, they were home in Thunder Ridge, eating dinner together in the kitchen nook after they’d put Cody to bed. Ethan’s exhilaration and their easy companionship had lasted through a half day of sightseeing in downtown Portland, but they’d both been eager to get back to the baby. With the worst withdrawal symptoms presumably behind them, Cody was the kind of delight no parent wanted to miss for long. Even though they were not parents, per se, they were certainly falling under the little man’s spell.

  She enjoyed studying her husband tonight, too, as he finished the meal she’d slaved over...sort of slaved over. Holliday had gifted her with a book titled Your Dinner in Twenty Minutes or Less, and so far it had lived up to its claim.

  “Thank you,” Ethan said, setting his napkin beside his plate. “That was great. For someone who says she doesn’t like to cook, you’ve been doing an awful lot of it. Want me to take the helm tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” If he was cooking, she fully intended to take a front-row seat at the center island. There was a new lightheartedness that made her husband even more gorgeous. And, hello? Husband. Even if it wasn’t “real” in the most traditional sense, dang was it fun to say! She’d already emailed several of her colleagues to share the glad tidings and so she could type my husband. “What have you got in mind for dinner?”

  “I thought I’d treat you to a little something I tried when I did a photo shoot for boxer briefs in Costa Alegre, Mexico. It’s called salchichas y frijoles.”

  Gemma sat up straighter, grinning. “Holy ethnic cuisine, Batman. I’m impressed. What did you call it? Sal...what?”

  “Salchichas y frijoles,” he repeated in a perfect accent, wagging his head. “You’re such a gringa.” He had her practice until she could say it easily.

  “So what is it?” she asked.

  “Franks ’n’ beans.” He shrugged. “It was an all-guy shoot. And the wienies went down real easy with the local beer.”

  Gemma picked a cherry tomato from the relish tray she’d set out and chucked it at his head. “You realize, I hope, that you are now the wienie in this story.”

  Laughing, Ethan collected their plates and carried them to the sink. “Can I redeem myself if I tell you that our guide, who was a local, made the food and showed us how to add just the right amount of hot sauce, then smother the whole thing in crispy onions? And that it will undoubtedly be the best franks ’n’ beans of your entire life?”

  “We’ll see.” Gemma narrowed her eyes. “After that lame joke, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Rising, she picked up the tomato she’d thrown, then commented, “So how did you get in and out of airports and navigate foreign countries without Aunt Claire or someone else who knew your story and could help you?”

  “Foreign countries are easy.” He began to rinse the dishes. “No one questions a tourist’s confusion. As for local travel, Claire and I practiced a lot that first year. Any uncertainty that was left, I handled with my personality.” Glancing her way, he gave her a completely straight-faced appraisal. “You may have noticed I’m quite charming. Chicks dig that.”

  Walking around him to the refrigerator, Gemma began to dig through the veggie drawer.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Looking for a bigger tomato.”

  His laughter, rich and uninhibited, filled her with pleasure. A hug, at least, would feel so natural right now, but they’d been careful all day not to touch too much. Or she’d been careful, at any rate. Perhaps it had been easy for him to keep a physical distance. Gemma, however, wanted to get near him so badly, she’d have settled for moshing.

  Watching Ethan commandeer the sink, she felt the wonderfully cozy sensation she’d had growing up when her father would scoot her mother out of the way after dinner and take charge of the cleanup.

  “My dad used to say, ‘The cook never cleans,’” she murmured.

  “I remember. Hal would make us boys do the dishes, and he’d tell us good manners aren’t based on gender, so if we wanted successful marriages someday we’d better be prepared to get our hands wet.” He grinned at her. “Your dad’s a wise man. I thought we could have the ‘cook never cleans’ rule in our family, too.”

  The room took on a hazy, not-of-this-planet feeling. The sun was low on the horizon, streaming its waning golden light through the trees and into the windows. More than anything, though, the words our family wove a spell around Gemma. Mystical, intimate and exactly right.

  Their motives may have been different from other couples’, but saying “I do” had changed things. They talked about their immediate future now, their home. Their family.

  “So when do you want to start teaching me? Want to get started tonight?”

  “What?” Gemma shook her head, beginning to lose herself in the fantasy of what tonight could be like and requiring a few extra seconds to process his words.

  “I was just wondering when we should start the dyslexia workbook we bought at Powell’s today.”

  “Oh, right!” Making a stop at Portland’s famous bookstore before heading back to Thunder Ridge, Gemma had discovered several books she could use to help Ethan while they waited to hear from the special ed teachers she’d already phoned.

  “Sure,” she agreed, “we can get started.” On another occasion, her enthusiasm for the project would have been through the roof. Tonight, however, she wondered what normal newlyweds would be doing right now. Most likely having dessert, and she didn’t mean cake and ice cream.

  It wasn’t natural to live in such close proximity, fully licensed to have crazy, lusty sex, but continuing to sleep in separate beds. One thing Gemma knew for sure: this was the only time she was ever going to be married to a man who had scored an eight-figure contract to model men’s underwear. She could not be blamed if her mind wandered occasionally (every fifteen seconds for the past eight hours) to fantasies about what sex with Ethan would be like.

  “I left the books in a bag on my bed,” she told him. “Do you mind getting them and checking on Cody? I want to get his bottle ready for tonight.” And run around the center island a few times to burn off the lust.

  “Sure. I’ll finish cleaning up later.” He cocked a finger at her. “Don’t touch anything. Remember the rule.”

&nb
sp; For crying out loud, could he look any sexier? She swallowed with difficulty, then cocked a finger back at him. “Okeydoke.”

  While he was upstairs, Gemma prepared Cody’s bottles, then broke her word and made quick work of the remaining mess in the kitchen. Her buzzing body demanded more to do, and she was beginning to think a jog around the island might not be a bad idea, when she glimpsed the clock and realized Ethan had been upstairs for a good twenty minutes. Maybe he was having trouble locating the books. Had she put them somewhere other than her bed? Setting off to help him look, she heard his voice as she approached her bedroom. Slowing, she peeked through the door and saw Ethan leaning over the crib, talking to the wide-awake baby, who made sweet baby chirping sounds.

  “...so that’s why I focused on sports instead of school. I only know a few things,” Ethan told his nephew in a soft voice, “but I think they’re important, so listen up. First off, you can learn a lot from football. For example, being good isn’t good enough. You need heart and courage, too. And don’t ever stop trying. Ever. Remember, though, that you can’t win all the time. It’s more important to play well with others.”

  Cody blew a raspberry and pumped his feet.

  Ethan shook his head. “Okay, you’re right. That’s bull. Winning feels great. But you should also play well with others. And whatever you do, don’t be just a jock all your life. Even if you’re dyslexic, like me. I hear that stuff can run in families, and you might get that from me, but we’ll make sure you have help. You study hard and get an education, so you’ll have some options. ’Cause nothing lasts forever, you know?”

  Gently, he rubbed his knuckles on Cody’s tummy. “And that’s it. That’s what I know. Any questions?”

  The baby stretched out his arms.

  “You want me to pick you up? At night? That’s a change. I don’t know, I guess we could try. If it doesn’t work, we can always go get your girl. You like her, huh? Yeah, I know, you’re a ladies’ man. Come by that naturally, I guess.”