Harry looked up from his crouched position where he was fixing the drop cloth when I walked into the room, and his eyes immediately widened. "I told you I'd get it." He was on his feet to take the box from me before I could set it down.
"It's only baby clothes, relax." I had to smile. I was just seven months pregnant this week, and we came out here to L.A. last weekend to settle in and get ready for the baby's arrival. Harry had been adorably concerned and fussing over me ever since.
I didn't particularly want to, but I had to admit that it was harder than I thought it would be—leaving home. Mom had tried to talk me out of it, so did Jenny and Will. Emily, to my surprise, was the only one who seemed to feel like it wasn't the worst thing we could possibly do. She understood that this was an important career move for Harry, and as long as we headed out here with enough time to get ready before the baby was born, she didn't see why it was a big deal. It wasn't going to be a permanent move, after all. We'd head back to New York as soon as filming was over.
And the family could come when the baby was born so that they wouldn't miss anything.
Anne had expressed her concern, too. She'd been planning to come to New York for the birth, and would come to L.A. if that's what we decided to do, but she thought staying near family was probably a good idea.
Harry and I took all of their input into account, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me a little nervous that their feedback was overwhelmingly in favor of us not going to L.A. But at the same time, Mom was supportive of the decision. She would rather we stay in New York, but she said she'd come stay with us for a few weeks after the baby was born out here if that's what we chose to do. Just to get us settled. Anne said she could come out to be with us for the birth, too, and it made her feel better that my mom could stay longer.
All of that made Harry less hesitant, but not completely gung-ho either. Still, I knew the fact that he'd even been entertaining the idea suggested just how badly he wanted to make it work.
So we did.
And now that we were here—now that my belly was bigger than I'd ever imagined it could get, even in all my fantasies about becoming a mother—well... I had to admit that all of it was a little more nerve-wracking than I'd been letting on. That maybe our families were onto something when they'd been so insistent we stay right where we were. Where help was available to us twenty-four-seven.
We'd spent the last week or so sporadically getting packages delivered from home, as well as shopping for the baby's room. All while getting ourselves the little accoutrements that we'd need for ourselves. Like a new coffeemaker, since the one Harry already had at the house decided to conk out on us our first day here. And a set of plates because Harry only kept exactly three dishes in this house—his excuse was that he was the only one who ever really ate anything here, except for the few times I'd stayed with him while we were engaged; I'd chewed him out then, too, but the situation didn't seem as dire as it did now. So we'd done quite a bit of shopping this week.
Towels, dish soap, regular soap, shampoo, new bed sheets, cleaning products, toilet paper... all of that and more, all things that weren't in the house, but would obviously need to be considering we'd be living here for at least the next six months.
And today was reserved for painting the baby's room.
Harry set the box I'd carried in down and shoved it beneath another drop cloth with all the other boxes, including the crib that we'd more than likely put together in the next couple of days.
Then we'd have to get the rest of her furniture at some point.
I blew out a breath then, a zing of nerves shooting through me as my hands went around my belly, just barely covered by an old t-shirt. My shorts were slung low beneath it so that a sliver of skin peeked out at the bottom.
"Alright?" Harry asked, his eyes coming up to me with a new concern in them that took me a moment to understand.
And again, I laughed. "I'm fine. Would you stop with the fussing please?"
His brows pulled down a snag, making him look just a little indignant. And even cuter. "I'm not fussing."
"You've been fussing since the plane landed."
When he caught my smirk, his lips pressed together, and he was sheepish when he muttered, "Sorry."
I touched his forearm. "Don't be sorry. It's sweet. But please stop." I gave him a kiss on the cheek to sweeten the sour bits of my honesty, but from the way he smiled, I could tell he didn't take it that way.
He bent down to grab a brush, and I admired his cute little ass in his gym shorts. His unruly curls were being held back by a headband. His hair was getting longer, curling down around his ears and at the nape of his neck. And he was shirtless, of course. He usually was when it was just the two of us at home. When I'd told him to wear an old t-shirt while we painted so that he didn't get paint splatters all over him, he'd only smirked and said, "Why would I do that when you can help me wash it off later?"
I hadn't argued any further, of course. I would never deny myself that view, especially since we'd be working most of the day.
Now, he smirked again when he caught me staring, his dimple deepening as he asked, "You checking me out?"
I loved when he was feeling playful. "So what if I am?"
He gave me a slow, steady once-over then, and I hated that I felt self-conscious of my pregnant body. I wanted to be one of those pregnant ladies who looked and felt like a goddess. Who loved being pregnant and reveled in my growing bump. And in so many ways, I was. Maybe not the goddess part, but the loving being pregnant and reveling part, definitely. Because I knew what my growing bump carried and nurtured, and I would never wish it away nor could I ever feel resentful of it. I would never be upset about what my body was doing, and I would protect this baby at the cost of my life if that was what it took.
But there was no denying it was affecting my self-esteem a little bit.
It had been getting worse and worse as my stomach grew, as my thighs jiggled more and more, and the rational part of me constantly reminded myself that I was growing a human being, for God's sake, and I should go easy on myself. But the irrational part of me—the part that wasn't used to having a stomach that stuck out to what felt like the size of a watermelon, or fresh red stretch marks all over her skin—felt myself dip my eyes when Harry looked at me like that, and reach my hands around as if I could hide it.
It was weird and uncomfortable, feeling so large, so unwieldy. Not to mention all the aches and pains I had now. My back, my ribs, my hips... the heartburn, the constipation, the constant peeing. None of it made me feel particularly good about myself, nor did I wake raring to go each day. But I did anyway, reminding that ridiculous, irrational side of my mind what the reward for all this would be.
What reaching this third trimester of pregnancy meant, what my body was doing, and the little life in there that it was not only growing, but protecting.
Which definitely made the huge belly and everything that came with it worth it.
With that said, my feelings about my changing body had nothing to do with Harry or what he thought when he looked at me. I knew he didn't have the same feelings about it because he'd never for a second let me doubt that what he saw when he looked at me was anything other than the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. In fact, when he looked at me the way he was looking at me now, it was probably the only time I felt sexy anymore.
"Shall we put this on hold and have a bit of a romp, then?" Harry waggled his brows suggestively, a paint brush still in one hand as he came closer to me.
I giggled and gave him a light shove before stepping around him. "No. We have work to do."
Still, the thought of it... Sex had changed a good deal for us these days. I didn't always want to because I was usually in some type of pain or just plain exhausted, but when I did want to, holy shit did I want him.
Like right now.
Imagining all the ways he'd taken me these last several times—holding me tight as he slowly rocked into me from behind, him pounding into me hard and fast on all fours, when I set the rhythm on top, able to watch every expression on his face as I rode him... It was enough to have my toes curling just thinking about it.
But sometimes, delaying the gratification was just as fun as the sex. And no matter how badly I wanted him right now, I knew waiting, watching him paint this room, would only ignite a hotter flame later.
Harry chuckled from behind me, giving my behind a light slap that had me turning around to face him with a surprised, but not entirely unpleased look.
And not entirely unaroused either.
This would be harder than I thought.
He only smirked some more as we took separate sides of the room, and didn't say anything more before lifting my can of paint to pour it into a tray.
"I've got this covered, you know," he said as the pale grayish lavender paint soundlessly glided out of the can, the thick liquid collecting in concentric circles that spread out, out, out into the far reaches of the tray. "If you wanted to rest, or..."
He trailed off, his voice uncertain. Like he was walking on eggshells even making the suggestion.
Maybe my moods had been a little unpredictable lately. And maybe I'd been a little too insistent that I could help him with everything involving the move. Maybe it was a way for me to convince myself that it really was the right thing to do—coming here—and not leave all of it on him after I pushed so hard for it.
Either way, my mood today was letting me see the humor in the situation, in the fact that I'd made Harry a little scared to try and do things for me, even if it also made me a little regretful.
So I grabbed his hand when he set the paint can down. And his green eyes were full of concern when they met mine—whether it was concern for me or for himself, I couldn't exactly tell.
Probably both.
"I'm fine," I said, feeling his fingers curl around mine. And I couldn't help myself, I reached up and let my palm skim up his stomach to his chest, landing in the dip between his pecs, where I could feel his heart steadily beating. "I'll take breaks when I'm tired. And if I feel like I'm going to keel over, I'll sit down."
Harry breathed a laugh, shaking his head, and let go of my hand so that I could reach my other one up to land on his chest beside the first. So that he could wrap both arms around me.
"There's no talking you out of this, is there?" he asked.
I shook my head, making myself smile up at him. "Not a chance."
My stomach bulged round between us, pressing into his tight stomach and slightly lower...
He didn't seem to notice, but I felt myself blush a little.
I was so big. And going to get bigger...
"What?" he asked, smiling as he gave me a little shake, as I stared down at the massive belly between us.
"Nothing," I said letting my hands loop around his neck, my arms straight out in front of me and still not bringing me any closer to him. "Just... I know we're bringing a baby into the world, and I know that she's going to change our entire lives in the best way, but I really can't wait until I can hug you normally again."
He chuckled, his eyes going down to my belly. "Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn't it?" His large hands came to my bump then, warming my skin through my t-shirt, and his eyes and smile went soft as he gazed down at it. "But I can't say I mind having her between us either."
My heart fluttered. "Me neither." I put my hands over his. "She's doing gymnastics today."
"I can feel her." His eyes met mine, a sparkle in the green. "It's so weird."
I smiled. We both loved feeling her move, and Harry's hands were on my belly more than they weren't when we were together—but Harry got this look on his face when he felt her... His eyes sort of glazed over with wonder, and his pink mouth went slack when it wasn't smiling, and even sort of when it was because it wasn't a smile so much as it was puffs of stunned laughter, and... And the way it made me feel was unparalleled. Even knowing and remembering the way he'd made me feel every moment of every day up until this pregnancy, I couldn't put into words the way this was different. The special and unnameable way my love for him swelled and changed and became something even more than it used to be.
I couldn't even imagine what it would be like when she was born. Seeing him with her every day. If this was almost too much, that was, without question, going to put me clear over the edge.
And like I did every time we had moments like these, I took one of his hands, and placed it firmly on one spot at the side of my stomach.
"This is her foot." She had it pressed into the stretched layers of muscles and skin now, as if she was stretching. Which was super comfortable. I took his other hand, "And this—" pressed his palm to the other side of my stomach, closer to my ribs "—is her head."
She squirmed then, bringing a fist to the front of my belly and scraping down. While I felt the thrilling, strange sensation I'd never get sick of getting excited about, we watched my shirt ripple with the movement.
Harry puffed more laughter, his hands still firmly planted on the spots I indicated, where I knew he could feel his daughter taking up as much room as she possibly could in my tummy today. She gave another kick into this palm that had us both laughing this time.
"I have a feeling she's gonna be a feisty one," Harry said, his eyes flicking up to me and back to my belly, his hands moving over the roundness of it fondly.
"Oh, no doubt," I said, then joked, "We're in for it."
Harry looked up at me again, his hands sliding around my back, holding me as close as he could. "With you? Can't wait."
It suddenly didn't matter that my belly stood between us or that my back ached all the time or that I had to pee again. My body went warm all over, and with our little girl stretched out between us, I'd never felt more loved, more excited, more at peace with our decision to come here, and with our little world.
Harry just had that effect.
"Right back'atcha, babe." I smiled up at him, my lips in prime position for the kiss he planted on them a moment later.
And when he pulled away, a pleased smile gracing that pink mouth, dimpling his cheek, he lifted his hand and gave mine a quick swipe with his thumb before backing away.
Neither of us said anything more as we turned to our trays of paint, but I couldn't chase away the butterflies he gave me for several minutes as we started putting paint on the walls. The feeling of being so loved, so understood, so cared for and important. It didn't help that I kept sneaking glances at him when I needed more paint on my roller—which was probably more than was necessary.
The muscles of his arms, shoulders, and back rippled and shifted as he pushed the roller up and down along the wall, leaving that pretty lavender shade behind. And the longer we went on, the more his skin glistened, catching the light in the dips of those muscles as sweat trickled over the planes of his back.
He'd finished an entire wall before I'd even made it halfway across mine.
And smirked when he noticed my progress—or lack thereof.
But he didn't say anything, only came over to help.
He started at the far end—the end I was so far from reaching. And from this angle, I could see the way his stomach moved as he lifted the roller and pushed it up, then pulled it down—up, down, up, down. The muscles of his arms shifted the ink of his tattoos, and he licked the moisture off his lips.
I tried to keep focused. Really I did. And I managed to meet him a little further than the middle of the wall.
Harry glanced at me when we stood side by side, when I could feel the heat radiating off him, and smirked again. And the look made me feel sweatier than I already was. Not the sexy kind of sweaty like him. My armpits were slick, and I could feel moisture collecting at the bottom of my bra. My arms were so tired they were trembling slightly, and I could feel sweat beading at my hairline, along my lip. One more glance at him had my skin positively flaming.
"Screw this," I muttered, setting the roller down, propped up on the tray, and reaching for the bottom of my shirt and yanking it over the top of my head.
Harry was grinning madly when I turned to look at him, and I did myself the favor of stepping out of my shorts as well.
"I dare you to say something," I said, challenging him to make fun of me. It would be at his own risk.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said, dipping his roller back in his tray for more paint. I returned to pick up mine, but paused when I noticed the splatters of paint on his glistening skin.
I bit my lip, my mouth dry.
It shouldn't have done what it did to me—the paint on his sweaty skin, peppered across the black ink of his tattoos, coloring him even more, I—I wanted to lick him. Even though ingesting paint surely wasn't good for me or the baby, I—
"Why don't you take the brush and go around the window?" he asked then, breaking the spell only somewhat. When he caught the look on my face though, he grinned again. "If you're tired, that is."
A challenge.
"I'm not tired," I asserted. But I took up the brush anyway, grabbing the stool we'd thought to bring in and plopping it down before the window, then plopping myself down onto it afterward. I wouldn't admit how nice it felt to sit. How nice it felt to be rid of my clothes save for my bra and underwear.
How infuriating it was that Harry was quiet beside me, pushing that damn roller up and down again and again, covering the wall with a perfect, precise coating of paint. I did my best to stay focused on my task. Dipping the brush into the paint and going around the edges of the window as carefully as I could. But my eyes—my traitorous eyes—kept wandering up to him, and by what had to be the twentieth time, I could tell he was noticing.
His smirk said enough, but he chose to say anyway, "See something you like, Mads?"
He didn't even pause. He wasn't even breathing hard. The asshole looked so good sweaty, while I felt like a glistening pig wearing a bra and panties.
So, rather than dignify his unnecessary, infuriating question with a response, I took my paintbrush and swiped it down his open side, from ribs to hip.
Harry gave a satisfying gasp, his arms coming down, his perfect stomach twisting so that he could see what I'd done—the perfect swipe of lavender paint down his side. I had to admit, I'd surprised myself with that move. It had come out of nowhere.
His green eyes were wide when they met mine—shocked, amused... vengeful.
I stood up, giggling maniacally, and backed away from him, holding a hand up to keep him from coming any closer, "Wait, I—I didn't mean—"
"Come here," Harry reached down for a second paintbrush, already wet with paint.
"No, c'mon," I begged, still laughing, panic and excitement charging through my vessels. "Harry."
"Just come here," he said, curling the fingers of his free hand to beckon me closer, all while creeping closer himself, wet paintbrush held at his side. The picture of patience.
I shook my head, breathless from giggling, and edged along the far wall, trying to keep away from him. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that. Please don't."
When he reached for me, when I only just dodged his grip, I let out a shriek that I hadn't heard from myself since I was a little kid, running away from Will or Mark when they were after me in a game of tag. "C'mon! Harry, don't."
I was almost out the door when I paused—I wouldn't put it past him to chase me out there, and I didn't need to be cleaning up paint splatters from the wood floors. So I darted to the far side of the room, knowing what was imminent.
"Please," I said, still giggling, panting so hard, I could feel my heart in my throat. I tucked myself into a corner as he neared, smirking, as certain as I was about what was about to happen. One more attempt to stop him, "C'mon, don't."
"I don't want to do this, Mads," Harry said, close enough that I tried to shrink into the wall more—but my ginormous belly was still protruding, close enough for him to touch. "But you've left me no choice."
"Harry, no!" I shrieked just as his brush came down on my bump, wet, cold, and smooth to the touch.
I opened my eyes, which I hadn't realized I'd closed, and stared down at my stomach, where a lavender stripe bisected it from top to bottom. As I stared, stunned, Harry brought the brush down again, bisecting it once more, this time from left to right.
When he brought it down one more time, pulling the brush down diagonally this time, my jaw closed in concession, and I stared at him instead of what he was doing—the smirk still on his face, his cheek still dimpled, his eyes shimmering with laughter. Once more, diagonally the other way, and I realized he was making an asterisk over the expanse of my belly, and when he was done, when he finally pulled back and looked up at me again, all I could say was:
"You done?"
"Just one more—" With a prideful grin, he tapped the paintbrush to the end of my nose.
I gasped, my mouth opening wide, and gaped at him as he began to laugh. And it was the first moment since he'd started chasing me that I realized I was still holding my own paintbrush.
I slapped it against his chest, and it made a loud wet noise as it landed, as paint smeared clumsily across his sternum and pecs. It was my turn to giggle now, because breathless, heart pounding, I knew what was going to happen and darted away from him, shrieking again when I felt him chasing me, as I dipped my brush into more paint, when he grabbed my arm and I felt the cold brush on my shoulder.
I didn't know how long we went after each other, probably only a minute or two, but by the time we were out of breath from laughing, from the thrill of the chase, by the time we collapsed into a heap on the floor, we were covered in paint. Looking at Harry, it was in his hair, all over his face, and there were quick stripes of it on his arms, his chest, his neck, his stomach.
And just from where his brush had landed, I knew my face was covered with it, that he'd gotten some in my hair, on my neck, my arms, and I hoped he hadn't ruined this bra. I glanced down at it, at my chest, smeared with lavender, at the spots on the pale blue fabric, and hoped it would come out in the wash.
Harry's hand reached for mine then, and he pulled himself closer to me so that our outstretched legs were criss-crossed, and hugged me. It was different on the floor. My stomach went down in the space between us, touching the drop cloth, and I was able to lean into him, feel closer to him than I had before. Close enough that I could feel the emphatic rise and fall of his chest, steadying and slowing by the moment; feel his breath on the skin of my shoulder, trickling cold down my back; feel the moisture on his heated skin, and his hands, warm and strong, on my bare back, tickling the knobs of my spine.
"Truce?" he asked, his voice and his heavy breaths against my neck sending a shiver down my spine.
"Truce," I agreed, finally catching my breath myself.
"Can't believe you slapped paint on me," he said through laughter, backing away to look at me.
"Well, you deserved it."
"How?" His grin was completely disarming, leaving me to wonder how the hell I'd gotten annoyed enough with him to hit him with my paintbrush.
"You just—you—"
He kissed me then, his hands cupping my neck, holding my head in place, and if I was struggling for words before, well...
"You were saying?" he quipped, his breathing a little shaky again.
My jaw worked for several moments, trying to bring words to my tongue, before I finally swallowed, steeling myself, trying to convince my racing heart to slow the fuck down. "You stink."
"So do you."
I could only hope that my stink was as appealing to him as his was to me. Still, I gave him a light slap and felt his chest rumble with a laugh. "You still deserved it."
Harry laughed again—the breathless chuckle I loved so much, when his eyes slid up to the ceiling like he didn't know what the hell to do with me.
"C'mon," he said, surrendering gracefully. "Two walls left."
He helped me stand, heaving me off the floor in a way that had him chuckling again and me feeling even more like a beached whale than before, but he pulled me right into his arms. Hugged me as close as my stomach would allow. Pressed a lingering kiss to my temple, then let me go, already heading back to his station at the wall, which was nearly finished.
I glanced around. There was paint all over the drop cloth now, splatters of it on the white walls, too, and it looked like some of it might have dripped onto the molding along the floor. I wasn't too upset about that though. We could just paint over it with the small can of white we'd bought.
Harry lifted his roller again and dipped it into the tray, working it back and forth until he was satisfied he'd collected enough paint, then placed it against the wall, pushing the color up and down, up and down, up and down.
I didn't let myself get worked up this time. I would have all of him later, when the work was done. So I just enjoyed the sight, just enjoyed the lingering warmth of his body against mine, the feel of his lips on my forehead, and the way he'd made me feel just now—like a little kid, a little girl who loved life and loved him, trusted him with everything in me. And I knew, in that way you just know about things sometimes, that this feeling would never fade, never go away, even as we did bring another human into the world. Even when we eventually decided to bring more into our lives after her.
I loved him that much. And I knew how much he loved me. I also knew that he would make our children's lives just as rich, just as fun, as full of love as he'd made mine.
He was already onto the next wall before I'd even thought to move again. And when I snapped to, I realized that baby girl was knocking around in my stomach like she wanted to join in on the fun—or maybe she was just telling me to calm the fuck down and stop jostling her around.
Either way, I put a hand to my belly, right over the drying paint Harry had left there, and smiled.
___
Author's Note:
I can't tell you how much I LOVED writing this one. I love, love, love when they're having fun, and writing a whole chapter of it was such a nice break from all the tension going on in H's POV, don't you think?
I really hope it made for an enjoyable read! I know I was smiling the whole time writing it. So, please let me know what you think! We're getting close to the end now, and I did NOT see this story even lasting this long, so ending it is going to be... rough, to say the least lol. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO LET GO SOMEONE HELP.
Alrightey babes, I'll end this one here. I hope everyone's well, and as always, I'm SO endlessly grateful to you for everything. Lots and lots of love. I'll meet'cha back here in two weeks. xx