The Shop on Blossom Street by Debbie Macomber Page B

what you did,” he said. He loosened his grip on her waist and began to examine the mail, which she’d placed on the kitchen table.
    “After you left for work I went for another walk to that yarn store I found on Tuesday. Lydia said it wasn’t necessary until our class tomorrow, but I picked out the needles and yarn for the baby blanket. Just wait till I show you the picture! It’s so cute!” Carol rushed into the other room and produced a pattern and a ball of off-white yarn. “Isn’t this just perfect?”
    Doug stared at the yarn as if he wondered how she could possibly get this excited over something so mundane.
    “Don’t you see?” she said. “Doug, we’re going to have a baby! I feel so confident. This time everything will be different. Earlier in the week I was thinking I can’t endure this agony anymore. Everything’s been so hard. But all at once I have hope, real hope. Oh, Doug, Doug, we’re going to have a baby.”
    She could see that some of her fervor was finally touching him. “A baby,” she repeated, her voice quavering with emotion. She reached for his free hand and pressed his palm against her flat stomach.
    Doug’s gaze held hers, desire warming his eyes. He dropped the mail on the floor and wrapped her in his arms. Their kisses were passionate, luxurious. After several minutes of escalating excitement, he drew back slightly and caught her lower lip between his teeth. Familiar with her husband’s wants and needs, Carol slowly undulated her hips, stroking his arousal. She murmured words of encouragement, whispered lewd promises for him alone.
    Doug moaned softly and kissed her again. “You know what you do to me when you talk like this.”
    “I know what you do to me ,” she countered.
    He had her blouse unfastened and half off her shoulders when they stumbled into the living room. Arms entwined, they fell onto the sofa, giggling and eager now to finish what they’d started.
    “We’ve been married too long for this kind of crazy sex,” Doug said as he jerked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.
    “Are you saying you want to wait until later?”
    “No,” he growled.
    Carol didn’t either. This spontaneity was in stark contrast to the scheduled lovemaking that had become their norm. What had once been impulsive and natural was now as routine, as prosaic, as a doctor’s appointment. Their focus was on timing, on the effort to match her ovulation cycle, their purpose to achieve conception. Now, for the first time in years, their lovemaking was liberated—and liberating. Once he’d dispensed with his suit pants and Carol her slacks, she lay back on the sofa and stretched out her arms to welcome her husband.
    Doug lowered himself onto her and Carol closed her eyes at the exquisite sensation as his body linked with hers. This was the way lovemaking was supposed to be. She’d nearly forgotten what it was like to feel this urgency. Their purpose was love and hope, and they were drunk on their need for each other.
    With Carol’s arms around Doug’s neck, her fingers delved into his dark hair. She whimpered and arched to meet each thrust and gave herself over to the warmth and the joy of their lovemaking.
    They held each other for a long time afterward, savoring each moment. Neither spoke, afraid, she guessed, to disrupt the peace of this joining of bodies and souls. Their coupling was an affirmation of their deep-rooted love, of their commitment and their unwavering belief that one day they would be parents. Carol was sure. She’d been convinced of it the day she’d walked into the yarn storeand learned the project for the beginners’ class was a baby blanket. It was a sign.
    After a while, Doug lifted his head and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”
    Sated and content, she smiled up at her husband. “I love you, too. I think little Cameron’s going to be very happy with his daddy.”
    “Little Colleen, you mean.”
    “We could have twins, you know.”
    “Good, the more