Wild Flower by Abbie Williams Page A

he was grinning, perversely teasing me. He decided, “I have to say, I’m pretty flattered.”
    I snatched a pillow and thwacked him across the head. He blocked my next shot with crossed forearms, laughing.
    â€œYou should be so lucky!” I bitched at him, and then contradicted myself in the next moment as I pretty much yelled, “ I’m not jealous !”
    He was almost breathless with laughter, and with disgust I threw aside the pillow and felt the absurdity of tears stinging my eyes. Before he could notice, I rolled from the bed and stormed, as much as a pregnant woman is able, to the bathroom. The slam of the door was particularly satisfying. Justin, attempting to sound contrite, called, “Baby, come on!”
    I heard Rae in our room then, asking excitedly, “Daddy, can you make pancakes?”
    Clint must have been on her heels, as he followed up with, “And bacon? Please, Dad?”
    I knew it meant the world to Justin that Clint called him ‘Dad.’ I had never asked Clint to do so; it was something he started on his own. Once, when Clint and I were talking not long after my car accident, my son explained that he loved Justin because Justin so openly loved me, and made me so happy. Just considering those truths dissolved my anger in a burst similar to an exploding firework. Even so, I soaked in the hot shower for a good fifteen minutes to calm down before joining my family in the kitchen for a breakfast of blueberry pancakes (one food item Justin could manage to prepare) and bacon.
    Now, twelve hours later, Rae was asleep in her toddler bed and Clint on his phone; I could hear the muted sound of his voice from behind his closed bedroom door. Lying on the bed, I slid my bare legs over the softness of our top sheet, luxuriating in the fact that most of the day’s humidity had dissipated. I had the bedroom windows propped open to the pleasantly cool air. I was not in favor of shutting out the sounds of the night, even if it meant keeping the air conditioner from running. We had a small bedside fan and besides, I loved the tinkle of the wind chimes strung at Rae’s height in our blue spruces, the peaceful breath of an occasional breeze, the sigh of it through the lush summer leaves. From our bedside table the trailing bouquet of honeysuckle blossoms that I had picked this afternoon scented the entire room with rich sweetness.
    â€œNo, I’m not hungry!” I called back.
    Seconds later Justin appeared in the bedroom and just like that I felt a jolt in my heart. I smiled in a lazy fashion at my sexy husband, who was still shirtless, his swim trunks riding low on his lean hips. The right side of his lips lifted in a similarly content smile as he let his dark, smoldering gaze travel down my body before coming back to my eyes.
    â€œThose flowers smell so good,” he said, holding my gaze in his. He leaned on his forearms over the end of the bed and caught my ankles in his hands. He slid his palms up the backs of my calves and tilted to kiss the inside of my left knee. His lips were warm and the lightning bolt in my heart zinged at once southward.
    â€œYou’re not hungry…at all?” he asked quietly. His dark eyes teased me.
    â€œMaybe just a little,” I allowed, my heart throbbing as he climbed over end of the bed and cupped my belly tenderly, smoothing his hands in gentle circular motions, as someone stroking a crystal ball.
    â€œHi, son,” he pressed his lips to my belly to say, before resting his chin on the crest of my rounded stomach and grinning radiantly at me. Love for him, and for our children, both the two down the hall and the one yet within me, struck me straight through the soul, and I berated myself silently for how I’d acted this morning. I reached to tuck a strand of his dark hair, even more wild than normal from the evening on the lake, behind his ear.
    â€œJustin,” I whispered, a catch in my throat. Outside, one