Spiral of Bliss 01 Arouse (33 page)

“Liv.”

I turn. Dean is standing by the door, looking every inch the man I have loved for so long. Dark, rumpled hair, a thick rugby shirt, worn jeans torn at the knee. Those beautiful, gold-flecked eyes fixed on me.

Without a word, he holds out his arms.

A cry breaks loose from the dark pit in my soul. I fly across the room to him, my tears overflowing when his arms close tight around me. I press my face against his chest as sobs wrench my throat and my heart shatters with relief.

He sinks to the floor, never loosening his hold on me, and pulls me onto his lap. The low sound of his voice rumbles in my ear. Tears spill down my face in unending streams. I clutch a fistful of his shirt and cry and cry and cry until my whole body aches.

His arms tighten around me, strong as steel and warm as sunlight. My mind empties of thought, and there is only us again, my body fitting against his, his grip on me unbreakable. All the heartache and fear of the past few months pours out of me, the wrenching torrent of a broken dam, until finally my flood of tears begins to slow.

Dean presses his mouth to my forehead and strokes my tangled hair away from my face. I burrow against his chest and exhale a long, shuddering sigh. My body quakes with lingering sobs.

He shifts and folds himself more securely around me, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

I’m scraped raw, torn in half. We sit there forever. Breathing.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“My foot’s asleep.”

His muffled chuckle brushes against my hair. We untangle ourselves, and he grasps my hands to pull me up. I work the pins and needles out of my foot before we move to the sofa, where I settle against his side, right into the place I never want to leave.

A deep, dreamless sleep pulls me under. I surrender, knowing I’m safe.

Dean is gone when I wake early the next morning. There’s a note on the coffee table saying he went to the bakery. I’m still drained and tired, but the fear has eased.

I push aside the quilt that Dean must have spread over me during the night. I sit up as the front door clicks open and he steps in. Our gazes meet across the room, somewhat cautious, but no anger or uncertainty shimmers in the air.

He pauses beside me, the scent of his soap tickling my nose, and brushes his hand against my cheek. A tingle skims through me at the touch of his fingers.

“You look like you need some coffee,” he remarks.

I manage a hoarse laugh. “Yes, please.”

“Coming right up.”

“Oh, what about Kelsey?”

“I called her last night and told her you were here. She said, and I quote, ‘It’s about freaking time.’”

We both smile, then Dean goes into the kitchen while I shove to my feet and head for the shower. I stand under the hot spray for a long time, feeling as if it can wash away all the ugliness of recent weeks. I dress in loose pants and a soft fleece shirt, then go to sit at the kitchen table with my husband.

We’re both relatively quiet as we have coffee and muffins, though we cast glances at each other from across the table. Just the sight of him warms my blood—his masculine features that are so dear to me, the strands of thick hair brushing his forehead, the way he picks up his coffee by wrapping his hand around the cup rather than the handle.

We exchange sections of the Sunday paper, commenting on news articles and local events. He reads the sports page. I read the entertainment insert. He refills our coffee. I clip a few coupons. He studies the stock market. I get a pencil and work out a few answers on the crossword puzzle, then pass it across for him to finish. We split the last blueberry muffin.

It’s almost eleven before we finally get the dishes washed and the paper stacked for recycling. Dean stands and stretches, his T-shirt pulling across his chest, then comes around the table to wrap me in his arms.

“Ah, Liv.” His body heaves with a sigh. “I miss you.”

I press my forehead against his chest. “I miss you too. Things sure got messed up, didn’t they?”

“They did.”

“We’ve done a lousy job trying to fix it.”

“Yeah.” His voice roughens with the admission.

I swallow hard and force out my darkest fear. “What if we can’t?”

Dean puts his hands on either side of my head and lifts my face to look at him. His eyes are serious but tender.

“We’ve done it before,” he says. “We can do it again.”

Fall seven times. Get up eight.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I whisper.

“You’ll never lose me.” He slides his hand to the back of my neck. “I want you to come home.”

I tighten my arms around his waist. A tentative hope spreads inside me, like a new, green shoot pushing its way up through a layer of ice.

“I want to come home,” I say. “And I want you to be here when I do.”

“I’ll be here, beauty. Waiting for you.”

Christmas Eve is cold and bright. A fresh layer of snow covers Avalon Street, and the sun sparkles off it like little jewels. Colorful lights twinkle around lampposts and store windows.

The Historical Museum is having a holiday party for staff and volunteers this afternoon, and Dean and I are going together. Though I haven’t yet moved back into our apartment, we’re both here getting ready.

I dress in a black, short-sleeved jersey dress with a scooped neckline that displays the cameo necklace Dean gave me as a first anniversary present. The pendant matches my cameo engagement ring, which I’m also wearing. I twist my hair into a ponytail and fasten it with a red bow, then head out of the bathroom.

Dean is knotting his tie in front of the mirror. He slides his gaze to me, and his eyes warm with appreciation.

“Very pretty.” He gives his tie a final pull, then comes over to press a kiss against my lips.

My heart flutters. He looks incredibly handsome in black trousers and a crisp, white shirt, the knot of his tie nestled against the column of his throat. I watch as he shrugs into his suit jacket, checks for his wallet, fastens his watch—all those easy, deft movements that have become so familiar to me over the years.

I think I’ve loved him since he first walked into Jitter Beans. Into my life.

He takes his car keys from the dresser and glances at me. A frown tugs at his mouth.

“Liv?”

Emotions tumble through me, riotous colors, light and shadows, fear and joy. I take a breath.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”