Page 67 of Really Truly Yours
Why am I here again?
“You’re up early, Aves.”
The woman at the stove spins, smiling. She’s got hair approximately the same color as Gray’s, blue eyes, and a basketball protruding beneath a fuzzy, cream robe.
“Yeah. I suppose I need to get used to it.” She adjusts the setting on a burner. “You must be Sydnee.”
Hole anywhere? The woman is so pretty, even though she’s in a simple robe with a makeup-free face. I want to meld with the floor, me and my bedhead, stained shirt, and not-deliberately-distressed denim.
Grayson makes quick introductions.
“Hi.” I nod and return her wide smile, but my brain is tied up registering the massive, gorgeous, decked-out kitchen. Granite, stainless steel, and glass come together to make a picturesque yet inviting room. Oh, to cook in a kitchen like this.
Grayson squeezes my shoulder. “You two chat, or whatever it is you ladies do. I’m going to change.” He abandons me to his sister-in-law.
“Pancakes?” The lift of the spatula punctuates Avery’s offer.
I wave my hand. “Oh, no, that’s okay.”
She giggles, pointing to a plate I hadn’t noticed. It’s stacked high, looking like the leaning tower of…pancakes. “Please. This overkill has to go somewhere.”
I agree to take a couple off her hands. I also say yes to bacon, and she flurries about, preparing a plate, chattering like nobody’s business this early in the day. Once I’m seated with food in front of me, she offers coffee.
I shake my head. “I wish I could. It’s hard on my stomach, unfortunately.”
“That’s right. Gray said you’d been sick.”
Why on earth was he talking about me?
She leaves the remark at that, which is good, because discussing my illness and the way it leveled me makes me feel like an old-before-my-time, spinster cat lady, minus the cat.
Instead, I ask and she delivers a glass of water. She pulls up a chair after handing it to me and covers a cavernous yawn two-handed.
“I hate intruding on you like this.”
She waves me off. “Seriously not a problem. My lower back has started hurting so much when I lie down that eventually I have to give up trying to sleep and go do something. I’ll try to catch a nap later in the recliner.”
“When are you due?” I take a bite of pancake, closing my eyes when the sweet taste hits.
“December, and let me tell you, it can’t arrive fast enough.”
“That’s so exciting. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. We only got married last Christmas and planned on waiting a little longer. Oh, well. Things happen. I’m not complaining. I can’t wait to meet this little guy.” She rubs her tummy.
“Do you have a name picked out?”
“We do. Brody Mitchell Walker.”
I swallow another bite. “That’s nice. I like it.”
Her smile grows. “Thanks. Mitchell is my maiden name, but also, he’s named after two precious little boys I worked with last year. If it weren’t for them, Tripp and I never would have met.”
The tender sentiment stings. Other than possibly Donny or Sam, there really aren’t any men in my life I’d consider naming a son after.
The son I’ll never have, that is. Good men don’t grow on trees, and most of them would be out of my reach. I wouldn’t dare inflict any of the other men I know on a helpless child.
I dab the napkin to my mouth. “What do you do for a living?”