Pregnant Pause [H.S]

Chapter 9

The

Sometimes, when Fitz had an early morning shift and we found ourselves repeatedly bumping into each other as we readied ourselves for work, it was easier to shower together.

The morning after dinner with my father and his wife, Fitz showered with me even though she wasn't scheduled to work until noon.

I bent my head and let the water rain over my hair as she washed my back, and when she turned me around, I kept quiet and watched her eyes while she lathered my chest.

"Do you ever use my body wash when I'm not here?" Fitz asked, nodding her head toward the bottle she kept on the side of the tub.

I scrunched my nose. "No. It's flowery."

She shrugged. "Sometimes I use yours at my place."

"Do you?" I quirked a curious eyebrow.

"Mm hmm. It smells like you. Or you smell like it."

Lazily (albeit proudly), I smiled.

"But someone's been using mine," she continued thoughtfully, her palms running over my shoulders, "because the bottle is suddenly empty."

I frowned in confusion, and when her eyes darted to the wall in the direction of Niall's room, I snorted with laughter.

"He has smelled especially feminine as of late," I joked. "Like a blossoming orchard."

"Smell his hair the next time he hops out of the shower," she said. "If you catch a whiff of grapefruit and lemongrass, I've got my thief."

"Consider it done," I said with a nod. She raised her eyes from my chest to meet mine, and her stare sharpened when she realized I was teasing her. I cracked a relaxed grin, asking quietly, "The fuck is lemongrass?"

*

We ate breakfast at the kitchen table, located behind the couch and almost never used for meals because it was usually buried in a mountain of Niall's equipment despite my best efforts to keep it tidy. Fitz had cleared space for two of us by shoving half of his things to one side, though she needn't have bothered to make so much room – she waited for me to take a seat before plopping down sideways on my lap.

She was being overly affectionate and attentive because she thought I needed it, and maybe I did even if I didn't think so. Regardless, I let her be gentle with me because she needed to feel like she was caring for me. Similarly, she let me be emotionally distant because she knew I couldn't help shutting down.

"Are you ever teased at work for your immaculately ironed shirts?" she mused. Once she was satisfied that she'd peeled all the strings from her banana, she slid her free arm around my neck, her hand resting comfortably on my opposite shoulder.

Bringing a mug of tea to my lips, I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I think you mispronounced the word 'praised.'"

"No, no, I'm sorry," she was quick to reply, "for not fully understanding that a wrinkle-free shirt was a praise-worthy achievement."

Trying my best to suppress a smile, I leaned forward to take a bite of her banana just to spite her. As Fitz rolled her eyes in response to my obnoxious chewing, the table shook with the vibration of my mobile.

With a hand on Fitz's hip to keep her in place, I leaned forward and set my mug on the table to check the caller ID.

Dad, it read. Which meant Muffy. The real Dad never called.