Page 93

Wide-eyed, I gazed at him in shock.

Of course! Duh! I mentally smacked the heel of my palm off my forehead. My tattoo was a tribute to my niece and nephew. “What … wow. We’re having that conversation? In public?”

“I can use the word pussy in public, but I can’t ask about kids?”

Fair enough.

“I … uh …” Lowering my voice, I leaned into his body, using it as a shield against anyone who might try to listen in. “I thought about doing it myself. Having kids. Before you and I …”

Forde frowned. “So, you do want kids?”

I nodded uncertainly, hoping this quietly murmured discussion wasn’t about to blow up my relationship.

“Good.” Forde exhaled a slow breath. “That’s good.”

Relief expanded in my chest. “Aye?”

His warm eyes washed over my face. “Aye.”

“It might … I’m thirty-six. It might not be that easy if we leave it too late.”

“We’ve got options, right?” He shrugged. “I’ve heard you can freeze eggs and stuff and maybe we can do that until we’re ready.”

Surprised he’d ever contemplated that, I told him, “That can be expensive.”

“I have some savings.” Forde shrugged again, like it wasn’t even a question of him spending his hard-earned money on something as important as us starting a family.

Goodness, we hadn’t even said we loved each other yet.

That thought was like a cold splash of reality.

We hadn’t even exchanged those three little words yet and we were standing here talking about kids?

The thought of stripping away that last big piece of vulnerability terrified me. And I didn’t understand why.

I trusted Forde.

I was with Forde for real.

So why did the thought of telling him I loved him make my legs literally shake?

And if that was the case …. We so weren’t ready to be talking about kids.

“Okay,” the word came out a little shrill.

Forde relaxed his hold on me, brow pinched, as I quickly changed the subject to how Torin told me the lodges were fully booked until Christmas. “The hotel is doing well too. I still have a few things to collect for the lodges, though.”

“Aye?” Forde’s arm dropped from my waist as he turned to survey the room. “What stuff?”

I tried not to freak out about his sudden physical distance and prattled on. “I ordered these beautiful hand-knitted throws for the lodges, along with some pottery. Both are by this craftswoman, Rhona, who lives on the Isle of Kiln.” It was a tiny island off the west coast of Glenvulin and there were only six families living there. Rhona had lived there her whole life and was an extraordinary artist. She’d won a ton of prizes over the course of the years at the Highland Games and the Glenvulin Fair. Unfortunately, she no longer liked to travel over to us because she’d developed sea sickness in her old age, much to her frustration. “Donal is picking me up tomorrow to take me over.” I referred to Donal Macintosh, who lived on Kiln and operated the privately run ferry. Said ferry was now a small cabin cruiser after his old ferry packed it in last year.

“You’re going tomorrow?” Forde quirked a brow. “First I’m hearing of it.”

“Aye, I’m telling you now,” I replied with an equally snarky tone.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Why are you suddenly being crabby?”