After that first night, their time together fell into a routine of sorts. The mornings were hardest for Simone. He was a decent cook, so he tempted her with light fare, anything he thought she would enjoy and be able to keep down.
Gradually, her color improved and she became stronger—strong enough to want to go back to work.
They argued ten times a day, it seemed. Him pointing out that she had a long way to go in this pregnancy, Simone insisting he was a worrywart. In the end, they compromised.
He’d been sleeping under her roof for seven nights when Simone revealed the real reason she was desperate to get back to work. While Hutch made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for both of them, Simone sat at the kitchen counter with her laptop and fretted.
“I’m in charge of this upcoming charity event,” she said, waving her hands. “It was my idea. I can’t let the preparations slide anymore or we’ll never be ready.”
He listened with half an ear, wondering if the rough weather that buffeted the windows would turn into a tornado watch. He’d been in Sudan when a killer storm leveled big chunks of Royal a few years ago. People were still antsy whenever the skies turned dark.
Simone tossed a paper wad at him. “Pay attention, Hutch. I’m trying to explain.”
He shrugged with an unrepentant grin. Now that Simone was feeling slightly better, she talked his ear off. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Go ahead. I’m listening. What’s it called again?”
“Nothing yet,” she grumbled. “That’s part of the problem. The invitations need to go out by Monday, and I have everything ready but the name.”
Royal’s hardworking charity organization, Homes and Hearts, was slated to be the beneficiary of Simone’s latest PR idea. When she fell ill recently, she’d been in the midst of planning a grand masquerade ball to raise money to build more houses for the homeless.
Instead of hosting at the Cattleman’s Club, Simone and Cecelia had cooked up the idea of christening the grand ballroom at Deacon Chase’s new five-star resort, The Bellamy. He and Shane Delgado had been inspired by the Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina, though their architectural baby here in Royal was hipper and more modern. Sitting amid fifty-plus acres of lush gardens, The Bellamy was lavish and expensive.
Simone had declared it the perfect location.
“How about Masks for Mortar?” he said. “Has a ring to it, don’t you think?”
Simone squealed and jumped off the s
tool, rounding the island to hug him enthusiastically. “That’s perfect, Hutch. Let me insert that line in the file, and I’ll get it off to the printer.”
“Don’t you need somebody else’s approval? I don’t want to be responsible if the idea bombs.” He was only half kidding.
“It’s exactly right,” she insisted.
While she futzed with her email, he shoved a plate under her nose. “Here’s your lunch, Simone.”
She nodded absently. “Put it right there. I’ll try a few bites.”
Leaning over the counter, he closed her laptop. “Eat now. Doctor’s orders.”
He wasn’t going to budge on this one. It pleased him to see her so happy, but she could easily get into trouble again if she didn’t make sure to nibble when her stomach was actually cooperating.
She made a face at him. “Dictator.”
“Shrew.” He grinned. Gradually, they were becoming less cautious with each other. It was a good sign, but he was pretty sure the détente was only temporary.
For one thing, Simone never talked about the babies. She let Hutch check her blood pressure twice a day, and she ate as much as she was able to. Other than that, there was no outward indication that anything was going on beneath the surface.
One afternoon a week or so later, she seemed moodier than usual.
He tugged the end of her ponytail. “What’s bugging you?”
“I’m almost three months along. When will I feel them move?”
Suddenly, he realized she was still fretting about the pregnancy. “Well...” He hesitated, trying to speak the truth without offering false promises. “Every day that passes brings you one day closer to a successful outcome. In a normal pregnancy, you’d likely start to notice the baby moving at five months.”
“But with triplets?”
“Could be sooner. Could be later.”