On the drive back from the baby store you're tired enough to fall asleep but too happy to shut your eyes. Instead you find yourself gazing at Simon, strangely mesmerized by the way he's concentrating on the road, his hands smoothing the steering wheel into every turn.
When he catches you looking, he smiles warmly and you realise right there and then that you're in love with him. It's not a question anymore, it's not something that might happen, it's something that's been happening since the moment he forgot to knock on your door.
"Are you okay?" he asks as if he can read the very thoughts whizzing around your head but you say nothing, your mouth hanging open, your throat feeling dry enough to choke you.
Without your answer Simon goes back to looking at the road, his brow perplexed but not enough to warrant further enquiry. Afterall, you are okay, you're not ill and from the outside nothing has changed in the past few minutes.
When he reaches for the can of rootbeer that sits between you, you snatch it from his hand, gulping it down and relishing the way the bubbles burn your throat as you try to ignore your new found feelings.
"Thirsty?" he says, giving you an odd look and still you don't reply. In fact, you don't say a single word until the truck is parked within the Sanctuary's walls and Simon's handing you a stack of baby blankets, asking, "can you manage those?"
"Yes," you whisper, clutching them to your chest and biting back the tart response you would have usually given him for such a silly question. You might be feeling sheepish and have no idea how to actually act around him but you're not so ridiculous that you can't handle three baby blankets.
Thankfully Simon seems to be oblivious as he bends into the truck to slide out your new flat pack crib. The box is large yet he throws it onto his shoulder like it's filled with helium rather than wood leaving you thinking two things. One, you wouldn't mind him throwing you onto his shoulder and two, how the hell is this going to fit into your shoebox sized room?
"I'm not sure I have the space for all of this," you say as you begin to follow behind him and as usual Simon seems to have the perfect solution.
"You and the baby can have my room," he insists, not missing a beat and leaving you to wonder if he's already thought about the arrangement.
For several paces you chew your lip, feeling weird about kicking him out of his own room while simultaneously imaging yourself lounging on his sofa, sleeping in his bed. "I don't know…"
"It makes sense," Simon shrugs, once again defying gravity and proving that his biceps aren't just for staring at even if that's exactly what you've been doing since he started carrying the box.
When you eventually arrive at his room, or your room, Simon kicks open the door and sits the box next to the bed while you flop onto the sofa with an unladylike grunt.
"Make yourself at home," he winks, leaving you blushing as he quickly stashes some dirty clothes into his hamper and moves coffee cups from various surfaces to the kitchenette.
"I didn't take you for a slob," you tease, battering down some of the tension that's being borne from nothing but your own mind, and Simon pauses his hasty tidying, laughing softly.
"I've been preoccupied… turns out trying to make you happy is a full time job."
"You're good at it," you say without really thinking, and you don't regret your words,even if they leave you feeling more vulnerable than you would like.
Simon glances at his boots, his face unreadable, "you stay here, relax, I'll uh... get Fat Joey to help me bring everything in."
You don't even have chance to say 'okay' before he's hurrying from the room, leaving you to slump even further into the sofa with a frustrated sigh. You're not sure what you wanted Simon to say, just that you wanted more. It might be selfish but for the last time you need him to make the moves you're too afraid to do on your own.
When you hear the telltale sound of Simon and Joey returning you squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to snooze to avoid the prospect of saying something completely insane like 'I love you'. You just don't count on how good it feels to have your eyes closed and it isn't long before you're curling up on your side and actually falling asleep.
When you wake up you're covered in his quilt and the room is stacked with baby supplies, Simon sitting in the middle of it all with a screwdriver and a look of determination.
"I hope you don't mind me getting started on this?" he says, gesturing to the half built crib when you start to sit up.
You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair to flatten it back down. "She's your daughter too."
Simon's smiles, nodding towards your feet, "can you hand my that long bit?"
"This?" you question, your hand resting on the most likely piece of wood.
Simon nods, reaching out for you to pass it to him before his concentration returns to the crib. You watch him for a while, noting that he isn't bothering to read the instructions and thinking that he'd get it finished a lot quicker if he did but you don't mind. This is nice. So nice that you don't want it to end.
"Are you hungry?" you say, realising that he's almost finished and that when he has there will be no reason for him to stay.
"Starving," Simon replies, carefully holding a screw between his teeth.
"I have some food in my room. I could bring it here…"
His gaze flicks to you, his puppy dog eyes making your head swim. "If that's what you want..."
You smile brightly, too brightly. All teeth and no words. You can't remember the last time you felt this nervous. You know you're not acting like you usually would but you can't help it. You've forgotten what it felt like before you knew you loved him and now you feel like you might burst. But not enough to actually say the words, saying them would be far too real and you're not sure you're ready for that.
When you return with food you decide to knock on the door, creating boundaries when all you want to do is shed them.
"Hey," Simon says when he answers and it's just one word but you have butterflies and that cheesy grin is back on your face.
"Hey," you say, noting that he's changed his shirt and wondering if you should have changed yours, not that you have many options.
"Let me get that," he insists, taking the box of food from your arms and standing aside so you can enter.
While you've been gone he's stacked the baby stuff a little neater, there's soft music playing in the background and the faint smell of cologne as you brush past him.
"So what'cha cooking good looking?" he teases, waggling his eyebrows as he drops the box onto the kitchenette.
You laugh nervously, "just don't get your hopes up."
"Too late," Simon replies, making your heart beat in time with the butterflies whizzing around your stomach.
You wonder if this dinner was really a good idea, then you wonder if telling him how you feel will be a good idea and yet again your throat is dry.
You pour a glass of water, draining it down and focusing your mind on dinner. You hadn't made any plans on what to cook and truthfully you were never great in the kitchen, making this idea just one bad idea in a long line of bad ideas.
"Simon?" you say, contemplating blurting it out rather than forcing you both to endure what you feel like is going to be an awkward dinner.
"What?" he says, looking directly at you.
"Nothing." What were you thinking? Literally nothing could be more awkward than talking about your feelings.
But this time he doesn't ignore the weird way you're acting. "Are you okay?" he says and you know you can't get away without answering.
"Yeah, I don't know, I think the hormones are making me a little crazy." Sure, blaming the baby is an excellent idea.
Simon smirks, "I'm pretty sure you were crazy before."
"Hey," you scold, backhanding him across the chest, your heart dancing to the way he starts to laugh and somehow you feel more relaxed.
"You know I read the baby is about the size of a sweet potato," he says, grabbing one from your box.
"Really? Then why do I look like I'm hiding an entire sack of them under here?" you joke, pointing to your belly.
"I think you look beautiful."
You freeze, your reply taking too long to form, leaving tension to fill every inch of the room before you finally blurt, "you know I'm not paying you to say these things?"
Simon doesn't laugh, he shifts from foot to foot, an agitated hand running through his hair. "I should probably go," he mumbles.
"But..." your stomach plummets while you try to think of what to say, "we haven't even started dinner."
"I don't think I can," he says, barely looking at you as he starts to grab some clothes from his dresser, "maybe some other time."
"But this is your room," you plead, hating the shrillness in your voice.
"It's yours now. I'll come by tomorrow to get the rest of my clothes."
"I don't want you to come by tomorrow!" You practically shout, stopping him in his tracks, his hand slipping from the door handle.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks, turning t0 face you. "Because I'm trying my goddamn best to give you what you want but in moments like these I just don't understand why... why we can't be together!"
You'd wanted him to make a move but somehow this comes as a surprise and you're unprepared. You could say nothing or you could say everything. Regardless, you differ on your decision for so long that he starts to leave again.
"You don't understand," you say quickly, tugging his bundle of clothes from his hand and letting them fall to the floor. "I don't want you to come by and collect your clothes tomorrow. I want you to stay here and… I want to stay here too."
It feels like eternity before Simon speaks, his eyes boring into you, "what exactly are you saying?"
"You know what I'm saying."
Simon scoffs, looking you up and down, "do I? Maybe I need you to say something a little bit more concrete."
You look away, you heart thudding in your ears, one part of you desperate to tell him more the other part of your cringing at the prospect of it. "Like what?"
"That's cute," he says sarcastically. "But if you can't say more then I can't stay."
You glance back at him, words almost on the tip of your tongue before you swallow them back down. "I really don't like ultimatums."
"Well I don't like having no damn idea what's going on inside your head so here we are…"
You pause, collecting your thoughts. "I think that maybe, I might... have some feelings for you…"
Simon contains his reaction but you can almost see the twitch of a smile as he asks, "what feelings?"
"Are you hell bent on torturing me?" you snap, your temper flaring and forgetting this might have been a nice moment.
Simon laughs, "maybe I am. Maybe it's nice to see you enduring some of what I've had to endure every second I've spent with you since the first day I met you."
Your temper simmers down, you don't want to fight him even if part of you enjoys it.
"I love you," he says without any hesitation, "and I think what you're trying to say is you love me too."
You snort, feeling equal parts elated and terrified, "that's a pretty bold statement."
Simon cups your cheek, his hand rough and warm, "so tell me I'm wrong."
You lick your lips, wanting him to kiss you, "you're not..."
Then without another word he does it. He presses his lips to yours and it's exactly what you've been wanting since the last time he kissed you. You kiss him back eagerly, rolling onto your tiptoes, your hands sliding around his neck to pull him closer. He tastes faintly of rootbeer and entirely of Simon. Home and masculinity, so moreish you could live inside the kiss for eternity if you didn't have to take a breath.
When you fall on the bed together it's careful, this giant man trying his best not to squish you while you urge him closer. "You don't have to be gentle with me."
"I do," he says, caressing your swollen bump before pulling off your shirt and kissing your belly button.
With a contented sigh you resign yourself to the gentleness, relaxing while he explores your new curves. Even if this isn't the hard and fast rhythm you've been craving you can't deny how good the glide of his tongue and the bristle of his moustache feel against your skin as he finds all the right places.
When he removes your bra your nipples are already tightened and the flick of his tongue has heat throbbing all the way to your clit making sure you're now feeling anything but relaxed.
You grasp at the buttons of his shirt, pulling them open excitedly until your fingers are stroking across the hard tanned lines of his body and tangling in the soft hair on his chest. "I need you," you whisper and Simon smiles, kissing your cheek before he kneels between your thighs.
"I don't wanna rush this, I wanna enjoy having you in my bed," he says, slowly unfastening your jeans and carefully sliding them down yours legs, peppering you with kisses as he does it. Usually you'd curse yourself for wearing granny panties but Simon doesn't seem to mind, the way he looks at you remains unwavering, loving.
After one more kiss of your bump his lips brush along the inside of your thighs and you moan, goosebumps prickling along your skin, your anticipation heightened as you feel his hot breath soaking through your panties.
"Simon," you moan, raking your fingers through his hair before he tugs your panties off with one hard pull. The heat of his breath on your naked pussy makes you even more wild and you don't have to wait very long before his tongue teases along your slit.
You moan his name again, your legs quivering and he licks you harder, holding your hips as you grind into every stroke. His tongue feels better than you remember and Simon knows exactly what to do with it. It's not long before you're on the brink of an orgasm and making no attempt to stop it shaking across your body in one long shudder of bliss.
"Oh god," you cry, your toes curling, your hands grasping the sheets as you feel your body begin to soar.
You're barely conscious when Simon kisses you, the taste of sex on his lips enough to bring you back to life. With your help he kicks off his remaining clothes before his hands balance either side of your head, supporting his weight as he presses his thick cock against your pussy.
You thrust your hips towards him, your hands sliding over his butt to pull him closer so you can finally feel the fullness only he can provide.
"Look at me," he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before he finally allows his cock to slowly sink inside your pussy, joining you together. For a moment neither of you move, both of you adjusting to the feeling but more than anything both of you enjoying the closeness.
"I love you," he says, kissing you gently before his cock begins drawing in and out in long, slow strokes that seem to hit every spot. All you can feel is him, all you can think about is him and the way your bodies are moving together.
Both of you hold off release for as long as possible, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin and exhaustion settling in your limbs in the best way but it can't last forever. You cling to him, your climax more powerful than the last and as it washes over you Simon's body tenses, his cock pumping harder to fill you with his release.
This time you don't feel any worry or regret, only satisfaction and comfort. You're eyes are heavy, your body well spent and when he pulls you into the safety of his arms all you can think is, this is right.