Page 82 of Forever With You

I almost didn’t say anything, but these girls ... they were my girls now. “I just ... I don’t know how he feels.”

Roxy’s brows shut up over the rim of her glasses. “What in the hell does that mean? I think it’s pretty obvious how he feels. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s never been with a girl for longer than one night.”

“Yeah, but ... but I’m pregnant.”

Katie arched a brow. “No shit, Sherlock.”

I shot her a look. “The thing is, I don’t know if he would be with me if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, and if he really cares about me and not just the baby.” Saying that fear out loud was like rolling around on ice. “I’m so incredibly happy and lucky that he’s on board with this baby.” I patted my stomach, which was more food baby than real baby. “And that he’s excited and everything, but if he doesn’t really care about me deeper than being there for me, this ... this isn’t going to last.”

“What makes you think that he doesn’t?” Calla asked.

I looked at each of them. “He hasn’t said anything that would make me think that he does, and all the plans we make center around the baby, you know? I know that sounds like a crazy thing to complain about, but I want ...”

“You want to know that he actually wants to be with you, with or without the baby,” Roxy finished for me. “That’s understandable. I totally get it. If I became pregnant before Reece and I got serious, I would wonder the same thing. I think it’s a very normal concern, but how doyoufeel about him?”

My heart tripped over itself in its eagerness to gush nonstop about all my feelings. “I ... I care about him a lot.”

“She loves him,” Katie quipped. “She totally loves him.”

I stared at her.

“Is that true?” Calla asked.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

“Then talk to him,” Roxy advised quietly. “Just talk to him.”

I did talk to Nick later that night, when we went out to dinner, about Thanksgiving with his grandfather. At first he wasn’t too keen on the idea, and it was a struggle to keep my disappointment and paranoia at bay.

“I don’t know,” he said, the low light of the restaurant casting shadows along the hollows of his cheeks. “There’s no guarantee that he’s going to be doing okay that day.”

“I know that.”

His lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “I don’t want you to go to a lot of trouble and then have it get ruined.”

I reached across the table, poking his hand. “We don’t have to go to a lot of trouble. We don’t even have to do a turkey or any of the stuff. We could do the anti-­Thanksgiving dinner. Keep it simple and sweet just in case the day doesn’t go as planned.”

“Anti-­Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Yeah.” I grinned. “We could make spaghetti or hamburgers.” My gaze flipped to the menu as my stomach grumbled. “Mmm. Hamburgers. My vote is for hamburgers.”

“And fries?”

I nodded eagerly. “I could always go for fries or tater tots.”

Nick laughed. “Tater tots? Are you ten?”

“Shut up.” I picked up the napkin and tossed it at him. “You are never too old for tater tots, especially the crispy kind, and if you think you are, then you’re just a lame doofus.”

“Wow.” Sitting back against his seat, he grinned at me. “Tater tots? Doofus? I feel like we’ve regressed.”

“Okay. How about I like to eat cylinder-­shaped potatoes, so go fuck yourself?” I signed and sealed that with a bright smile.

Nick’s laughter was warmth. “That’s so much better.”

“You’re welcome.” I paused. “So what do you think? I come over to your house, meet your grandfather if he’s up for it, and we make hamburgers and fries? Maybe even cylinder-­shaped potatoes, too.”

His grin was lopsided. “That’s hard to refuse.”

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