Page 68 of Dreamboat

The emotion in her voice is evident. It’s there in her expression, too. Seeing the tests hit her hard. It’s made all of this much more real.

“I can take you home,” I offer.

She rids herself of my T-shirt and tugs her dress back over her head. “I’ll get there on my own.”

I want to beg her to call me the second she knows if she’s expecting our baby. I want to tell her I’ll be here for whatever comes next. I’ll be here forever because if I had even a shred of doubt left about what I’m feeling for her, it’s gone.

I love her. I love Delia Hawthorne.

I’m about to reach out to her but she beats me to it. She pops up to her tiptoes to wrap her arms around my neck. “I’ll call you. I promise I will.”

I cling tightly to her, burying my face in her neck. “I’ll answer, Delia. Night or day. I’ll answer.”

The kiss she offers me is soft and laced with a tenderness that I’ve never experienced before. I hold her in place, deepening the kiss ever so slightly, drawing a soft moan from her.

When we part, her brown eyes search my face. “I promise I’ll call you soon.”

I’ll hold her to that promise. Until then, I’ll wait because that’s what she needs from me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Delia

I sit in a worn leather chair in the center of one of the many rooms in my penthouse and imagine something I have never imagined before.

A baby’s nursery.

This bedroom is as large as the other three guest rooms that I’ve rarely ever set foot in. I made the fourth into my bedroom shortly after I moved in. I removed the furniture that was there and replaced it with new items that better showcased my style.

It’s a simple room with a king size bed, white furniture, and soft blue linens on the bed. The artwork is a mix of things I found from street vendors and a painting that a friend did for me years ago.

The rest of the penthouse is still a reflection of its original owner.

Professor Grace Northrup inherited this home from her father, who inherited it from his father before him. A Northrup’s name was always on the deed until Grace died and left everything to me.

I became the beneficiary of her estate because as she put it in her will, “Delia Hawthorne held more promise than any other student who had ever trusted their educational pursuits to me.”

Professor Northrup taught me several courses when I was studying for my first degree. My plan back then was to teach third graders because I remember fondly that was when I first realized how much I loved to learn.

I’ve always been an eager student and Grace appreciated that. She encouraged me to keep learning after I’d graduated with my teaching degree. I did and a friendship between us blossomed because of it.

She once told me that all she ever wanted was a daughter, and in the note that her attorney presented to me shortly after her death, she explained how she had come to view me through that lens.

“I’ll put the crib there,” I whisper to myself as I look at the empty spot next to a window that overlooks Park Avenue before my gaze shifts to a corner across the expansive room. “And a rocking chair there.”

My hand jumps to cover my mouth as I let out a sob. “I’m going to be a mom.”

I don’t have confirmation of that yet since I haven’t taken a test, but ever since Donovan helped me realize that there’s a possibility I may be pregnant, I’ve sensed that it’s true.

“I’ll name you Grace if you’re a girl,” I whisper into the darkened room. “If you’re a boy, I’ll name you…”

My voice trails as my gaze drops to the front of my denim dress. “Your dad will have some ideas for names I think.”

My baby’s dad.

Donovan Hunt.

The distant sound of a chime interrupts the silence that almost always inhabits my home. It’s the third time my phone has sounded a notification in the past few minutes.

---