Page 62 of Burden to Bear

Chris turned and moved to get Izzy strapped into her seat. Once he closed the door, I waved at her. She waved back, and Chris moved to the driver’s door. “It was nice meeting you, Mia.”

“You, too.”

His eyes slid to the side. “Brock, I’ll talk to you later.”

Brock dipped his chin. “Yeah. Later, Chris.”

Moments later, Chris was backing out of the driveway as Brock and I stood there watching. And it was no surprise I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting once more to what I wanted for my life.

I wanted to be able to stand beside a man I cared about, a man who cared about me, after a day at the beach together with his niece. I wanted to stand in the driveway of a home we shared together, watching and waving, as his niece was being taken home by her father. And I wanted to do all of that while knowing the man beside me would be having dinner with me before we curled up on the couch with a movie.

“I think she enjoyed herself,” Brock declared, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Oh, um, yeah, Izzy definitely had a great time.”

“What about you?”

I grinned at him. “I had a wonderful time. Thank you for inviting me to come along.”

He returned the smile. “Tired?”

Nodding, I answered, “A bit.”

“Hungry?”

“Yep.”

“How about we order something for dinner, so neither one of us has to think about cooking anything now?”

So, Brock might have been the man standing beside me. Maybe he wasn’t technically mine, but he was certainly making it impossible not to fall for him.

Whether too tired to decline the invitation or a glutton for punishment, I didn’t know. But I didn’t hesitate to respond. “That sounds magical.”

He laughed and urged me toward his house.

And I felt flutters in my belly that had nothing to do with the baby moving.

SEVENTEEN

Brock

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It was a Thursday evening after work, and I was standing in my workshop in my detached garage, constantly glancing out the open door toward the passing cars driving down the street. If I wasn’t looking out the door, I was staring out the window toward Mia’s house.

She hadn’t come home on time like usual.

I’d arrived roughly forty-five minutes ago, and she still hadn’t turned up. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions—we didn’t typically go for a walk after work on Thursdays, so it wasn’t as though she’d stood me up—but I was still concerned that something bad had happened.

I hoped she was okay, that the baby was okay.

What if she’d gone into labor early? I didn’t want to believe that could be the case, because it was far too soon. The baby wasn’t due for another three months.

Having felt so anxious about her well-being, I walked out to my garage to work. I needed to do something to keep myself busy while I waited.

I wanted to call her, to make sure she was okay, but I didn’t want her to think I was monitoring her every move. So, I told myself I’d wait an hour. If she still wasn’t home at that point, I’d give her a call to confirm everything was okay.

With seven minutes left before that deadline, I felt like I could finally breathe again when I saw Mia’s car move past my driveway and pull into her own. Though I attempted to stay put, to not do what my heart was urging me to do, I failed.

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