Page 41 of Island Whispers

She hauled herself to her feet and quickly freshened up. Teeth brushed, hair tidied, and face washed, she opened the door. Boone loomed nearby, one shoulder against the door jamb. His eyes filled with concern as soon as he saw her. “You need tea,” he said decisively. “Here.”

“How long was I in there?” she asked. But the soft aroma in the steam rising from the cup smelled heavenly. Soothing.

“Weak tea is just the thing for an upset stomach,” he claimed. Putting the cup into her hands, he ducked into the bathroom. “Drink up,” he encouraged her as he closed the door between them.

She did, finding that the gentle brew tasted as soothing as it smelled. Hearing him turn on the shower, she meandered toward the kitchen and saw that he’d cracked open the windows near the table.

Outside, birds greeted the morning, their peppy chirps and trills a happy soundtrack for her tea moment. Surely, much nicer than waking up to the sounds of her stress heaving. She owed him an apology. Again. And a hearty breakfast.

Thanks to the tea, her stomach had settled and she felt clear-headed enough to get breakfast going. As nice as it was to be cared for, she wanted to do something special for him today. She chopped up veggies and was whisking eggs for omelets when he walked in.

“What’s all this?” His warm palm glided up and down her back.

She arched into the touch. “Breakfast. You earned it.”

“Did I?” His eyebrows bobbed up and down. “I thought we were equal partners.”

She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Stop.” She swatted his chest, barely resisting the urge to curl in close. “Not for last night. For waking to the unpleasant sounds of a stressed florist.”

“The tea helped?”

It did. Though the deeper she got into making breakfast, the less she felt like eating. “Yes. Can you brew another cup while I get these in the pan?”

He winked at her. “Always happy to earn my keep.”

“What kind of tea is it and where did you find it?” she asked, setting the skillet over the burner to heat. “For that matter, how did it get here?” She didn’t keep tea around the house. Coffee was her preference.

“You had it downstairs in the shop. It’s a peach and ginger blend and I only steeped it for half the recommended time.”

She’d remember that. She poured the eggs into the skillet, rolling it a bit so everything would cook evenly.

“The box is in the cabinet with your coffee,” he added. “My sister swore by weak tea when she was pregnant. I’ll settle up once the shop opens.”

“No need for that.” She could adjust the inventory on the computer later. Her mind screeched to a stop so loudly she would’ve sworn the sound echoed outside of her head. “Pregnant?”

“Not right this second. She has two little boys…” His voice trailed off and she could see the minute her fear became his. “No way. Are you…?”

They just stared at each other. And there was something gratifying about seeing him at a loss for words. She had no idea what to say. No idea how a pregnancy could’ve happened. Well, she understood the mechanics, obviously. But they’d been together once—before last night. And they’d been as careful with condoms last night as they had a few weeks ago.

She swallowed hard. She was getting ahead of herself. Pregnancy wasn’t the only explanation. Her stomach could be affected by stress and not…

The scent in the skillet caught her attention and she saved the first omelets from burning. Barely. Her stomach twisted and she willed it to calm the hell down. This wasn’t the time to become a cliche. She served up the first omelet, handed him the plate, and resolutely returned her attention to her own breakfast.

“Nina.”

“Not now.” She refused to look at him. Childish, maybe, but she was going to lean into it. At least for the next few minutes. She couldn’t discuss this and also make breakfast. Mainly because it was taking all her willpower to keep from racing back to the bathroom.

When she had her own omelet plated, she sat across from him. He’d eaten about a third of his food. She wasn’t sure she could manage that much. Maybe if she didn’t breathe too deeply or think too hard, she could eat.

The first bite felt risky and she took her time. The next few bites were better. As she ate, still avoiding eye contact and conversation, Boone tucked into his food with far more enthusiasm. There was something oddly satisfying about that. Food, feeding people, was her mother’s love language. Nina felt a rush of deeper understanding.

She didn’t take it as a good omen. She didn’t want to feel maternal. This wasn’t the right time or place. Not even the right man.

“Nina?”

She glanced up without thinking and the concern in Boone’s gaze shocked her.

“You’re pale,” he said.

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