Page 158 of Mistaken Impression

I look up at him, the pain subsiding. “I—I don’t know.”

“Was that a contraction?”

“I’m not sure. I—I mean, there’s no guidebook for this, is there?”

He smiles. “No. Do you want to sit down again?”

“I don’t think so.”

I take a step closer to him, then feel a trickle of water running down my leg. It’s followed by a gush, and we both look down at the puddle on the wooden floor before our eyes meet again.

“I think that tells us everything we need to know.” Mac sounds very calm, even though my heart is racing. He smiles and leans in, kissing me briefly. “Stay here. I’ll go fetch your bag.”

I nod and he disappears, although he returns a second later, empty-handed, and comes up, taking me in his arms, his lips meeting mine in a hard, fast kiss.

“I love you, Ella.”

“I love you, too.”

He smiles and turns away again, and even though I’m a little nervous about what’s to come, I know I’ll be okay. I’ll be safe, because Mac’s with me.

And he always will be.

***

Mac

I’m doing my best to stay calm, or to give the appearance of being calm, anyway.

We’ve been waiting so long for this moment, and now it’s here, it feels unreal. But there’s no time to think, and I run upstairs, grabbing Ella’s bag from the bedroom, before I rush back down and re-join her in the writing room.

She’s leaning over the desk, clutching the bump with one hand and her phone with the other.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I stop in the doorway, looking at her.

“I’m calling the birthing centre.” It’s not the most logical thing to be doing right now, but I guess if it makes her happy…

She suddenly yelps, and I drop the bag, going straight to her as she turns her head, looking up at me.

“This really hurts, Mac,” she says, her face creased with pain.

I feel so helpless, wanting to do something, but knowing I can’t… not really.

“What do you need?”

“I need someone at the hospital to answer the goddamn phone.”

“Forget about it. Let’s just go.” It makes more sense to me, anyway.

She nods her head, hanging up the call, and I take her hand, grabbing the bag with my free one, and help her outside.

We changed Ella’s convertible for a more sensible SUV about a month ago, although it’s still a Mercedes, and once I’ve helped her into the passenger seat, I leap in behind the wheel.

“Are you o—”

Her cry interrupts my question and I watch her face crumple in agony as she clutches the bump. For a second I wonder if we’re even going to make it to the hospital, but after a short while, she relaxes and looks over at me.

“Just go, Mac.”

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