Page 101 of Until I Find You

But it’s a possibility. Not a slim one based on the way the two of us act in bed. Reckless and impulsive.

My mouth is hot and dry.

“Baby girl, your eyes are glassy. You need to go home and get in bed and–”

“What if I’m pregnant?” I whisper.

Jack’s expression doesn’t move. That’s shock for you.

I fumble for the bottle of water, not knowing what to say and not sure I’d be able to say anything anyway. As quick as I can, I chug the rest of it. Too fast. I’m nauseous again. Fuck.

Jack finally is able to form words. “W…what? How?”

“You know how.”

“But you’re on birth control.” His eyes grow wider.

This is going to ruin everything, isn’t it? “Yeah, but I don’t know, maybe I took it at a weird time, or I missed a day, and I didn’t know it or–there are so many variables I could have messed up, and we have never been–”

Jack swallows.

“And I don’t get regular periods, so it’s not even like I would know if I missed one.”

Jack touches my arm. His fingers are delicate. Tender. “Slow down, Camilla, let’s take a second.”

We take several long seconds, both of us quiet. Unsure.

“You really think you might be?”

It’s subtle, but I see it. I know him too well now.

The corner of his lip turning upward.

He’s…happy.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe?”

Jack inhales and sits up straight, both of his hands clasping my biceps. Something primal and powerful settles through him. It’s sexy. Or would be if I wasn’t mortified over interrupting our tasting to vomit.

Would be if I wasn’t terrified of the possibility that everything has just gone haywire.

“Okay, I’m going to take you home,” he says, again assured.

“No, Jack–”

“We need to find out, don’t we? There’s no reason to make you go out there when you’re not feeling well or–”

I shrug off his hands. “For god’s sake, Jack, I’m fine. At worst, I’m pregnant.”

“At worst?” Hurt coasts through his voice.

“I mean…” Yes. At worst. Because a stomach flu is gone after a few days. Pregnancy doesn’t go away after a few days. That’s a lifetime sort of thing.

“Can we just pretend like this didn’t happen until after the tasting? And then we can go–” My throat knots. “Take a test.”

Jack’s lips part. “How are we going to pretend that–”

“Please, Jack, that’s what I want, that’s what I need right now.” I’m begging. It’s not fair to beg him, not like this, with my voice pressing into a higher register, with my head bowed and my body feeling so small.

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