Page 85 of Karma's Kiss

That fruit book! The cute yellow bear! For some reason I’m relieved by the news.

“I really thought it was the barbecue…”

As I say this, a little laugh bursts out of me. Maybe I’m having a psychotic break.

“Do you want me to call Queenie?” Sawyer asks gently.

“No. Don’t call Queenie! I can’t deal with all that right now.”

Besides, Queenie probably already suspects this. All those glances and secret conversations between her and Marge—I bet those two knew all along and were just waiting for me to realize it myself. Newsflash, Madison:All the signs were there.

“Are you happy?”

I blink and look at him. I can tell he’s holding back, trying to give me space to process everything before he layers on his own feelings. I can’t help but break out in a smile. “Extremely…but I’m almost too nervous to let myself believe it.”

He reaches across the table for my hand to reassure me. “They did the ultrasound.”

There’s a half-dozen black and white photos on the table between us, each of them depicting a tiny gummy bear baby that’s inside me at this very moment. I touch my stomach, expecting to feel something.

“Can we really trust it?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, pretty sure when they let us hear the heartbeat, it was the real deal, Madison.”

He’s right. Okay, I’m allowed to be happy. It’s okay to let my guard down.

I draw my gaze away from the ultrasound images and peer up at him. I’m wearing a lopsided grin. “So…I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant,” he confirms, unfurling a tentative smile while squeezing my hand.

We lock eyes, and in the span of a millisecond, the wordsI love youspring to mind and spill out of me, and though it’s unexpected for me as much as it is for Sawyer, I don’t regret saying them. I watch his face transform, light fill his eyes. He squeezes my hand tighter, tugs me off my chair. He pulls me down onto him, cradling me in his arms, and his lips press against my cheek, my jaw, my forehead. He turns my face and steals a proper kiss and tells me he loves me too before he liftsthe photos off the table and we review them together again, picking our favorites.

“I think the baby looks just like you,” I tell him with a mock-serious tone.

He turns them and squints. “I don’t know…definitely has your amorphous blob of a head.”

A laugh bursts out of me, and then I poke him.

“When should we tell people?” he asks.

“Let’s wait. It’s kind of nice to have it be our little secret.”

Life has moved a mile a minute since I returned to Oak Hill. My intention when coming back home was to ground myself and make peace with my broken engagement and tattered life, maybe even enjoy some rest and relaxation. I should have known my first night back in town—when Queenie dragged me to John’s Ice House—that a little R&R wasn’t in the cards.

Do I wish things had happened differently?Not even a little bit.

Who cares that I didn’t take up yoga or check out self-help books from the library? I’ve made peace with what’s transpired, and the old life I thought I wanted was only ever an illusion. I’ve landed somewhere better, somewhere real and messy. Through the strangest of circumstances, the pieces of my life fell into place—chaotically, sure, but in the end, I know I’m right where I was meant to be all along: back in Oak Hill with Sawyer.

Three weeks after our visit with Dr. Lopez, we’ve moved in together, made things official, and are already settling into daily life. Work hasn’t slowed downat all, but I’m starting to get a handle on the most important things. Invoices are no longer sent two weeks too late and we’re up to date on our bills, thank goodness. Collections shouldn’t be calling anytime soon! Today, I’m rewarding myself with a fun errand. I’m headed to a local florist to pick up a few centerpiece arrangements for a bridal shower we’re coordinating for one of our clients.

Cornelia’s Florals has been open since before I was born, and Queenie has worked with the company since the inception of Wildflower Weddings. No one—not even Fiona—does flowers like Cornelia’s crew.

I open the front door and step inside the tidy shop filled with buckets of flowers and artfully arranged bouquets. Cornelia herself is behind the counter, working on de-thorning a few dozen roses. She sees me and beams.

“Hey.Morning, Madison. I was wondering when I’d see you in here.”

Marge usually picks up our custom orders, but today I get to do the honors.

I pass a beautiful orchid centerpiece on my way to the counter. “How’re you doin’, Cornelia?”

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