Page 39 of The Bartender's Baby

Between making arrangements for Ming-Yue’s new roommate, finding time to borrow a truck from Brooke, Jude’s girlfriend, and packing up all of my belongings—though I traveled awfully light—it had taken a few days to get everything sorted. But here I was, in Nate’s house.

A part of me still couldn’t quite believe I’d agreed to live with him. That I’d willingly disrupted the relatively stable life I’d built for myself these past few years. But his persistence had worn me down, and if I was honest with myself, some deeper part of me craved that connection, that sense of belonging.

I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Especially when my other option insisted on making me dinner while his dog, Lucy, sat at my feet, begging for attention. When I had shown up at the door, she’d peed all over the floor. Of course, I’d known about the wiener dog’s anxiety issues, had heard the horror stories of how she’d chewed clear through a chair during a thunderstorm, and had already met her multiple times, but I hadn’t expected pee-level excitement.

“You have to get used to me,” I whispered to her, still inspecting the surroundings of my new abode, a brick townhouse built in 1890 on a corner lot with a small, fenced-inbackyard and beautifully updated interior. Located downtown, it wasn’t too far from Walt’s but closer to Nate’s new bar location, which he had yet to offer much information about.

The first thing Nate had told me when I walked inside was, “Heating works, and there’s no mice. Sit down and put your feet up. Drink some water.”

He and Jude had moved all my possessions inside and upstairs in two trips with the truck, while all I had to do was drive my RAV4 over with a few bags of my personal items. Now, I lounged on the couch like some princess waiting to be served.

“Come on, Luce. Let’s see what he’s doing.” The dachshund followed me, her nails click-clacking on the wooden floor from the navy-blue living room, through the pale-green dining room, to the white-and-gray kitchen, wide and open.

Lucy plopped down on the mat in front of her food and water bowls, helping herself to dinner as I made my way over to Nate. He stood with his back to me, something sizzling on the stove, and remained unmoving as I approached, his head bent down. I peered around him, noting his phone in his hand, as he obviously read some kind of pregnancy website. His thumb scrolled over the screen on what appeared to be a tracking chart. My baby was as big as a papaya.

Nate murmured something to himself, and that was when I understood the pomegranate comment from two weeks ago. He’d been tracking Frogger’s growth all along.

I breathed out a shocked yet delighted laugh, finally snagging Nate’s attention. He jumped. “Tabby cat!” He gasped, hand over his chest. “For fuck’s sake. I’m doing it. I’m getting you a bell. I’m not living here with you silently skulking all around like some kinda ghost.” He swiped his hand down his face. “Holy Jesus. I can’t—are you crying?”

“No.”

He set his phone down to cup my jaw, swiping his thumb over my cheek. “Must be imagining this tear, then.”

I nodded and picked his cell up from the counter. “What were you reading?”

“Nothing.” After a few moments of my staring at him, he gave in with a sigh. “Did you know there is differing information about how to compare fetus sizes? Some apps and websites will give you food comparisons, some will give you item comparisons. I personally prefer the fruit analogies. Easier to understand than saying, like, a cassette tape. Because, first of all, who still uses cassette tapes? And, second, I’d rather imagine my baby as a coconut. You know what I mean?”

I did and I didn’t, too overwhelmed by thatmy babycomment to comprehend his endearing babbling. Instead, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.

I kissed him for taking a chance on me when I’d most needed it years ago, for bugging the shit out of me until he made me laugh, and for understanding me when it sometimes felt like no one else did.

I kissed him because I needed to find out if his lips were as supple as his smile made them out to be and to learn what his hair felt like when I combed my fingers through it.

I kissed him like I’d wanted to for a long damn time.

He froze, stunned at my sudden attack, and pulled back, his hands on my waist, eyes flying back and forth between mine, mouth open and breathing hard. He quirked his brow. “Tab?”

“I needed to know.”

His gaze filled with so much tenderness my chest ached, even as he backed me up against the refrigerator. “Well, now you know.”

Then his lips were on mine again, all his surprise replaced by confident strokes of his tongue, searching for mine, and advancing touches of his hands, up my sides to my face andhair, holding me in place. As impulsive as my first kiss was, his responding one felt calculated. He touched me like he’d done it before, gripping my hair by the scalp, using it to angle my head, and licked into my mouth like he’d been imagining it. Many times.

Maybe as many times as I had.

I curled my hands into fists, gripping his T-shirt at his chest, as if I could keep him here, with me, all the time. But I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. If the past few weeks weren’t evidence enough, the steel pipe in his jeans grinding against my hip certainly was.

And like Gen had told me, didn’t I deserve this?

Yes.

Yes, I fucking did.

I pushed my hips out, giving in to the need to relieve the pressure building between my legs, and covered his hand with mine, guiding it from my neck to my chest, groaning in relief as he gripped my breast, my nipples contracting almost painfully inside my bra. With my energy up and my sex drive at what felt like an all-time high, I’d recently taken to masturbating every morning. I’d been too busy to do it today, and my body practically screamed for an orgasm now.

I grasped at his shoulders, urging him on, lifting my leg to his waist, but he stopped me, holding me at arm’s length, a half smile on his face. “Gimme a sec.”

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