Page 11 of The Last Trip

He never judges me for any of it, not my changing body or the many other ways I’ve transformed into someone almost unrecognizable to myself. He just jumped in headfirst and didn’tlook back. I never imagined I’d find someone like him. Someone who puts himself firmly in my corner and loves me so easily.

When he catches me staring at him, a smile on my lips as he folds his shirt into the drawer, his face goes blank. “What?”

My smile grows bigger. “You’re cute, you know that?”

His lips twitch as he closes the drawer and walks toward me, looping his arms around my waist and tugging me toward him. “I love you, doyouknowthat?”

I cock my head to the side, pretending to think. “Hmm…I could use some convincing.”

He chuckles from somewhere deep in his throat, pressing his lips to mine with a lingering kiss. “I’m always happy to prove that I’m a man of my word.”

His mouth trails down my cheek, across my jawbone, and down my neck as I giggle and shrink away from him. “Oh, yeah? How would you do that?”

Carefully, we ease onto the bed, a hunger in his eyes that fills me with warmth. “I can think of a few ways.”

Later, we’re lying in bed, still undressed and wrapped in blankets. If I have my way, we’ll spend the entire vacation right here. With a few breaks for snacks, that is.

My hands go to my stomach at the thought, rubbing over my bump in slow, methodic circles.

Following my lead, Cal places his hand on the top of my belly, smoothing his thumb across my skin. “Is she kicking?”

“Not at the moment, no,” I say, smiling over at him. “I think she’s sleeping.”

He speaks through his yawn, “That doesn’t sound so bad right about now.”

I turn my head to face him, studying his features. He’s handsome—and knows it—with rugged features you don’t expect from a college professor. Oncemycollege professor. His face is tan and worn, with a light scar that runs across one cheek. You can’t see it from far away, which makes it extra special that I could easily draw it from memory. Proof of the hours I’ve spent this close to him, memorizing every detail of his features. He has long, unfairly gorgeous dark lashes, and blond hair that is starting to show just the earliest signs of thinning. He’s perfect, and I love him, and in this moment, I’m sad I nearly let something so simple tear us apart.

“I love you, you know?” I whisper, reaching out to brush his nose with my finger.

His eyes connect with mine, lingering there as he releases a breath like a sigh. His green eyes dart between mine as he struggles to find what he’s trying to say. “I’m so sorry.”

I prop up on my elbow. “You have no reason to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tears spring to his eyes, and he runs a hand over his face. “I’ve done…so much wrong. This girl…she…she grew up without a father. Without me. And did she ever wonder if it was because I didn’t want her? Did she question her mother’s story and wonder if I’d chosen to walk away?” His expression wrinkles with pain, as if he’s crumpling in on himself. He reaches across and touches my stomach again. “All I can think about is…what if it was her? Our baby girl. What if she didn’t have anyone? What if she didn’t have me?”

I put my hand on his, squeezing his palm against my stomach. At the sudden light pressure, our daughter kicks, making us both giggle. I cup his cheek, forcing him to look at me. “But she does. She does have you. She does, and she will. And, as far as I’m concerned, both of these girls are lucky to have you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “You have every right to be angry with me. To want more answers. To want to talk about it or, or to want to not talk about it. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d do or what I’d want if the situation were reversed…”

“You told me as soon as you knew.” I run my hand along his cheek again, drawing his attention back to me. “That’s what matters. That’s what counts.”

“You really forgive me? You aren’t going to leave?”

“Of course I’m not. There’s nothing to forgive.” In my heart, I almost believe it.

He kisses my lips, his hand cupping the back of my head. When he pulls away, he says, “I don’t want to do this alone. I want you to meet her. To get to know her. I want you to be a part of all of this.”

“I want that, too,” I admit, and surprisingly, I’m not sure it’s a lie. This baby, our daughter, will have such a small family as it is. The fact that she could have an older sister is nothing short of a miracle. Perhaps I could force myself to look at it like that, rather than the tragedy it currently feels like.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, in fact, what if you asked her to come here tomorrow? I mean, obviously it’s at least an hour’s drive, so maybe she won’t want to, but if she did, the three of us could have lunch together and be able to really talk and get to know each other without the pressures of being home and balancing work and everything.”And we don’t have to invite a stranger into our home.“If you think it’s a terrible idea, we can just meet her at a restaurant back home instead. It was just a thought.”

Now it’s his turn to prop up on his elbow, staring at me as if I’ve sprouted a new head. “Are you serious?”

“Why not? It would be good to meet her, and it’s rare the two of us have time off together. And once the baby gets here, I’llwant time to settle into that. It’s better to have met her before, don’t you think?”

He looks hesitant.

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