Page 63 of Waiting for Tuesday

His jaw flexed, as though preparing himself for what I was about to say, knowing it would be something huge.

My chest tightened as I looked into his eyes. “I love you.”

It wasn’t how I expected to tell him, but I needed him to know. I’d never felt for anyone the way I felt for him, and spending my whole life not having said those words was more than I could take. His eyes bored into mine, never wavering, never a hint of uncertainty, and he cupped the side of my jaw. “I love you too.”

I cried harder because I knew it was selfish to take his love. To take his trust, when I held this secret. When I knew it would end our love story the moment he knew. But as selfish as it was, I was somehow able to convince myself it would be easier if I waited.

Easier for him, because when I told him he could walk away, and never have to see me again. Easier for me, because I wouldn’t have to relive his disappointment every day when he came to work.

He pressed his lips to mine, lifted me in his arms, and turned around to set me on the counter. He kissed me harder, standing between my legs and pulling me against his chest. Heart to heart. “I love you,” he whispered against my mouth. As though he’d held the words for just as long as me.

“I love you, too,” I said again, vowing to say it a million times in the next four days. Because I had a lifetime ofI love you’sI’d never get to say to him. “I love you.” A lifetime ofI love you’sI’d never get to hear.

He lifted me again, but this time he cradled me and carried me to the front door.

“What are you doing?”

He grabbed my bag from the register without breaking his hold, then pushed the door open with his back. He lowered me to my feet, took my keys from my bag. “I’m taking you to dinner.” He locked the door then turned around and shook his head. “No, that’s a lie.” He grinned again, stepping toward me in a way that filled my stomach with butterflies. “We’re going to pick up dinner. Then I’m going to strip you naked and take you right there in my living room. ’Cause I need you, Tuesday. I’ve needed you my whole life.”

Chapter TWENTY-SIX

Tuesday

* * *

Becky wastrue to her word. I got the call Friday afternoon that Austin would meet me in the cafe across the street from Parker Studios. It was terrifying. Knowing I had to tell someone I barely knew that he was going to be a father. That I was pregnant with his child.

I sat across from him now, tapping my foot under the table as I passed the paper cup back and forth in my hands. He wore dark-wash jeans, a black t-shirt, cowboy boots, and was more attractive than I remembered. His hair was blond, though I could barely tell because it was cut so short, and his eyes were blue and framed with dark lashes that would make most women jealous.The exact opposite of John.I couldn’t help wondering how our baby would turn out—if she’d have a wild mane like me or the light features like him.

“So you wanted to talk to me?” He spoke with a Texas accent, which didn’t quite surprise me from the way he was dressed, but it made me sad nevertheless. Because I realized I didn’t know him at all. He was the father of my child, and I barely knew him. A man I would be connected to for life, yet all I kept wishing was that he was John.

Austin took a sip of his flat white latte then leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I feel like I need to say something.” He tilted his head to the side to crack his neck, clearly having as hard a time with the situation as I. “About the first time we met.”

I inwardly cringed, because bymethe meantslept together.If we’d just met, I wouldn’t be here right now. Pregnant with his baby, and deeply in love with another man. I shook my head. “That’s not why I’m here?”

“Ya see,” he cut me off. “I had a modeling job that morning and woke up twenty minutes late. I tried to find you, but I couldn’t… It was only later I thought to leave a note.” He scratched the back of his head, and I actually felt bad for him. I also felt relieved in a sense. He was my baby’s father, the man who would mean the most in her life, and deep down, I wanted him to be a good guy. I wanted him to be so good forher. (Or him. Whatever this baby turned out to be.)

I nodded and forced a little smile. Even though it didn’t change our situation in the slightest, it was warming to know he’d looked for me. Because it said something about the type of person he was. And that fact eased my heart because I wanted my baby’s father to be kind. I wanted him to be everything I never had.

My palms began to sweat under the table, and I knew it was my turn to talk. To tell him the reason why Becky had hunted him down and made him come here today. I had no idea how he’d react, but I’d prepared myself for the worst. I had brochures for DNA testing and a phone number in my purse. I was even prepared to fund the whole thing with my American Express. There was no doubt in my mind he was my baby’s father; I only needed to convince him of that.

But in the pit of my stomach, I wasn’t sure I’d use any of it. If he didn’t want this baby, that was his choice. I was here because he deserved to know, because my baby deserved the opportunity to have a father. My mistakes were my own, and I wouldn’t let embarrassment stop me from trying to provide that for her. But I wouldn't force him to be there either.

I didn’t need his money; I could support this baby on my own. But there was one thing I couldn’t do—and that was fill his shoes. My mother had tried. God knows, she’d tried so hard… but there’s something deep down inside that longs for a daddy. To have the thing that everyone on earth had… but me.

He rested his hand on the table, obviously in tune with my distress as I tried to figure out what to say.

I cleared my dry throat then took one last deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I forced my eyes upward, and he leaned back in his chair. I knew a whirlwind of ideas must be going through his head. I took pity, knowing this must be terrifying, and I pushed the words out. “I’m pregnant. Eleven weeks. It’s yours, I’m sure of it.”

His brows creased, and I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or confusion. He looked down at the table as if calculating the weeks. Then his eyes shifted even lower, to where my belly still masked the fact that cells were multiplying under my skin.

He pushed himself to stand and threaded his hands behind his neck. “Wow.” He looked to the window, and I could see an array of emotions pass over his features in an instant. “Wow.” But he didn’t leave as I feared he would. He pulled out another seat closer to me and sat back down at the table. His eyes locked on my belly the whole time, his face intense, but nothing more.

We were both silent a moment, and even though it was terrifying not knowing what was going on in his head, I gave him time. This was a shock to me, one I’d been crying over for the last forty-eight hours, and I knew it must be a lot for him to process as well.

He sat forward then and looked me in the eyes. “Can I touch it?”

Tears clogged my throat, and I let out a gasp. I hadn’t expected this reaction. The fact that he was interested sent a gush of emotion to spill from every pore of my body. He didn’t doubt that what I said was true. He knew me just as well as I knew him, and still he trusted my words without question. I almost opened my mouth to ask why, but I pushed my chair back to give him better access to my belly instead.

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