Page 75 of The Man I Love

But that had been over an hour ago, and Sam’s eyes latched on the driveway hoping to force her mind to other things. The front yard was full of balloons and flowers. Peach mixed with an array of neutrals. Their parents must have spent a fortune, but Sam wasn’t surprised. When it came to grandchildren, the Montgomerys, as well as her parents, were more than ready.

She wished desperately that Renee was there, but she was still in New Jersey, under strict doctor’s orders not to fly until Sophia was three months old. That milestone would coincide with Samantha’s due date, and the thought of seeing her friend again gave her something to look forward to.

Guests had been arriving over half an hour ago, yet Sam couldn’t bring herself to go downstairs.What if she never did? What if she suddenly became ill?

Her focus shifted, and she found herself staring at the tree-lined street, and the sidewalk where she’d learned to ride a bike. So many things had happened here. Lemonade stands, endless games of hide and seek, scraped knees that she still had scars from––but then her eyes flicked across the street even farther, to the blue house that wasn’t her own, but often felt like it was.

The one where Tristan and Renee grew up, the one where Renee would sneak out of the second-story window and meet Samantha on the sidewalk by the street. Some nights they’d hide in the bushes and spy on Tristan and his dates.

As if on cue, Tristan’s work truck pulled along the curb and parked. She only stood there, transfixed, as though a magnetic pull kept her grounded. He sat in his truck for a full minute, then his door opened, and he climbed out of the driver’s side door. He wore a pair of brown twill pants, and a button-down cream shirt—something that wasn’t his style, and Sam knew right away that his mother had chosen for him. He looked immaculate. Like one of those GQ models found in magazines. His long strides were confident and sexy as he walked up the driveway––but halfway up, he paused and glanced up to her window.

Sam backed away—her heart instantly racing.

Did he know she’d be up here? Had he seen her?

She spun around and found her mother standing there. The door opened, and the light from the hall illuminated her slender frame. Her eyes flicked from the window to Samantha.Could she see Tristan from where she stood?

“You’re glowing, honey,” her mom said, stepping into the room. Her voice was shaky, emotional, and Sam herself began to choke up. She almost felt like it was her wedding day because there was so much anticipation buzzing around in the room.

She faced the mirror, took a deep breath, and stared at her own reflection. Her mother had hired someone to help her get ready when she arrived, taking some of her stress out of the day. They’d curled and braided her hair, making it appear boho and chic. Then they prepped, primed, and painted her face until she looked flawless.

“The guests are arriving,” her mother said. “Are you ready to come downstairs?”

She wasn’t ready in the slightest, but she nodded anyway. Without Samantha saying a word, her mother came to stand by her side and pushed her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll be downstairs,” her mother said. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Alone again, she flicked her eyes toward the window, but Tristan was gone. “I just need a minute,” she said to no one at all. But one minute turned into ten, her resolve wavering, before she finally mustered the strength to push herself out the door.

When she reached the banister of the second floor, Tristan entered the house at the same time. She stumbled, steadied herself with the railing, then moved into an alcove she knew would conceal her. She’d hidden there on too many occasions to count, listening in on adult conversations, or watching movies that weren’t appropriate when her parents thought she was asleep. Now, she watched Tristan talking to their guests, laughing and joking, proving to everyone around he was still the same man they loved. Easygoing and charismatic Tristan Montgomery.

At least twenty guests surrounded him, but all she could do was focus on his face—the father of her child and the man who could forever take her breath away.

One second passed, then another, and his eyes flicked up to the second floor, instantly finding her, as though he’d been aware of her presence from the beginning. His expression changed from ‘life of the party Tristan,’ to something that was much more intense as he excused himself and strode toward the staircase.

Her back stiffened. She placed one hand underneath her stomach and walked down the steps to meet him.

In front of everyone, he took her hand and leaned forward. “I’ve thought about it a lot, Samantha, and you’re wrong,” he whispered. “What I feel for you is more than chemistry.”

His words rocked her, and she was grateful he held her hand because she would have fallen over otherwise. There were a dozen ways she could interpret those words. Profound attraction, desire—or something deeper that she couldn’t bring herself to think about when all these people were watching them.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm.

She hesitated for a moment, but then placed her hand on his forearm, and he whisked her away toward the crowd.

Friends, family, and neighbors were all gathered around them in her mother’s foyer. Their expressions soft and endearing, as though they watched a love story unfold. A collective sigh filled the room, and Samantha lifted her chin, realizing that to them, she and Tristan were the epitome of a fairy tale. They’d grown up on the same street. They were neighbors, enemies, then lovers—and now they were having a child.

How would they know otherwise? Samantha had returned from New York less than two weeks earlier and she hadn’t yet gotten around to telling the world that they’d broken up. How did one ever go about doing that anyway? How did she tell all of these people who gathered to celebrate, that she and Tristan were no longer together.

Her eyes found her mother on the other side of the room, who happened to be standing beside Mrs. Montgomery. Their heads huddled together, whispering something Samantha couldn’t quite make out. Self-doubt climbed up her throat, and she almost felt like she was going to be sick. She could feel a conspiracy brewing, but forced a smile, and turned to greet their guests.

They all cheered in unison when Tristan raised their joined hands in a unified front. Her stomach rolled, and she glanced around the room looking for an exit, but guests began forming a line around them. People she’d known her whole life cameup to tell her how beautiful she looked,then patted Tristan on the back in congratulations. Some offered parental advice, while others placed their bets on whether Samantha was having a boy or girl based on her stomach shape.

Then Tristan’s great-aunt Gretchen came and gave him a hug.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” he said to her.

She must have been close to eighty, her wrinkles so deep that her eyes practically disappeared when she smiled. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said to him. Then she turned to Samantha and took one of her hands. “Are you ready to be a mother, dear?” she asked.

Samantha had asked herself that very question daily and still didn’t have the answer. She nodded regardless. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

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