Page 86 of The Man I Love

He followed her, not waiting to be invited. “Are you kidding me?” He leaned against the counter as though he’d been there a million times. “I’m just upset it’s taken me this long to get over here. You’ve been on my mind since you called and asked if my uncle still owned this building.”

She opened a cabinet to pull out a vase, then paused before turning around. She’d been a mess when she called that day. He’d asked about Tristan, and she couldn’t even answer the question.

“There’s no need to explain, Samantha,” he said to her, as though he’d read her thoughts.

The conversation had been an embarrassment. She fumbled over words and was so close to tears thatshe could barely speak.

She arranged the flowers in the vase and turned to him, wanting to explain, after all these months, what had happened. She found his eyes on her belly, and his brows knitting together with a frown.

She could only imagine what he was thinking. That Tristan had abandoned her in this state. She opened her mouth to correct him, but the doorbell rang at the same time.

She paused to look over her shoulder.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked.

She was—Tristan was coming over with dinner and to help with the nursery, but not until this evening. “Will you excuse me,” she said, then set the flowers on the center of the table. She was honestly thankful for the interruption, because how did sheeven explain what was going on between her and Tristan when she didn’t understand it herself?

She opened the front door, then paused when only a large box rested at the top step. “Don’t you hate that?” Steven said from behind her. “They don’t even wait for a signature these days.”

She stared at the large box for a long time, knowing exactly what it was. The crib her and Tristan had ordered days earlier. She remembered the trials and headaches they suffered through to come to an agreement. She’d wanted something sleek and modern, while he wanted it to be feminine and ornate. They settled on a solid white crib with dainty carvings along the border.

“That looks heavy,” Steven said. “Let me help you get that inside.”

Before she even had time to respond, he was outside the door carrying the large box into the nursery. She’d expected him to leave after that, but he opened the box and somehow ended up with Tristan’s toolbox. Soon the pieces were all over the floor and he was putting the crib together.

The interaction made her feel uncomfortable, but a part of her was thankful to have another thing checked off her never-ending list. Nesting had been something she’d read about in every baby book on the market, but until a week ago, she hadn’t understood how powerful the need to have everything complete would be.

Back in the stairwell, she locked the door behind herself as they exited her apartment. “Thank you for helping me today,” she said to Steven, placing her keys back into her bag. “I hate to rush you out the door, but I have a doctor’s appointment in a half hour.”

“Think nothing of it.” Steven leaned against the wall, watching her with his feet crossed at the ankle. “I’m happy to help, Sam. You know that.”

Of course, he was. It was Steven. “Happy to help” Mathers. The one who worked on weekends when the office was closed, took on extra credit even when he maintained a 4.0, and earned brownie points whenever the opportunity presented itself. “I know,” she whispered, but something about the way he looked at her made her self-conscious. She wasn’t sure if it was pity or the fact that he’d done nothing but brag about his partnership for the past hour, but she was thankful for the excuse to end the visit.

“I’ll call you later this week,” he said before he went down the steps. “We’ll do lunch. I want to hear about what you’ve been up to.”

An hour later,Sam lay on the exam table, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to find cartoon animals in the textured tiles. She was now thirty-seven weeks pregnant, and her doctor was checking her cervix for the first time.

“Starting next week,” he said, pulling down the hem of the gown to her knees, “we won’t stop you if you go into labor.” He tossed his gloves into the trash, then helped her to sit.

Sam adjusted the paper blanket on her lap and nervously fiddled with the edge. “Does that mean everything is okay?”

The doctor nodded. “You’re measuring right on track. Your cervix is one centimeter dilated, and fifty percent effaced. I’d say you’re well on your way to having this baby.” He winked. “Now all you have to do is wait, which for most first-time-moms can be the hardest part.”

Samantha laughed, not sure of his accuracy. She was about to push something the size of a cantaloupe out of the openingmuchsmaller, and he thoughtwaitingwould be the hardest part.

“Do you have any questions for me?” he asked.

“Not that I can think of.”

But now, hours later, back in her apartment, she could think of about a million of them. How could she have read every piece of literature she could get her hands on about birth, and still feel like she had no idea what to expect?

Her pregnancy had once felt like a dream, but now everything was real—very real, and she was running out of time to get used to the idea. Panic had settled into her chest, seeming to take up permanent residency, and her days before the dreaded delivery were numbered.

She climbed the rungs of the ladder, reaching toward the corner of the nursery with her paintbrush. She’d started the mural weeks ago, but now that the crib was set up, finishing it had become her latest obsession.

Leaning back, she briefly eyed the pillows scattered across the floor as an extra precaution against a fall, then looked up at her work. The whimsical scene appeared to have been plucked straight from a picture book: the sky an ethereal blue, clouds as soothing as a lullaby, and baby animals suspended by helium balloons in every color of the rainbow.

A smudge of missing color caught her attention, and she dipped her brush into the organic water-based paint, just as a knock sounded at the door.

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