Page 96 of The Candlemaker

I pushed through the door, grateful for small mercies that no one was in the store at that particular moment.

“Frankie!” I boomed, my chest heaving.

There was a commotion in the back room. “Go away, Chandler!” she shouted, but something in her voice was wrong.

“We need to talk,” I said between deep breaths.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Growling, I spun and flipped the sign on the door so it showedClosed,and then slid the deadbolt closed with a loudthwack.I whipped the curtain back with one arm, stopping short when I didn’t immediately see her.

“Frankie?”

“Go away.”

My head turned to the right, her voice slipping out from under the bathroom door.

I took another scan of the back room. Her jars were out. Scale set on the counter. Wax was already cooling in a batch of jars on the center island.She was in the middle of making a batch.From the smell of it, it was the fall pumpkin candles she had on the main display.

“I’m not leaving until you come out.” I rested back against the counter and stared at the door like I could see through it.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

I should be shocked. Iwasshocked. But at the same time, I wasn’t feeling any of the things I thought I’d feel if this moment ever came. Instead, the only thing on my mind was her. Making sure she was okay. Getting through to her.Letting her know I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I told you, I don’t want to hear your explanation right now…” She trailed off, and I swore I heard a noise that sounded almost like she was in pain.

“And I’ve waited a week for you to change your mind.”

“Oh, my goodness. The big bad Mr. Collins doesn’t get his way in a whole week and loses his mind?” she mocked from inside the bathroom.

“I lost my mind the moment I left you,” I said without hesitation. Without thinking.

The door swung open, her expression pained. “Stop,” she insisted, and suddenly, a switch flipped on her face. Her eyes went wide. The color evaporated from her cheeks. And she turned and would’ve shut the door in my face except my foot was there waiting.

“No—” She broke off with a groan and then crashed to her knees in front of the toilet.

“Shit,” I muttered and dropped with her, grabbing her hair just before she vomited…onto my shoes.

She groaned. “I’m sor—” This time, she made it into the bowl, not that there was much in her stomach to heave up.

Gritting my teeth, I continued to gather strands of her hair in my fingers, holding them safe until her stomach settled.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was raw; she’d clearly been at this for a little bit before I’d arrived.

Dammit.

I should’ve been here sooner. Earlier. All day.Every damn day.

“I don’t give a fuck about my shoes, baby,” I rasped, the endearment slipping out without thinking. “Stop apologizing.”

“I’m pregnant,” she groaned, unceremoniously clutching the porcelain bowl.

“I know.”

She whimpered, and I thought it was from what I said, but then she jerked forward and puked again.

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