Page 16 of Sweet Escape
Six WeeksLater
It takes barely half the suggested time for the little blue plus sign to pop up on the test. Pregnant. I’m… pregnant. With child. Knocked up. In the family way. There’s a fucking bun in the oven.
I don’t stop there. The next test is digital, and the screen reads pregnant almost instantly, each subsequent test result matching the first. All together, I have ten pregnancy tests lined up on my small bathroom vanity, and each one is telling me I am decisively, exceedingly, absolutely, unequivocallypregnant.
Way to go, Olivia. You’re a newly single thirty-year-old with no real job, no house, and no baby daddy.
Ok, so that last one isn’t strictly accurate, but I don’t even have his number, so I’m not sure how I’d find him even if I wanted to.Do I want to?
Wilder made it clear he’s not looking for a relationship, but I owe it to him to give him the option to be involved. How the hell do I approach the hot cowboy I met on an airplane and tell him we’re having a baby? Can it even be considered a one-night stand? Probably not. I’m not really sure what the parameters are for one-night stands, but surely it doesn’t mean multiple orgasms in multiple locations over a twenty-four-hour period. I digress.
A knock sounds at the door, bringing me back to the present. “Livie? You okay? You’ve been gone for a while.”
“I’m fine, Grammy. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Alright. Holler if you need me. There’s a fine ass rancher having lunch down here. Might be able to rope you outta there in a pinch.”
“Grammy!”
Her laughter fades down the stairs, away from the apartment above the diner I’ve been calling home for the last six weeks. I’m supposed to be in the kitchen making pastries for the display case, but I ran next door to the market when a wave of nausea hit me mid-morning. When I got back, I rushed up to the apartment with the excuse that I had an urgent need to use the bathroom. Grammy probably thinks I have explosive diarrhea. It’s worse. So much worse.
I sweep all of the positive tests into the trash before heading back down to the diner, where the lunch rush is well underway. My steps slow as soon as I walk through the swinging doors to the dining room, locking eyes with none other than my baby daddy himself.
Hot rancher, indeed.
For a few heartbeats, I don’t move. It’s like my body is frozen while my mind catches up with what I’m seeing. Arehallucinations a pregnancy symptom? I pinch my arm, wincing at the small bite of pain. Ok, so not a hallucination.
My fingers twist in my pale pink apron as I take a mental tally of anything I might’ve done in recent memory for me to have such shit luck, but nothing comes to mind. No broken mirrors, no black cats (although I think that one is utter bullshit), and no walking under ladders. I can’t guarantee I haven’t inadvertently spilled any salt—potential hazards of being a baker—but I think I would’ve course corrected if it had happened.
“Olivia?”That voice.
If I weren’t already pregnant, my name on his lips might’ve done the trick. He’s sitting at the end of the counter in a pair of Wranglers and a black Henley with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his corded forearms and the hands I grew intimately familiar with all those weeks ago. His dark eyes feel like they’re seeing all of my secrets, and that’s the last thing I need right now.
“Um. Hi, Wilder. How are you?” I straighten the condiments in a neat row, then fidget with the kids' menus and crayons, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m good. Do you work here?”
“Strictly speaking, no. This is my grandma’s diner. I just keep her display case stocked.”
“You’re Rosie’s granddaughter?”
As if he summoned her by name, Grammy strolls out of the kitchen and places a plate on the counter in front of him. It looks like a BLT with a side of fries—my favorite. “Wilder Hayes, you talkin’ bout me again?” she teases.
Hayes.He’s a Hayes. They’re the wealthiest family in town, and my family's biggest rival. I don't know how I spent a whole day and a half with this man without getting his last name. He’s going to think I baby-trapped him. Holy fuck. This just went from bad to worse.
“Only good things, Ro.” He pops a fry into his mouth.
“I see you’ve met my Livie.” She pulls me in for a side hug.
My stomach roils, and I swallow around the bout of nausea rising to the surface.
Wilder’s mouth tips up at one corner as he gives me a sidelong glance. “I have.” There’s a sensual undertone to the words, and I’m grateful when it seemingly flies right over Grammy’s head.
“If you need anything else, you know where to find me.” She waltzes back the way she came.
“It’s good to see you, Cupcake. Join me?” He gestures to the stool on his right.
My heart is beating out of my chest as indecision wars inside me. Things just reached a whole new level of fucked up.“I really have to get back to work. I kind of took the morning off, and the cupcakes won't bake themselves.”
