Page 55 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
“Good choice,” I say, trying to keep her going, trying to ease the crackle in the air.
“They came out fine. Perfect, actually.” Her laugh is short and sharp, and it doesn’t sound like a laugh at all. “But while I was making them, I felt… weird. Nauseous. I thought it was nothing at first, but it kept getting worse. And it wasn’t just that night. It’s been happening since.”
Something crawls up the back of my neck. My brain tries to rationalize it into stress, exhaustion, maybe even the flu.
But I can feel it in my gut. The truth.
“I told myself it was just too much work, too many long nights. But—” She cuts herself off, eyes locking on the ring of water under her glass. She says it like the words might break her teeth on the way out. “That’s not it at all.”
My pulse spikes. I lean in without meaning to, arms braced on the bar. “Paige… just say it.”
She finally looks at me. Really looks at me. And there’s very little air between us suddenly. Her voice is quiet, almost imperceptible.
“I’m pregnant.”
For a second, I’m sure I misheard. I must have. The bar is too quiet, the lights buzz too loudly, my own heartbeat pounds so hard in my ears it distorts everything. But she’s still looking at me, and her eyes are shining, and I know I didn’t mishear.
Pregnant.
The stool creaks as she shifts, bracing herself like she expects me to bolt. And maybe I should move—say something, anything—but I can’t. I’m nailed to the floor.
My mouth is dry, useless. I can’t think. I can’t even breathe. All I can do is stare at her and feel the world rearrange itself around that single word.
Chapter Twenty One
Paige
I don’t look away after I say it. I don’t let myself. If I break eye contact now, I won’t get it back, and I can’t stand the thought of looking up and finding him gone.
I watch the moment the words hit him—how his pupils kick wide, how his mouth opens and doesn’t make a sound, how his hands go still on the edge of the bar like he has to hold on to something to keep from falling.
I’m the one who feels like I’m falling.
He blinks once. Twice. The clock over the liquor shelves ticks too loudly. The cooler hums. The ice in my glass cracks softly as it settles.
“Say something. Please,” I hear myself whisper.
His voice comes out rough. “Are you… are you sure?”
I nod, because if I try to speak now, I’ll choke.
“Three at home,” I manage after a breath. “All positive. I have a doctor’s appointment next week.”
He shifts, elbows coming to the bar, forearms braced. “How far?” he asks, then shakes his head. “Dumb question.”
“About… six weeks?” I answer anyway.
He swallows. His throat bobs, and my eyes follow it like I’m hypnotized. I hate that I still notice him like that right now.
He clears his throat. “And, uh— When’s the appointment?”
“Tuesday. 8:30.” My voice sounds steady and not like mine at all. “A clinic out of town.”
We sit in the quiet of the bar. I can see him thinking, his mind is racing with thoughts, questions.
I have to give him credit that he didn’t bolt right away. He hasn’t cracked any stupid jokes or said any of the easy, cowardly things a man could say to get out of this.
He just breathes, and then he says, “Okay.”
