Page 56 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
“Okay?” My laugh is thin and paper-dry. “That’s it?”
“For right this second,” he says. His eyes are on mine, but there’s panic in them. “Because if I say anything else, I can’t guarantee it’ll be the right thing. So, I’m going with ‘okay.’”
I understand completely because I said all the dumb things to myself when I was staring down at the two pink lines.
“Ask whenever you’re ready,” I say.
His jaw works. “How do you feel?”
“Scared.” The word is quiet and true, and embarrassing. “I… I was baking. It hit me out of nowhere. I thought it was nothing. Then I knew it wasn’t nothing.” I take another sip of ginger ale, but my stomach is a seasick thing, and I put the glass down fast. “I’ve been nauseated for days. Tired. My body feels like it’s not exactly mine right now. I guess it isn’t.”
He closes his eyes for a second and blows out a breath. “Right.” He looks at my still-flat stomach, then yanks his gaze back up to my face. “You’re sure?” he asks again.
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. It’s early. I know that, but I’m definitely pregnant. It all adds up."
He nods slowly. Silence stretches, and he fills it with the only question that seems safe. “Do your parents know?”
I shake my head. “No. Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
Gratitude moves across his face. “Thank you,” he says, and for a second, I think he might put his hand over mine across the bar. He doesn’t. He laces his fingers together like they might go rogue if he gives them a chance. “And Jason?”
“God, no.” The word lands like a dropped plate. “I’m not ready for that conversation. I’m not even sure I’m ready for this one.”
He lifts his chin a fraction. “Okay.” He breathes in, breathes out. “Paige, I’m—” He stops. A wry breath leaves him. “I’m going to ask another stupid question and then I’ll stop with those and get to the non-stupid ones, I swear.”
I shrug, exhausted. “Go ahead.”
“Is there any way—” He cuts himself off, grimaces. “There isn’t. I know there isn’t. I’m the… Jesus.” His eyes flash apology. “Sorry. Brain-to-mouth filter’s busted.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re the…”
“Right,” he says, so quietly I barely hear it. He nods rapidly. “Right.”
We both look down at our hands. Mine are damp from the sweating glass. His are big and nicked, a thin white scar along one knuckle.
“Before you say anything else,” I hear myself say, my voice steadier now that it’s out, “I need you to know where I am on this.”
He nods once, sharp. “Tell me.”
“I’m keeping it.” There. The words are out and nonnegotiable. “That’s not… up for debate. I didn’t come here to ask you to vote.” My fingers follow a trail of condensation down the glass. “I also didn’t come here to demand anything from you. I needed you to know. That’s it.”
His eyes cut to mine so fast I flinch. “I—” He breathes, reins himself in. “Can I come to the appointment?”
My heartbeat trips over itself. Hope is a dangerous thing. I push it down flat. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Ben,” I tell him. “If you say it, you have to mean it. You don’t get to show up and be a hero and then disappear when it becomes too much.”
“I know.” His voice is rough, and it hits me that he really does. “I know.”
“I need to take care of the bakery,” I say, because that’s something solid to reach for in a room that just lost gravity. “I have a plan. I don’t want special treatment on the lease. I don’t want to owe you anything that blurs lines. I want to pay myrent, on time, like we agreed. I want to open on schedule if the universe lets me. I want—” My throat tightens. I force the rest out anyway. “I want to have this baby and keep my life from falling to pieces in the process.”
He looks like I kicked him and kissed him at the same time. “Then that’s the plan,” he says. “Nothing in the lease changes. The building stuff? That’s on me anyway. We already agreed on that before any of this. We keep it clean.”
“Good,” I say, even though there’s a part of me that would like the soft place to land. “I don’t want you to try to fix this.”
His eyes soften. “Paige, it’s not broken.”
“Feels like it,” I say honestly. “At least in my head. In my body.”
He nods. He doesn’t try to argue me out of my own experience. It’s stupid how grateful I am for that.
