Page 76 of Her Christmas Wish
And then he walked. Up the beach, back down again. Once. Twice.
Scenarios chasing themselves through his mind, bumping into and toppling over each other. Melding. Segueing. Interrupting.
He couldn’t land.
He could be a father already. Done deal. No choice.
Sage’s baby.
Knocking on his door and asking Mr. Dad if he was mad.
Sage telling the child not to bother him.
That wouldn’t affect the kid at all. Being told not to knock on Dad’s door.
Or, more likely, Father. It took more than biology to make a dad.
Semantics. Who the hell cared what he’d be called?
If there was a baby. There might not be. The possibility was valid. Some women tried for years, having sex based on ovulation tests even, and still didn’t get pregnant. An old sitcom favorite came to mind on that one.
The couple had eventually chosen to adopt.
Just as Sage had done.
Sage.
She had to be...what?
Getting what she’s always wanted? To have a child of her own. Conceived with a man she loved?
Had loved?
Did she still love him?
Did he love her?
No point going there. The questions were moot.
He’d reached the far end of Ocean Breeze. Where the road and beach met sharp, rocky cliff. And where, in between the two, sat the dilapidated cottage that he’d inquired about purchasing.
He hadn’t made an offer. The neighbors would all be told at that point. They couldn’t affect the outcome. Just...according to neighborhood bylaws, a notice of pending sale would go out.
As he stood there in the dark, hearing the ocean roaring behind him, his toes rubbing grainy sand against the leather of his flip-flops, he decided.
He was going to make the offer.
He’d talk to Sage first, let her know. And if she grew distressed? Begged him not to buy?
He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. If he did.
The cottage spoke to him in a way no other building ever had. It was like the broken-down thing was calling him home.
And if Sage was pregnant...if he was going to be a father...he had to be close.
To the child.
And to the sea.
