Page 117 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
I take a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of calm in his words.
“You’re right,” I say after a pause. “I just… I don’t know how to back off when I feel like I’m losing her.”
“Back off, but don’t disappear,” Nolan advises. “It’s the difference between being patient and being distant. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”
I exhale, a bit of the tension leaving my shoulders, but it’s still there—that gnawing fear.
I don’t enjoy waiting. I don’t deal well with feeling helpless. But maybe it’s what I need to do now.
I turn back toward the door, but before I walk out, I glance at Nolan one last time. “Thanks. I’ll check in with Dex about the DJ. And… I’ll figure this out.”
“Take it one step at a time,” Nolan says with a slight nod of encouragement.
I head toward the hotel lobby, my mind racing again. This time, I try to silence it, focusing on one thing at a time.
One thing at a time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sunny
December 24th
I have toomuch on my plate to think about Ryder today. Way too much.
Same as yesterday, and the day before.
Naturally, though, that’s all my brain wants to do. Think about him. Think about how we haven’t really talked since the whole baby bombshell situation.
We’ve been so busy, running around with the gala prep, the hotel crisis, and the usual bedlam of, you know, life… that I haven’t had time to figure out what to say to him, or even how to say it.
Or maybe I’m just avoiding him.
My stomach gives an angry little lurch, as if to remind me that I don’t have the luxury of thinking about anything but this right now.
The morning sickness has officially hit me like a freight train, and it’s relentless. I’m either nauseous, starving, or both every five minutes.
I’ve barely made it through breakfast without wanting to hurl into the nearest potted plant. If I’m being frank, I’m not entirelysure I’m going to survive tonight without doing something mortifying in front of the entire gala crowd.
The last thing I need to worry about right now is Ryder. Or the twins. Or the fact that my life is about to be turned upside down in ways I never planned for.
But here we are.
I’m standing in the hotel kitchen, trying to choke down a granola bar while Chef Andre barks orders and runs through the final checklist for tonight.
His French accent cuts through the noise like a warm butter knife through croissant dough, and I’m just trying to keep my stomach from staging a full-on rebellion.
The granola bar is my only hope of survival.
“Miss Quinn!” Chef Andre calls from across the room. “We need more decorations for the dessert table. And where is my cranberry sauce? I want it perfect!”
I blink at him, dazed. “What? Oh. Right. Cranberry sauce.”
I honestly have no idea what’s happening anymore. All I know is that I can’t focus on the cranberry sauce for much longer without either passing out or, ugh, throwing up. It’s just not happening today.
I duck out of the kitchen, seeking refuge in the cooler air outside. A blast of cold hits me as I step onto the sidewalk, and I immediately suck in a sharp breath, feeling the fresh chill clear my head a little bit.
The cold air feels just what I need. I stand there for a minute, hands on my hips, breathing in deeply as if I can somehow suck all the madness out of my lungs and just reset.
