Page 166 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
But each are beautiful in their own way.
“Gray?” she presses.
Unable to resist, I lean down and kiss the woman who owns my heart. “Seemed fitting,” is all I say as I pull back.
Wide eyes again. Another shocked shake of her head.
Then she laughs—and it’s the best sound on the planet, tinkling through the air, feeding my heart and soul…and then my stomach as she takes my hand and draws me down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Grab the bananas,” she orders.
“On it.”
Then—together—we make Nana’s banana bread.
It has two eggs, not one.
And it tastes better than any of the other recipes we’ve tried.
Probably because it was straight from Nana’s heart to our stomachs.
Harper
I exhale and roll my shoulders.
Because he’s out there.
Leo Richardson.
My sexy as sin one-night stand and talented forward for the San Jose Grizzlies is back in my shop after giving me the best orgasms—yup, that’s orgasms plural—of my life…and then disappearing into the night.
With nary a call.
Or a text.
Until he showed back up the next afternoon and laid out an entire checklist’s worth of reasons why we couldn’t work.
Ever.
I rub my temples and take a deep breath.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t calm me like it normally does.
Mostly because it makes me feel queasy.
Something that’s been happening a lot lately.
Something that had me hurrying to the drug store down the street earlier today and buying a pregnancy test.
Then going back and buying four more.
Four because when the first one showed those two lines, I panicked.
And now I have five tests. Five positives. Five ways to say…
I’m pregnant.
This is a nightmare.
