Page 22 of Pregnant in Plaid
"One bedroom." He gestures around the cabin. "This place is cozy, which is great for two people. Not great for three people, one of whom is seven months pregnant and probably needs a ton of pillows to sleep."
"We could make it work," Tessa starts, but Gage is already shaking his head.
"He's right," Gage says, and he actually looks apologetic about it. "We've got the couch, but it's not exactly comfortable for someone in your condition. And the guest room we have isn't really set up as a bedroom yet—we've been using it for storage."
Trace seizes on this immediately. "I have three bedrooms. One for me, two guest rooms. One of them is already set up with a bed, dresser, everything you'd need. The other could be a nursery if you wanted to stay longer."
"I'm not staying longer," I say automatically. "I have a job in Anchorage."
"For now, then." He softens his tone slightly. "Just for the time you’re in Ashwood Falls. Through the wedding. Then we can figure out the rest."
"I don't need your pity," I hear myself say, and my voice comes out smaller than I intended. "Or your obligation."
Something flashes across his face—hurt, maybe, or anger. "You think that's all I'd offer?"
The question hangs between us, heavy and complicated.
"I don't know what you'd offer," I admit quietly. "We don't know each other, Trace. Not really."
"Then let's fix that." He takes a step closer, and I have to tilt my head back to look at him. "Stay at my place. Just for the weekend. Give me a chance to—" He pauses, searching for words. "To be here. To help. To figure this out with you instead of watching you do it alone from the sidelines."
My throat feels tight. This would be so much easier if he was an asshole. If he'd freaked out and run away, or demanded a paternity test, or done any of the things I'd imagined when I pictured telling him.
But he's here. Offering help. Looking at me like I'm more than a problem he has to solve.
And I'm so tired. So scared. So done with pretending I have everything under control.
"Okay," I whisper. "Just for the weekend."
Tessa makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a suppressed squeal.
"I'll get your suitcase," Trace says, already heading for the door.
"Wait—" I start, but he's gone, the cold air rushing in before the door swings shut behind him.
"Well," Tessa says, bouncing on her toes. "That went better than expected."
"Better?" I stare at her. "I just agreed to stay with a man I barely know!"
"A man who's the father of your baby," she corrects. "And who clearly wants to step up. That's good, Patrice. That's really good."
"That's terrifying," I mutter as I sit back down on the couch.
Gage moves closer, his voice gentle. "For what it's worth, Trace is one of the most solid guys I know. Former Navy SEAL. We saw some bad stuff overseas, came home, and he built himself a life here. He doesn't do anything halfway. If he says he's in, he's in."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I admit. "What if I can't—what if this doesn't?—"
"One day at a time," Tessa says, squeezing my hand. "That's all any of us can do."
Before I can spiral further, Trace is back with my purple suitcase, snowflakes dusting his hair and shoulders like he's stepped out of some rustic winter catalog.
"Ready?" he asks, and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes too. Like he's just as unsure about this as I am.
"Not even a little bit."
"Fair enough." He holds out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, I take it. His palm is warm, calloused, steady. He helps me up from the couch—which, again, takes more effort than my pride would like—and suddenly we're standing too close and I can smell cedar and winter air and something distinctly him.
"Thank you," I manage. "For... this."
