Page 69 of Pregnant in Plaid
"Go rest. I'll see you tomorrow for more wedding stuff."
"Can't wait," I say, but I'm smiling.
I grab my garment bag and shopping bags and waddle up to the door. It opens before I can reach for the handle.
Trace stands there, looking unfairly good in jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair slightly messy like he's been running his hands through it.
"Hey," he says. "How was the shopping?"
"Successful. I found a dress that doesn't make me look like a Christmas tree or a planet."
"I'm sure you looked beautiful either way."
"You haven't seen me in the Christmas tree dress."
He grins and takes the bags from me. "Come on. I made dinner."
"You made dinner?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm capable of more than wood carving."
"What did you make?"
"Spaghetti. Nothing fancy, but it's hot and there's garlic bread."
My stomach growls audibly. "You're a saint."
"I'm really not," he says, but he's smiling as he leads me inside.
The cabin smells like tomato sauce and garlic, and I could cry again from how perfect it is. Trace sets my bags down and gestures to the couch.
"Sit. Rest. I'll bring you a plate."
"I can get my own plate."
"I know you can. But you don't have to."
I sit, because arguing takes energy I don't have, and a few minutes later he brings me a plate piled high with pasta and bread. I dig in immediately, and it's delicious—simple but good, exactly what I needed.
Trace sits next to me with his own plate, and we eat in comfortable silence. The fire crackles in the fireplace, and outside, the first stars are starting to appear.
"Thank you," I say after a while.
"For what?"
"For this. For dinner. For letting me stay here. For not being a jerk about the whole surprise pregnancy thing."
"Patrice." He sets his plate down and turns to face me. "I'm not doing you a favor. I want you here. I want to be part of this."
"I know. It's just?—"
"Hard to believe?" He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I get it. But I'm not going anywhere."
The way he's looking at me makes my chest tighten in that scary, wonderful way that Tessa was talking about.
I should say something. I should tell him I'm scared or that I'm falling for him or that I don't want to leave.
But the words stick in my throat, and I end up just nodding.
