Page 86 of Pregnant in Plaid
"But what if?—"
"Trace." She turns to face me, one hand on her hip. "I love that you care. I really do. But you need to trust me on this. I've been living in this body for almost eight months. I know what feels normal and what doesn't. And this feels normal."
I take a breath. "Okay. Okay. I trust you."
"Good." She pulls on a maternity dress. "Now, are you making breakfast, or am I ordering pizza?"
"It's eight in the morning."
"And?"
"You can't have pizza for breakfast."
"Watch me."
I laugh despite myself and head to the kitchen. She follows, moving carefully, and I try very hard not to hover. It's difficult. Every time she winces or pauses, I want to bundle her into the truck and drive straight to the hospital.
I make scrambled eggs and toast because that's about the extent of my breakfast cooking abilities. Patrice sits at the table, and I notice her phone on thecounter, face down. She must have brought it in when she came out of the bathroom.
I try not to think about whether she's been making plans. Whether she's already decided to leave and just hasn't told me yet.
Stop it. Just stop.
I plate the food and bring it over. "There. Edible breakfast."
She takes a bite. "It's good."
"You sound surprised."
"I am a little." She grins. "You're a man of many talents, Trace MacKenzie. Wood carving, dancing at weddings, mediocre breakfast foods?—"
"Hey, I said edible, not mediocre."
"I stand by my assessment." But she's smiling, and for a moment, everything feels light. Easy.
I sit across from her and watch her eat. She catches me staring.
"What now?" she asks.
"Nothing. Just—" I reach across the table for her hand. "Last night was incredible."
Her smile fades slightly. "It was."
"So," I say, keeping my tone casual even though my heart is pounding, "we should probably talk about what happens next."
She tenses immediately. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—" I gesture between us. "Last night. Us. The baby. Everything."
"Right. That."
"I was thinking," I continue carefully, "you could stay here. At the cabin. With me. We don't have to have everything figured out right away, but we can?—"
"Trace." She pulls her hand back. "I need to tell you something."
The tone of her voice makes my stomach drop. This is it. This is where she tells me she's leaving. I knew it. I fucking knew it.
"Okay," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
