Page 59 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

When I asked if I could have control of my email back because I needed to reach out to a few people, she’d been hesitant for reasons beyond me but agreed. Hence the current email I just received from the man who’d taken it over, which included a new password to access the account I hadn’t needed to think about in far too long.

And when I logged in, my phone was swarmed with notification after notification. My eyes widened when I saw Edward Mansfield’s name in one of the exchange threads dated from two days ago, marked with utmost importance.

But the bump of rough road pulls me away from the email in question, guiding my eyes upward to see us traveling down Alden Street until panic seeps in.

Swallowing my anxiety, I shove my phone in my coat pocket and reposition in the seat to grab the small bag of pastries that I bought before we left Lake Roe. It’s not much of a peace offering, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.

From the corner of my eye, I see Corbin.

Well, not totally empty handed.

“You’re turning blue,” he notes.

The same doctor’s office sits at the corner, followed by a tiny park with a fountain that broke long before I was born. A few houses have been updated with fresh paint and new colors—some yards planted with new flowers, trees, and bushes. Others never changing at all.

“Breathe,” he instructs, reaching over and squeezing my knee. I place my hand on top of his and keep it there.

“It’s easier said than done.”

His lips quirk at the sides. “I would have thought you worked out all your anxiety this morning when you woke me up by—”

“Can we not talk about that?” I cut him off, feeling my face heat. I’m already sweating profusely under my clothes, I don’t need more reasons to drown in my nervous perspiration.

He laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I’m pregnant and horny,” I deadpan, causing him to choke on his laughter. “And that’s the last thing I want to think about when we’re about to see my family.”

“Someone’s in a mood,” he muses.

My eyes narrow at him. “I’m about to be in a worse

mood if you don’t be quiet for two seconds. I’m…” Realizing I sound psycho I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath before facing him again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to expect. A lot of staring. Disappointment. Maybe some cuss words. I need to know what to anticipate.”

The red house with large tractor tires filled with flowers makes its appearance. Holding my breath as Corbin slows down and turns on the blinker, I take in the rusty decorative windmill and chipped white paint on the enclosed porch I used to sit in with Dad and watch the thunderstorms.

Everybody’s cars are in the driveway, so Corbin pulls off to the side of the carport. I know once I get out, I’ll see just how different his lifestyle is from theirs—a shiny new car among rusted older models. He shuts off the vehicle and unbuckles, but I just remain planted in my seat gripping the pastry box in my hands until my fingertips hurt.

“Little Bird…”

“I should have gotten pie,” I blurt, staring at the assortment of donuts and muffins. “Gavin prefers pie. Mom too.”

Dad has always loved donuts more. Sometimes my driving lessons would take us to the town over where we stopped at a bakery and loaded up on glazed donuts—his favorite. The same ones that I made sure are inside the box in front of me.

Corbin reaches out and turns my chin toward him. “Your family isn’t going to care about the lack of pie. They’re waiting to see you, not what you brought. Which is probably a good thing since you brought me.”

How can he find this funny? “For all we know you’re walking into a firing squad. Why aren’t you peeing your pants or something?”

“That’d be embarrassing for one,” he replies, shrugging loosely. “And because we can’t change anything that’s happened. We’ll walk inside hand in hand and take their reaction together. Good or bad, Little Bird. We’re a team. There’s no going back.”

He takes the box from me and undoes my seatbelt, giving me a small head bob of encouragement as he opens his car door. Knowing I can’t stay in here forever, I do the same and walk around the front of the car where he stands with an outreached hand.

The sound of Mom and Dad’s fourteen-year-old chocolate lab barking as we walk up the front steps has me gripping Corbin’s hand tighter. He doesn’t seem phased even though I must be crushing his bones. We both stop at the door, him looking over at me and me forcing myself to believe we’ll be okay.

Twisting the door handle, I walk in first with Corbin directly behind me. Buddy’s wagging tale and whitened fur greets me, making me smile as I reach out and rub his head. The hammering of my heart doesn’t ease despite his excitement to see me.

Dad’s remodel of the mud room makes it more spacious than it was growing up. Bright green walls greet us with homemade signs I know they bought from various garage sales over the years. The wood floor beside the door is lined with work boots and dirty sneakers and hanging above them are hooks for coats that Corbin puts his on before turning to me expectantly.

His eyes tell me what I already know.

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