Page 104 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“I got your calls. At first, I thought it was an accidental dial, because you didn’t say anything, but after the second one, I just…I don’t know. I knew something wasn’t right. I followed an instinct to come over and check on you.”

She scrunched her brow and frowned. “I didn’t call.”

He pulled out his phone and showed her the recent calls screen. “You dialed me. Twice.”

She stared at the screen, then up at him, and slowly shook her head. “I didn’t make those calls. My phone was in the diaper bag the whole time—until I got it to call the sheriff’s department.” Rising, she crossed to the kitchen table and got her phone. A tap, a scroll, and then she walked back to the sofa and showed him her call log. Just as she’d said, it reflected no calls to him.

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “That’s…weird.”

“It is,” she agreed but didn’t look too uneasy about it. “Want to hear more weirdness?”

“Okay.” He shifted down to the seat beside her, took her hand in his, linked their fingers together.

“Back in the Jeep, before I came into the house tonight, I had a little…hallucination, I guess I’d call it. Shay showed up in the passenger seat and told me to go in swinging.”

The chill returned. He rubbed his free hand over the back of his neck. “Shay, huh?”

She nodded.

“Is he, uh…still hanging around anywhere?”

“Not that I can see, no.”

Some of the chill abated. “Well, I said it before, but if anybody could find a way to bend the rules of the afterlife, it would be him, and if anyone could give him a reason to bend them, it would be you. You and Shayla. He loved you.”

Her lips turned up in a soft, slightly sad smile. “I know.”

Ford faced her, took her other hand, and inhaled slowly to calm his suddenly pounding heart. “He’s not the only one, Lilah. I love you, too. I love you. I love Shayla.”

“I know,” she repeated and held his gaze. Though her voice stayed calm, fierce green eyes shot double-barreled challenge at him. “You love us enough to set us free. Question is, Ford, do you love us enough to keep us? Because I don’t need freedom to figure out what I want.” Her chin took on a stubborn jut to match the challenge in her eyes. “I know what I want, but I refuse to sit here and demand that you trust me, or negotiate with you, or beg you, and even though I’m right and you’re so, so wrong—”

“I finished knitting.” He reached for the bag, handed it to her. “Here.”

She stared at the bag, then at him. “This is hopeless. You can’t even finish the conversation.”

“I didn’t say I’m done with the conversation. I said I’m done knitting.” He jiggled the bag. “Go on. Check it out.”

Her expression could not have been more aggrieved, but she took that bag, reached in, and pulled out the hat first. Her eyes immediately misted. “Oh, Ford. It’s adorable.” She ran her thumb over his careful, even stitches. “A keepsake. Something she’ll pass down to her own babies one day.”

The idea of that punched him hard somewhere under his lungs. “There’s more,” he managed through the breathlessness. “I did the booties, too.”

She reached in and took the first one out, admired it. “So perfect. I can’t thank you enough,” she finished, but her expression turned confused as she pulled out the second bootie, with the long strand of yarn trailing to the rest of the skein. She glanced at him. “What’s all this?”

He took the ball of yarn. “This is the rest of our conversation.”

She bit her lip and lowered the bootie to her lap. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, Lilah, way back when I first learned you had a baby on the way, I promised you my friendship with no strings attached. I can’t make good on that offer anymore. I never really could, to be honest.”

Her eyes went wide and troubled. “We’re not friends anymore?”

“What? No.” Christ, he was messing this up. “What I’m trying to say is that this keepsake comes with a string attached.” He plucked the trailing yarn. “A big one.” Slowly, he draped and looped a length of the yarn around her.

Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of string?”

He ran the yarn around his shoulders and once more around hers. “This kind of string. The kind that runs from me, to you, and keeps us together. The kind of string that can stretch a bit”—he demonstrated by letting out more length—“if you ever need some give”—and then eased closer to her and drew it tight—“but doesn’t break. It’s the kind of string that keeps us together, forever. Can you deal with that?”

And now, oh shit, tears shined in her pretty green eyes. Should he have listened to Wing, after all? But then her stubborn little chin lifted.

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