Page 103 of Stepping Into Tomorrow

“Oh, someone is in a good mood. Tell me, does a certain fisherman have anything to do with it?” Tessa teased.

Isabella rolled her eyes as she approached the door, opened it, and walked in. She closed it behind her and set the mail on the table.

“He might.” She went up the stairs.

“Tell me, does he have a decent rod?”

“You are terrible.”

Tessa giggled. “Oh, come on, let me have my fun.”

“Did you just call to harass me?” Isabella went into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting the water warm up. A shower to wash the sweat off and cool her down might help with the headache too.

“Just checking in. I miss your beautiful face. And Eli. How’s he doing?”

“Good. He’s disappointed we’re going to have to wrap his boat and put it in storage so soon after buying it. But there isn’t one inch of that thing he hasn’t cleaned or worked on. I’m glad he loves it so much.”

Tessa sighed. “Boys and their boats. Tell me, do you let Nash park his in your dock?”

“Tessa, I swear—”

“Oh, come on. Give me some details, please?”

“All you’re getting is I’m happy. Isn’t that enough?” Isabella asked.

“Yes. That’s more than enough. That’s all I want for you, babe.”

“I know. I love you.”

“Me too.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Isabella ended the call, slipping the phone into her pocket before she rubbed her temples. Her head throbbed now. Steam rose from the shower. She just needed to get in, and hopefully she’d come out a little refreshed.

A noise sounded, like the slamming of a door. She shut the water off and walked out of the bathroom.

“I don’t fucking need to hear it, Roman!” Nash growled.

“You should get that looked at. I think you need stitches,” his brother argued.

Nash was hurt? She walked down the stairs, cradling her belly with each step and trying not to wince. Her hips and lower back ached the closer she got to the last trimester. I don’t remember the discomfort starting this early with Eli.

“I said I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

“What happened?” Isabella asked, rounding the corner into the kitchen.

Nash held his hand under the sink. He turned the faucet on and flinched. “Nothing.”

“My idiot brother cut his hand on a saw blade and is being a stubborn asshole, as usual. See if you can talk some sense into him.” Roman shook his head, clearly frustrated.

Isabella walked over, gasping at the bloodred water filling the sink. She grabbed a few paper towels, folding them together as she reached for his hand.

He shut the sink off with his other arm as she pressed the makeshift bandage to the cut to stop the bleeding. “I’m fine.”

“You’re dripping blood,” she argued.

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