Page 62 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

For a moment, I felt the warmth of his hands, but then remembering that I hated him, I pulled away. "I thought you got the hint and were gone."

He gave me a smirk. "You're the one who needs to get the hint that I'm sticking."

"Where were you?" All the other mornings, I had found him working in the kitchen.

"I was in the living room. I got you something."

My eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. "I don't want anything from you."

"I know. Come and look anyway."

He started to take my hand, but I tugged it away. Even so, I followed him to the living room. Resting against the back of the couch was an art piece that looked to have pages from a book and toys attached to it.

I wanted to ignore it, but as I got closer, I found myself intrigued by it. I walked over to study it more closely. "What is this?"

"It's a piece of art. What do you think?"

I examined the work, forming my impressions. I crossed my arms as I turned to look at Brett. "I think it speaks to how throughout history, society kept women in a certain lane, a box, but despite progress, those attitudes still exist."

He flashed a grin. "I knew you'd say that. I could totally hear you saying it when I first saw it."

My eyes narrowed. Was this a game? "You know, you and my father both continue this archaic attitude when you try to keep the weak little pregnant lady barefoot and at home."

That effectively removed the smirk from his face. "Nobody thinks you're weak or incapable. Even independent women like you, Miranda, need support and help sometimes."

I tried to shrug his comment away, hating that he was right. "Maybe so, but I don't need it from you. I don't want it from you." I headed back toward my room, looking back over my shoulder as I reached the hallway.

Brett stood facing the painting, running both hands through his hair as he blew out his breath. "You deserve this, McKinnon," he murmured to himself.

I almost felt sorry for him. But then I remembered that he was right that he deserved my anger. He had destroyed my faith in him. There was nothing that he could do to get it back.

Even knowingthat I was never going to trust him again, Brett continued his routine of coming over and spending the day with me. In a few weak moments, I wondered if it meant that he felt something for me. But then I remembered that his visits had to do with the baby. After all, he'd said that if not for the baby, he'd be out of my life.

A week and a day from when I was discharged from the hospital, I had a doctor’s appointment and there was no way that I could go to it without Brett. He'd been sticking to his word to stay out of my way and not trying to make conversation, so the ride over was quiet.

I felt good physically over the course of the week. There had been little to no cramping or spotting. Even so, as we approached the clinic, my nerves ratcheted up. Just because everything seemed okay didn't mean everything was okay.

We walked into the clinic. I checked in and then sat in the waiting room.

"Are you alright?" Brett asked, sitting next to me.

I turned to look at him, his steel gray eyes watching me with concern. At that moment, I desperately wanted to give in to the need for him. For his strength. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

I turned my attention away from him. "Yes, I'm fine."

Several moments later, we were called back to the examining room. My doctor questioned me about how things had gone over the week, and to his credit, Brett didn't intervene to complain about how I wouldn't let him wait on me hand and foot.

"We’ll do another ultrasound and see how things look today. Before we get started, do you have any questions?"

She looked from me and then to Brett.

"If everything looks good today, what will that mean for the pregnancy down the road?” Brett asked. I frowned at him, feeling like he had no right to ask questions about my pregnancy.

"Let's see what we have going on before we discuss that, shall we?"

I laid back on the table, lifting my shirt and pushing down my yoga pants as she squeezed a warm gel over my belly. She put the wand on my belly, moving it around. "Hmm."

Panic shot through me. What did “hmm” mean? My hand shot out toward Brett, grabbing his and squeezing. I looked at him, and as if he understood, he rose, folding my hand in both of his hands. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it. I hated that I needed him at this moment but couldn't deny that I appreciated that he understood.

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