He prioritized me over her, which was just icing on the cake.
"I can function, okay? You go home and rest. I can prescribe some meds if you need…"
My arms flopped like branches in the wind. "I went to a clinic." I felt awkward for the first time since that day he bent me over my desk.
"Oh, dear," Margaret said, "use ginger tea… I'll hunt up my mother's recipe. It works like a charm."
I almost started crying as I backed away. "Thank you, Mrs. Bradley. I'd like that." It was a lie.
I knew the ginger would come right back up, but it was a kind gesture and I was thankful for her.
"I guess you're right," I told Nate. "I'll take these meds and see how I feel tomorrow. Call me, okay?"
I backed out of his office as he winked at me, and his mother just stood there with clasped hands grinning like an idiot, and when the door was shut, I felt heaviness creep into my shoulders.
One way or another, I had to reduce stress, but it wasn’t going to be from quitting this job. I loved working for Nate.
That wasn't the stressful part.
The hard part was the pressure the Christmas season and its traditions were putting on me.
But with Mrs. Bradley on our side, I got a glimmer of hope.
If one person could find it in their heart to look past the scandal and see the people under it, maybe others could too.
Maybe this wasn't as bad as I thought, and maybe we would be okay once the holidays were over and all of this blew over.
22
NATE
Ember missed one day and two mornings of work this week because of her morning sickness.
I hadn't had to cover for her yet, but as her direct supervisor, I still had to report to HR about time missed.
If she didn’t clock enough hours, they'd hound me, so we worked out a compromise for her.
She came in after the nausea subsided in the mornings and worked a bit later in the evening to account for the missed mornings, and I would have supper on the table for her and a hot bath if she needed extra time to relax.
The offset in hours was even good for the inter-office political dance we'd been doing, forcing us to arrive and leave at different times and thus squashing some of the gossip.
For one full week it had been working, and tonight, I planned a delicious surprise for her—veal roast and vegetables with homemade bread donated by my mother and a pie from the bakery down the street from the hospital.
Everything was perfect when she walked through the door of my home until I saw her face and knew she'd been crying.
"Ember?" I asked, rushing over to her side.
I helped her out of her coat and hung her purse on the hook, but she melted into me with a heavy sigh and sniffles.
"Nate, I'm so sick of people talking about us." The whine in her tone made my shoulders drop.
Clearly, some nasty person had gotten to her again when I thought we were finally moving past some of this.
"What happened, hon?" I pulled her back, looking her in the eye, and she shrugged.
"I stopped at home for some clean clothes—I figured I'd crash here tonight." I guided her as she kept talking toward the kitchen where the food was set out waiting for her. "And there were a few reporters on the lawn again. After the PBS thing aired, they wanted more information on the secret life of the Hearthkeeper. They're just not letting this go. The tree lighting is only like two weeks out. I feel like this is going to outlast Christmas at this point."
I pulled her chair out and helped her settle, then tucked her hair behind her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, thankful my tighter knit community didn't have this issue.
