Krissa’s mother stepped into the foyer, the bright morning sunlight illuminating the entrance so that all Nate could see was a slim silhouette, short dark hair. He stopped abruptly.
Krissa’s mother looked up and saw him.
Her mouth dropped open. Snapped shut. Her gaze swiveled back to Krissa. She blinked.
Krissa turned and saw Nate, standing there in his boxers. He froze under the scrutiny of the two women. Shit.
“Uh…” Krissa tightened the belt of her robe. The excruciating silence dragged out. “Mom, do you remember Nate? Derek’s friend?”
Lizbeth Elston seemed to pale, and the impeccable blusher she’d applied to her cheeks stood out starkly pink. Her lips pressed together and her gaze went back and forth between Krissa and Nate while she apparently leaped to some conclusions. Then her cheeks flushed.
And goddammit, her conclusions were right. Jesus. Nate thrust a hand into his hair. The light from the open door was searing his eyeballs and he dragged his hand over them, shielding them. “Uh, sorry,” he muttered. “The light…” And he turned and went back upstairs, cringing, feeling the watchful eyes of Krissa and her mother.
His glasses were in Krissa and Derek’s room. He wanted to stay there. Maybe he could shower in their bathroom, hide there forever. Or at least until Mrs. Elston had left.
He stood there, glasses in his hand, blinking at the moisture the sun had brought to the corners of his eyes, hearing their murmured voices. What were they saying?
Well. This was awkward.
Krissa’d been very open to this whole weird situation, but having to explain it to her mother was a whole other issue. His lips twitched and dammit if laughter didn’t bubble up insidehim. It was like high school, getting caught making out with your girlfriend when your parents came home early. For God’s sake, they were adults. Their sex lives and um…partners were their own business. Right?
But there was always that feeling of being a child, the parental oversight that could make you cringe with guilt and anxiety, no matter how old you were.
He did shower in their bathroom, found the clothes he’d discarded last night and dressed. He had to face them some time. When he emerged from the bedroom, he found the two women in the kitchen, Krissa pouring coffee for them both. She must have returned to the bedroom while he showered, because she was dressed in a pair of jeans that ended just above the ankle and a floaty green top that matched her eyes. Her long dark hair curled around her shoulders, shiny as usual, just brushed. Her eyes met his and they shared a faint smile.
“Coffee?” She held up a mug.
“Thanks.”
“Mom and I are going shopping and then out for lunch. I completely forgot.”
He nodded. “That’s nice.”
Another awkward silence. “Well we should go then.” And she and her mother left.
A week later, Krissa woke up to an ache in her low back. She’d become so attuned to every nuance of her body’s reproductive cycle, she knew immediately what that meant. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Derek had left for work and Nate slept beside her.
She pressed a hand to her abdomen. Was she feeling the first twinges of cramps? Maybe she was imagining it?
She climbed carefully out of bed so as not to disturb Nate, and went into the bathroom. She stared at the evidence that she was not pregnant.Again. With an aching throat and stinging eyes, she pulled the package of tampons out of the cupboard.
She showered quickly, left her wet hair hanging around her shoulders, returned to the dim bedroom to find some clothes. When she was dressed in a pair of knee-length shorts and a long-sleeved T, she went to the kitchen to make coffee.
She stared sightlessly out the kitchen window as the coffee brewed. Her chest ached and she pressed a hand between her breasts. How could this be? It had been perfect timing, and they’d done it so many times. She’d been positive that this time she was going to be pregnant.
She poured coffee into a stainless steel travel mug, popped the lid on it, and went outside. Feeling heavy and tired, her tummy now definitely cramping, she descended to the beach and walked along the shore.
The ocean air teased her hair, cooled the tears running down her cheeks. Seagulls squawked their human-sounding cry, like a crying baby, swooping through the clear blue sky, wings stretched out, pure white illuminated by the sun against brilliant blue.
She found her rock, her favorite place to sit and think. She sat cross-legged, mug cupped in two hands, sipped the steaming brew, and let the tears come. Every rolling breaker brought more misery, more sobs, until she ran out of tears and felt exhausted. She swiped at her nose with a tissue she found in her shorts pocket, let the tears dry on her face, as salty and stiff as sea water.
Eventually the rhythmic rolling of waves onto shore calmed her and lulled her back to steadiness.
She turned her head and spotted someone else walking on the beach toward her. He was still far away, but she easily recognized Nate from the way he moved, his long athletic strides. There wasn’t going to be any way to hide her misery, as her nose must be scarlet and she could feel her eyes were puffy. She blew out a long breath, stared back out at the vast expanse of blue ocean and waited ’til he got there.
“Hey.” He stepped over and around the rocks strewnaround her and stood before her. “You’re sitting on my rock.”
She lifted her face to him and pasted on a smile. “Your rock? This ismyrock.”
