“Uh, I’ll give you a minute to change,” he says, clearing his throat and backing toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Okay.”
He steps out, and I peel off the gown, pulling my clothes back on. We check out at the front desk, schedule the next appointment, and Jake walks me to my car.
“Thank you for letting me be here,” he says.
“You’re the father, Jake.” I unlock my car. “Of course you should be here.”
“Still.” He shifts his weight, one hand in his pocket, the other fidgeting with his keys. “I know this isn’t easy. Any of it. But I really appreciate you including me.”
I don’t have a neat, emotionally healthy response for that, so I just nod. We stand there for another beat, the late-afternoon sun warm on my face, the reality of everything sitting between us like a third person.
“I should go,” I say finally. “I have a class to teach at five.”
“Right. Yeah.” He slips his wallet back into his pocket. “Do you need anything? Groceries, more vitamins, anything? I’m happy to help with whatever.”
“I’m okay for now,” I say. “But I’ll let you know.”
“Good.” He nods, like that was the answer he was hoping for. “Text me when you get home tonight?”
“Why?”
He shrugs, a tiny lift of one shoulder. “Just so I know you got there safe.”
It’s such a boyfriend thing to say that my first instinct is to bristle. But there’s nothing possessive in it. Just genuine concern.
“Okay,” I say.
I reach for my car door but before I get there, Jake steps closer. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. Close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne, the smell that makes me think of his hands on my skin three months ago.
He reaches past me to open my door, his arm brushingmine as he pulls the handle. The contact is brief, barely there, but it sends heat racing up my arm. I’m suddenly aware of how tall he is, how solid he feels standing this close. How if I leaned forward just slightly, just a fraction of an inch, I could rest my forehead against his chest.
I look up instead. His eyes are hypnotizing. His lashes are longer than mine, dark against his skin, and I notice again that small scar near his left eyebrow that I have the urge to place my lips on.
For half a second, I let myself wonder what would happen if I closed the distance. If I pushed up on my toes and pressed my mouth to his. Would he kiss me back? Would it feel the same as it did in July, all heat and urgency, or would it be different now that there’s something between us besides chemistry? The thought hits me so hard I have to look away.
“Drive safe,” he says, his voice rougher than it was a second ago.
I slip into the driver’s seat before I can do something stupid. “Thanks.”
He closes the door gently, then steps back, hands sliding into his pockets. Through the window, I can see him watching me, waiting to make sure I’m settled before he walks away.
I start the car and buckle my seatbelt, hyper-aware that he’s still standing there. When I shift into reverse, he lifts a hand in a small wave. I wave back, then pull out of the spot.
In my rearview mirror, I watch him head toward his own car. I force my eyes back to the road, and as I pull out of the parking lot with the ultrasound photos on the passenger seat beside me, I catch myself smiling.
thirteen
. . .
Jake
I rewritefor the third time the text I’m about to send, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Jake
I got something for the baby. Can I bring it over?
