A dinner for one. “Are you inviting me to your place for Christmas Eve out of pity?” Did I care? I’d give her all the space she wanted, but I’d take whatever scraps she left me. It was to stay in Bean’s life.
And hers.
A divot formed between her brows. “Would you be joining me out of pity?”
“Not at all.” The last thing I felt around Clover Duke was pity. “Christmas Eve is yours.”
Clover
* * *
I pulled up in front of the clinic. I didn’t see Van’s truck. He offered to pick me up, but I was on my journey of being on my own.
Mostly, I was missing him, and a strong sense of homesickness would not let up. My first week living in my new place sucked as much as it was liberating. For one, I did it. I was doing it. I had a nursery. The baby had a roof over its head.
I had an old bed that used to be Laila’s, but she’d upgraded to a bigger size. The living room was filled with a love seat and a recliner. Neither matched. Jasper even brought me a TV he claimed he didn’t use anymore. Either he bought it for me, or Alder did. Perhaps my parents.
I should’ve turned them down so I could accomplish it myself, but it left me with more money to outfit the nursery. Except Haven Furnishings delivered the perfect dresser–changing station combo. Thanks to Van.
Mom called every day to check on me. I assured her that I had lived on my own pre-Elijah days, and I could do it again. But working at my little round table I found in the thrift store and not seeing Van walk by was a constant shadow on each day. He’d texted to check in, and I’d had to refrain from sending him something every day.
I would get to see him today.
I gathered my things and was about to get out when he pulled in. His expression was thunderous. He had his phone to his ear, and his lips were moving with enough force I’d be able to read them as he drove by if I had the skill.
I dropped my hand off the door latch. Was he running into issues with his business? Was he missing something important because of this?
He parked a spot away from me and threw his pickup into park. Resting an elbow on the window, he kept the phone to his face. His other hand punctuated the air several times.
Fuck you. I could read that.
He punched the screen with a finger and then slammed his phone against the steering wheel.
Oh no. All that hard work he’d been doing. Was it all down the drain?
My phone buzzed. I’d tossed it into my purse when I loaded into my cold car.
I dug for it. Who could be calling? Was my doctor canceling for some reason? I’d miss out on an hour with Van, but at least I’d get to see him.
There was a knock on the window, and I jumped, barking out a cry.
“Don’t answer it.” His muffled voice carried through the glass.
I stopped with my phone in my hand. “What? Why?”
He opened the door, and cold air gusted in. “It’s Elijah.”
I dropped the damn thing back into the depths of my purse. “What? Why?” My vocabulary shrank to two words. Elijah? Calling?
“He’s found out about us.”
“How?”
Van shrugged. “Maybe some of the town gossip hit socials. He’s pissed as hell.” My phone continued vibrating in my bag. “Don’t answer. He’s being a bigger asshole than normal.”
Before, I wouldn’t have been able to imagine what Van could mean. How could he be worse than usual? But after hearing how Van grew up, and what happened as adults, I could fill in the blanks.
“That selfish prick has no right to harass us.” I snatched my phone up without looking. Elijah’s name streaked across the screen, and it brought back memories. Mostly of when I was in the hotel room in Vegas and couldn’t get a hold of him. The hurt and fury lifted to the top of my brain.
