“Harriet?” Warren says softly as I’m downing my glass of water.
“Mm-hmm?”
“You’ll be a fantastic mother.” The resolution in his voice makes my eyes sting. Stupid hormones. “And while I have no doubt you’ll do an amazing job, I want you to know you don’t have to do this alone.”
“What do you mean?” What he’s implying is obvious, but I need to hear it.
“Whatever you need from me—both of you—I’m here.” He rolls his shoulders, as if speaking those words brings him physical pain. “The reason I walked out earlier wasn’t because I didn’t want to be involved.”
“Why did you then?”
The vulnerability in his expression is fleeting. “I was spooked. Still am. I’m forty and never saw myself becoming a father at this age, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to half-ass this. I may be a lot of things, but I am a man of my word.”
I watch him carefully. Those somber eyes, the ones I tried my hardest to forget, stare back at me. There’s such intimacy to his gaze, which is bizarre—we barely know each other.
Why are you so sad?
This is what I wanted all along, someone to share the load of bringing a new life into the world. So why does it petrify me? Warren might sound sure, but his demeanor tells me it’s more out of obligation.
I clutch my cards close to my chest, not wanting to lay them all out at once. Not only to protect myself, but this baby.
“Whatwereally need is another bowl of cereal,” I whisper. “Or two.”
His mouth quirks to one side, making him appear boyish. “I can do that.”
SIXTEEN
WARREN
Harriet devoursher second bowl of Apple Jacks like a champ.
It would be impressive if I weren’t fraying at the edges, coming completely undone, all the while making commitments I’m uncertain I can fulfill.
I’m going to try, regardless of my screaming internal thoughts.
This isn’t about me. It’s about Harriet and our child.
Our child.
An odd sensation rips through me as I watch her, wearing my suit jacket, smacking her lips together after the last mouthful. When she answered the door, my heart cracked. She’d been crying because of me. The responsibility for our situation is shared; we were both present and willing to forgo a condom that night. Now, it’s time to play my part. What that looks like is Harriet’s call, who, for some unearthly reason, is understanding and tolerant of my earlier fuck-up. During the short time we spent together, her kindness shone bright, and even now, when she should absolutely give me the cold shoulder, she chooses consideration.
“Umm.” I grip the back of my neck. “You must be almost twelve weeks, right?”
Surprises colors her face. “I turned eleven weeks today. They’re not kidding when they say the first trimester isn’t a walk in the park.”
Guilt riddles me.You could’ve helped her through it if you didn’t lie about your job.
“Has it been bad?” I ask carefully.
Her lips corkscrew. “You don’t want to know.”
I frown. “I do, or I wouldn’t have asked.”
A red hue creeps up her neck. “Challenging is one way to put it. I was really sick until recently and had to cancel a few shifts at the distillery. It’s started ease up, but as you can see from this evening, it reappears now and again.”
“The distillery?” She said she worked at a bar.
“Yeah, that’s where I bartend and perform sets in the evenings. Jimmy, my boss, is very understanding. Thank goodness, or I wouldn’t have made rent this month. Outside of the near constant nausea, my boobs hurt, I’ve never felt exhaustion like this, I’m bloated and constipated, everything aches, and I’m one emotional commercial away from a full-blown meltdown.” She releases a long breath. “Bet you’re sorry you asked now, huh?”
