“We should have talked about getting tested before we slept together in New York,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “We’re just moving at our own pace, but…”
Aaron’s face grows solemn. “Will we need a Plan B? I can run to the pharmacy right now.”
I blink, surprised by how quickly he moves to fix things. No excuses, no blame, just a straightforward offer to handle what we both let happen.
“That would be helpful,” I admit, then continue, “but it doesn’t address the main problem.”
“Which is?” His eyebrows lift slightly.
My hand makes a vague gesture between us. “Things I said at dinner. About… us.”
“We can talk after. Let’s deal with one crisis at a time.” He’s already pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He slips on his sneakers and gives a quick kiss on my forehead. Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut with what sounds like judgment in its wake.
I wrap myself in the hotel robe and pace the room. My phone buzzes—another text from Demi, fishing for updates. I ignore it. What could I possibly say?I’m spiraling in San Fran with a romance author who’s upending my entire life. And I might be pregnant. I need help.
I stare out the hotel window at a bustling San Francisco morning, the sky impossibly blue. People hurry to work, tourists snap photos, and vendors set up their stalls. Everyone has a destination. While I’m just here, adrift and far from home, wondering how I landed in this mess. The possibility ofpregnancy feels like a door swinging open—a door I’d hoped to keep locked for another decade.
I touch the mark on my collarbone, feeling how tender it is. It’s proof of letting go, something I’ve always seen as a weakness. I sit on the bed, tired from thinking so much. My fingers touch the sheets where Aaron slept, still warm. I’m stretched out on the bed, wondering when I lost control. Aaron comes back twenty minutes later, carrying a pharmacy bag and a cup of coffee. His kindness makes my heart ache.
“That was quick.” I sit up.
“One caramel macchiato with an extra shot.” He hands me the drink. “And one emergency solution.” He places the small box next to the coffee with equal care.
“Thank you.” I take the pill with a swig of coffee.
“There was a bottle of water in the fridge, but I guess coffee works too,” he says, before stripping out of his clothes and walking to the bathroom. “I have an IG interview at noon. I don’t know how that slipped my mind. I do apologize, but after that, the rest of the day is ours. We still have wine tasting on the menu.” He disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start.
I stare at the empty pill package, crushing it in my hand. Is he dodging the conversation about last night?
“You coming in? Water’s perfect.” Aaron’s voice carries over the sound of running water.
“No, I’ll wait until you’re done. I need a minute to think.” How can he expect me to want to shower with him right now? I do want to, but caution wins out. I have to be careful.
Steam billows out as he emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips. His eyes find mine. “I meant what I said earlier. If anything happens, I’m here. All in.” His lips quirk up. “Especially after hearing how much you want my babies. If we start now, we can create a basketball team before I’m forty.”
Heat rushes to my face. “That was the tequila talking.”
“Tequila just removes the filter, Counselor.” Droplets slide down his neck as he combs his fingers through his wet hair. “It doesn’t create new thoughts.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Can we table this until after your interview? Please?”
He studies me for a moment, then nods once. “Okay.” The bathroom door clicks shut behind him.
I grip my coffee cup and pace the room, nerves buzzing. I need Demi—she’s the only one who can talk me down. I step onto the balcony, letting the crisp San Francisco air clear my head as I dial her number.
Demi answers on the second ring. “Well, well, well. She’s alive, ladies and gents!”
“I might be having a panic attack,” I grip the railing.
“Wait… what happened?” Her tone shifts immediately. “Did he do something? Say something? Do I need to fly out there and cut a man?”
“No, it’s not—he’s perfect. That’s the problem.” I sink into one of the balcony chairs. “I think I’m falling for him like I did back in college.”
The silence that follows is so long I check to make sure we’re still connected.
“And this is… bad news?” she finally asks.
“Yes. I told his agent in my drunken state last night that I wanted to have Aaron’s babies, and it doesn’t help that we haven’t been using protection.”
