Page 250 of The Sweetest Return

She adjusted the collar of my coat like I was twelve. “I did dream about fish last week, though.”

My whole body went still.

Mrs. Jones pressed her lips together.

“Mama.”

“What?” Her face was innocence itself. “I didn’t say who was pregnant.”

“Oh my God.”

“See? Now you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“I am jumping to conclusions?”

Behind me, Dre made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

I turned on him. “Don’t.”

He lifted both hands. “I ain’t say shit.”

Of course he hadn’t. He was enjoying this entirely too much.

My mother kissed Dre’s cheek, and my father shook his hand, holding on a second longer than usual.

“Proud of you, son,” Daddy said.

Dre’s throat moved. “Thank you.”

I watched them, my heart full, and without thinking, my hand drifted near my belly.

I lowered it almost immediately.

Too late.

My mama’s eyes dropped to my hand. So did Mama Jones.

Both looked smug and vindicated, as if they’d been discussing the baby before I could confirm there was one.

Daddy noticed Mama noticing and suddenly developed an intense interest in the field. Mr. Jones did approximately the same thing two seconds later.

Oh, so the fathers had been briefed too.

Nobody said a word.

Somehow, that made it funnier.

And sweeter.

Dre’s hand found my lower back. His eyes touched mine, soft, private, knowing.

Just before kickoff, somebody from athletics came to pull Dre down toward the field. He kissed my temple and went, stopping twice before he reached the rail because people kept grabbing him. I watched until he turned like he felt me looking.

He found me in the stands immediately.

Two fingers touched his mouth before he sent the kiss toward my section.

My throat tightened before I could laugh. He had done that after touchdowns when we were twenty-one. Nine years later, with his ring on my hand and his child filling my belly, he still knew exactly where to find me.