Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“Just like you.”
I scoff. “You give me too much credit. Garrett was one of a kind. He’d definitely wear Bellamy Brooks boots, though.”
“Mollie would love to hear that,” Wheeler replies with a smile.
“He’d be proud of y’all.”
“He’d be proud of you too, Duke. All of y’all.” It’s her turn to scoff. “I’ve truly never met men like the five of you.”
“Men with large shafts?” I hold my hands apart again.
She laughs, and a burst of warmth moves through me. “Kind men. Thoughtful men. Men who give a shit about the right things.”
Christ, are my eyes getting a little misty?
“Y’all should make it happen.” I nod at her laptop. “The men’s collection.”
She leans back in her chair. “You did get me awfully excited.”
“I know your buttons.”
“Your innuendos are shockingly vulgar.”
“And a goddamned delight.” I smile.
She smiles back. We sit like that for a beat too long, the space between us alive.
I feel alive. Didn’t sleep all that great, but you wouldn’t know it from the energy that thrums through my veins.
Are we stupid to not have this baby? What if he or she is not the end of our story but the start of it?
My rational mind knows our situation is much more nuanced than that. But I keep getting these thoughts about, well, giving the decision more thought. More time.
If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure I want to end the pregnancy. Is that just because I have a crush on Wheeler, though, and I’d do anything to keep her around? Because that’s just plain fucked up.
I clear my throat and look down at my computer screen. “I, uh, should get to these invoices.”
“Right.” Wheeler sits back up. “Me too. I probably need an hour. Then you wanna head home? I’m already tired, even though I’ve done, like, practically nothing today.”
If only home was the same place for both of us.
“You mean you only planned out the future of your company and went to an all-important appointment?” I tilt my head. “Totally nothing.”
“I haven’t been productive is what I’m saying.”
“There’s gotta be more to the day than that, yeah? You’re doing better than you think.”
Her expression softens. “Thanks.”
“And sounds like a plan about going back to your place.”
Only when Wheeler closes her laptop and stands up an hour later, putting her hands on her lower back to stretch, I’m hit by the image of her with a pregnant belly.
A very pregnant belly, our baby tucked snugly inside.
We made a baby. Still can’t get over that fact.
What would our daughter look like? Because in this fantasy, I guess we’re having a girl. Who would she look like? Hopefully more like her mama than me.
I’m suddenly gripped by a fierce urge. One that feels an awful lot like protectiveness. I’d take damn good care of Wheeler and the baby. If, of course, Wheeler would let me.
“You okay?”
I blink, Wheeler’s voice yanking me back into the present.
“Yeah. Sorry. Spaced for a minute there.” I fold my laptop and tuck it into my backpack. “How are you feeling?”
She makes a face and puts a hand on her stomach.
Her flat stomach.
“I’m starting to feel nauseous again. Just my luck, I’m part of the minority of women who get morning sickness this early.”
I grin. “That’s why you have me. You like peppermint?”
“I do.” She furrows her brow. “Why?”
“Was just reading about how it might help with nausea. I’ll stop and grab some on our way back to your place.”
She blinks. “Okay. Great. Thank you.”
“I wish you’d stop doing that,” I say with a chuckle, putting my hand on the small of her back as we head for the door.
“Doing what?”
“Acting all surprised and shit when someone does something nice for you.” I follow her outside.
She chuckles too, although the sound has an edge. “It’s cute how you assume being shown respect is a given in everyday life.”
“Shouldn’t it be?” Despite the ardent afternoon sun that shines directly into our faces, I meet her eyes. “Who in the world ever made you feel unworthy of something as basic as respect?”
She waves away my question. “Still up for Titanic?”
I debate whether to press her for an answer. Her brother seemed nice enough—I could tell they’re close. But what about everyone else in her family? Now I’m thinking about those times on the drive to Aspen that she sent her dad’s calls to voicemail. And the fact that Haines said their older brother was a dick.
My hand tightens into a fist around the strap of my backpack. He a dick to Wheeler? Was her dad also an asshole?
I don’t like that idea.
But then Wheeler is reaching out to open the passenger side door of my truck. I beat her to it just in time. She calls me a pain in the ass, but she’s smiling as she says it. I take her bag and put it behind the bench, then help her climb inside.