by S. L. Scott
Reaching across the table, he covers my hand with his. This is the hand I want to hold, longer than tonight and tomorrow. Hoping . . . I don’t know what to hope for. He says, “I like to Tatum watch myself, but that’s a personal preference.”
Fuzzy thoughts on what I want or am doing, what will change if I’m pregnant and what will stay the same. I look at my untouched wine, a glass I ordered for cover, and then reach for my water glass instead.
“Yeah . . .” I take two big gulps, emptying it. Again.
“What’s going on?” He slides his full glass of water toward me without a second thought.
“Tatum watching. I get it. I like to watch you—shower, sleep, watching TV. I really like watching you cook.”
He sets his fork down and takes a heavy breath before asking, “What’s happening here? Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I push my barely touched grilled tilapia away, knowing the few bites of that and the asparagus are all I can stomach. “It’s not you.” I turn my hand over, fingers wrapped around, and our palms pressed together.
“Then what is it? You don’t like the food or the restaurant?”
“I love this restaurant. You got everything right tonight, from the flowers to the food to that suit. If I haven’t told you, you look very handsome tonight.”
The side of his lips rises, and though it’s not a smirk, his smile’s gone rogue. He’s too attractive wearing his heart on his sleeve like he’s doing now. If I didn’t know him, I’d expect arrogance or even some braggy tales from the past.
I clearly misjudged him.
“Then what’s wrong?” he asks.
“Just stuff on my mind.” I don’t want the attention on me. I hate it sometimes despite my reputation.
“Please talk to me.”
How can I not share but still expect him to be open with me?
I can’t.
I made a pact with myself the night before he left to treat him how he treats me, so I take a breath and open my mouth. “I stood up to Mr. Daly today after he touched my hand inappropriately. I’ve not been feeling my best today, and nobody’s said a word about my birthday this week when Natalie and I have usually been planning it for a month. Also, I have no idea where in the world my parents are because I haven’t heard from them since Natalie’s anniversary party. The last few weeks I had with you were the best I’ve had in years because of a man I spent years hating.” I sag in my chair, exhausted. “Then it felt like we shifted back to square one when you left for almost a week. But worst of all, the tilapia had no flavor.”
“I’m sorry about your birthday. I wonder if she’s been a bit distracted with her pregnancy, and the awesome suggestions her brilliant sidekick has suggested for STJ?”
I smile, because he could be right. She has had a lot on her mind. Tossing all manners aside, I rest my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand. “Honestly, my birthday has been the last thing on my mind. Call it age or maturity or too much other stuff to worry about, but I’m not upset about not having plans yet. Everything just seemed off while you were gone. I was busy as usual, but I don’t know.”
A server refills the water glasses and then leaves. “I’m flattered to hear I was missed, but I don’t want you sad.” Harrison asks, “Did I catch that you’re not feeling well or just a bad day?”
Sitting up, I had hoped to blend that in with the rest a little better and wished he hadn’t heard it at all. “My stomach is just a little off. That’s all. I don’t think I made a good choice for dinner with that going on.”
“We should leave. Rumor has it that Natalie has been on a soup making quest. Chicken noodle last week, Nick said he was stuffed on tomato basil and vegetable while I was gone. I heard Italian wedding soup is on the stove today. Seriously, she makes enough for an army. Nick can eat but not all that. We can head over there. I know she’d love to see you, and the soup might settle your stomach.”
Smiling, he knows just how to make me feel better, and I’m discovering that it doesn’t always lie with Natalie. Don’t get me wrong, I love her. But maybe there’s more room inside this jaded heart of mine. “Soup sounds good. I’ll text her.”
“Let me.”
He texts her when he sends his card to pay the bill and then grins while staring at his phone. “She said she’ll have two bowls ready.”
“But you ate your dinner. Are you still hungry?”
“I can always eat.” He signs the check and then comes around to offer me a hand. “Ready?”
“So ready.”
On the car ride over, he gets a text. “Whoa!”
“What is it?”
He grins in disbelief and runs his hand over his head. “I just got a shot at landing the townhome next door to Nick and Natalie.”
“The listing?” I ask in disbelief myself. “It’s completely remodeled, prime location, and the best neighbors ever.”
“Yeah. It’s amazing. Nick told me the owners are well-connected in this city. If I land them, that will open the door for so many opportunities.”
“Natalie, Nick, Andrew, even Jackson are all great connections.”
“They’ve sent me names for potential clients. I have a lot of meetings set up for next week.”
Dusting my nails across my chest, I act coy, and say, “Not to brag, but I’m not so shabby myself in this town.”
When I drop my hand between us, he’s quick to hold it. “Know someone in the market?”
“Natalie told me I should buy it.” When his mouth drops open, I raise my hand. “Don’t get too excited. I can’t afford that place on my own.”
“Fuck, Tate, you had my mind wandering.”
“You don’t have to wonder. Money’s not taboo to me. Money is just money. My family has a lot of it—my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles. They’re loaded. If you really want the juicy gossip, I don’t have to work. I just like to. But none of this is news. You can read it online.” I pause, sitting back, and then add, “I don’t just like to work. It actually makes me feel like I have a purpose.” I see him taking it in when it dawns on me that this is news to him. “You didn’t google me?”
“No. Guess I should have. I would have tracked you down sooner.”
“Because I’m rich?”
His brows pull together. “No, Tatum. Because I liked you.”
My fingers tighten together with his, and my heart pounds to a new beat, one that I’m sure is the drum his marches to as well. My mind starts wandering into his holdings. Maybe I shouldn’t be nosy, but I suddenly feel it’s something we can just put out there and be done. Neither of us needs each other’s money anyway. “I heard you have money to burn.”
He scoffs and then starts chuckling. “I would never burn money, but if I wanted to start a fire, I wouldn’t miss what’s needed to make a bonfire.”
“Family money?”
“Some funds and I’ve done well over the past six years in real estate.”
I like that he’s made his way, even in the family business. “Just curious.”
Angling toward me, he asks, “They said I could stop by to see it if I’m there before nine.”
“If you’re asking, I think it’s a good opportunity like you said. You can establish yourself in the neighborhood.” And then maybe he’ll have a reason to stay.
“But the soup?”
“The soup can wait. I’m feeling better.”
“Do you want to come with me?”
I grin. “Bet your bottom dollar.”
He punches in a code that was sent to him, and the moment we walk into the brownstone, I regret it. It’s the most beautiful home—light and airy, creamy-white walls, wide-planked beige wood floors off the marble flooring at the entry. I grab the sleeve of his jacket. “Harrison?”
Covering my hand with his, he looks at me. “Yeah?” he asks, keeping his voice low like we’re trespassing.
“How much?”
I feel his body vibrate with laughter as I visually get lost in th
e stunning kitchen.
“I’m thinking between twelve and fifteen million. I’d have to see the comps. Fully renovated, it could go higher,” he replies. “You like what you see?”
“It feels like a home, a sanctuary in the middle of the city.” I turn to him and ask, “How many square feet and bedrooms?”
He stops and stands in front of me. “Are you seriously interested?”
“I can’t afford it but just humor me.”
“Okay.” He opens his phone to read the spec sheet. “Four floors like Nick and Natalie’s. This one has an elevator. Looks like a closet. Five bedrooms. Five and a half bathrooms. An office on the top floor. A den in the basement along with a gym. Twenty-five hundred square feet out back.”
I’m still stuck on how the sunlight sends rays across the living room floor. Heaven.
“Want to hear more?” he asks.
“No,” I reply, my heart already too invested in something I can’t afford. “I’m good.”
“Hello?”
We both turn around to the sound of a woman’s voice. Harrison says, “Hi, I’m Harrison Decker. I was sent the code to tour the property.”
With purpose, she comes toward us with her hand held out. “Yes, of course. I’m Dolores. I live here. It’s so nice to meet you. Natalie raves about you.” She shakes his hand firmly by the looks of it and then turns to me with one hand on her pregnant belly.
“That’s great to hear. Nick is my oldest friend.” Harrison looks at me, and adds, “This is Tatum Devreux. She’s—”
“Hi, I’m a client of his.”
Her smile is as welcoming as her home. “Oh,” she says, looking back at him. “That’s impressive.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Harrison says.
“Yes, I’m running late to meet my husband and kids for dinner. I’ll get out of your way so you can tour the home.”
I say, “Thank you for letting me see it.”
“I’m happy you’re here.” Holding up her finger, she asks, “Are you of the Devreux Shipping family?”
“Yes.”
Her hands clasp together over her baby belly, and she nods, appearing pleased. “That’s so interesting. Very well. Carry on. And I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow, Harrison.”
“You definitely will.”
Her heels clack across the marble floors in the front of the house, and I imagine that being mine. The sounds of home.
Leaning down, he whispers, “You didn’t have to say that.”
“I’m only telling the truth. I have a regular jeweler, evening dress seamstress, dry cleaner, butcher, and bakery. It’s about time I had a personal real estate agent.”
“I’m going to be personally thanking you later. How’s that for service?”
“Ten out of five stars every time.”
When we finish the tour, and I’m officially in love with the house but out of my league financially, we go next door. He opens the door and has me enter first. “Why is it dark in here when they’re home and expecting us?”
“Not sure, but the soup smells good.”
“I smell the candle Natalie always burns but not food.” He shuts the door, and I call, “Natalie?”
Turning back to Harrison, I ask, “Are you sure they knew we were coming over?”
He laughs, taking my hand. “Of course. They probably just went upstairs for something since we detoured next door.”
“Maybe. It just feels off.”
“It’s fine.” He starts to lead me down the hall. “I live here when I’m not at yours, so we’re not doing anything wrong.”
Spotting the half bath, I escape. “I need to use the restroom.” Before I shut the door, I say, “I’ll just be a few minutes. Start without me.”
“Start what without you?”
“Soup. You said you’re hungry. Soup it up. I’ll join you shortly.”
He stands there staring at me like something’s wrong but then sighs. “Okaaay.”
I shut the door and immediately pull out both pregnancy tests. Reading the package of one, I rip the other and tug out the plastic stick. When I’ve read down to the fine print, I open the other and then do the deed, peeing on both.
I wasn’t nervous before, distracted by so much other stuff from the restaurant to the house next door, but standing here two minutes of the three is pure torture.
“Are you okay, Tate?”
“Good,” I say with a locked door between us. “I’ll be out soon.”
I look at my phone, wishing it showed seconds on the screen. Pacing the tiny room, I’m going to wear a circle into the floor. I check the time again, too nervous to check the tests.
When three minutes have finally passed, I brace my hands on the sink counter, take a deep breath, and look in the mirror. “It will be okay. Either way.” When the pep talk doesn’t seem to calm my shaking hands, I swallow hard and just look down.
Blinking, I find my vision is blurry. I squeeze my eyes closed and try again. This time it clears, but my legs feel numb as though they’re going to give out from under me.
Two tests. Two lines on each.
I plop down on the toilet and grab the wrapper from the trash can. Reading the directions again, I mentally check off each step and then study the results before comparing them to my tests.
Pregnant.
Pregnant. . .
I start to sweat and need air. Grabbing the tests, I swing open the door and rush out and right into Harrison’s arms. “What’s wrong?”
Waving the sticks around like a crazy person, I reply, “I’m pregnant.”
“Surprise!”
22
Harrison
“Oh shit.”
The room falls silent as I watch Tatum’s expression fall with it. The sound of the sticks bouncing across the floor grabs everyone’s attention. Turning toward the living room, I see the crowd is silently staring. Natalie’s front and center with her hand over her mouth.
When Tatum tries to breathe, it comes out rapid and uneven. Still holding her, her body gets heavier, so I tighten my grip and then start moving her toward the bathroom. I’m not sure if she’s going to faint or not, but I need to get her out from under the wide-eyed glare of the others.
Rushing forward, Natalie picks up the sticks and squeezes in behind me before the door is shut. I set Tatum on the lid of the toilet and crouch down in front of her, not sure how to tamp down my panic. “You’re pregnant?”
Her eyes are glassy, her cheeks flaming red. Her tears break the barrier of her lower lids and roll down. “I’m pregnant.” Looking at Natalie, she asks, “Who are those people?”
“It’s a surprise party.”
Tatum drops her head into her hands, and her mortification is seared into her face before it’s hidden from view. “Oh my God. Everyone knows now.” She looks back up, and her anger takes over. “A surprise party for who?”
“You,” Natalie replies, half-heartedly. “I’m so sorry. We were trying to surprise you, and I thought it would cheer you up. Harrison was in charge of getting you here.”
A hard glare hits me, and Tatum says, “You knew? You knew, and you let me make a fool of myself.” When she stands up, we all shift around the small space to give her room. Poking me in the chest, she says, “You knew, and you let me announce to the world that I’m pregnant?”
“How was I supposed to know you were in here taking a pregnancy test? I thought you just had irritable bowel syndrome from the fish.”
“What fish?” Natalie asks.
“Langley’s on 10th,” I reply.
“I love that place. The tilapia is chef’s kiss,” she says.
Tatum crosses her arms over her chest and looks away as though she can’t stand the mere sight of me. “It was off, okay? It was tasteless.” Indignant in her stance, she has her chin raised to the ceiling, even refusing to make eye contact with her friend.
I recognize the signs of her walls going up.
By how Natalie moves
closer, she does, too. “Tate, you’re pregnant.” Taking her wrists from their crossed position, Natalie holds her hands. Her smile is kind, and her eyes are full of some understanding I’m not privy to. “Look at me.”
Envy courses through me when Tatum follows through with the request. I don’t know if she’d do the same for me. Tatum asks, “What?”
“You’re pregnant,” Natalie repeats, sounding it out even slower this time as if Tatum needs to let it sink in.
Maybe she does. I do.
Maybe she’s in shock. I am.
When Tatum turns to me instead of Natalie, she says, “I’m pregnant.” Her tone is hard to read, but I’m sure she’s feeling a million different emotions like me. Even though she’s said it a few times now, I’m still lost to how I’m supposed to feel and find myself waiting for her to give me some indication. “Harrison?”
“Yeah,” I say, numb at the moment.
She comes to me, wrapping her arms around my middle and resting her cheek on my chest. “Are you all right?”
Natalie moves to the door. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
When the door closes behind her, I lean against it thinking I might need the support. “Harrison?” she asks, her voice quieter than a whisper.
I look down into her soulful browns, the tears not so prevalent now. She caresses my face, and I close my eyes, leaning into it. “I need a sec.”
“Me too, but I didn’t get it.”
When I open my eyes, I see the smallest of smiles before she hugs me again. I hold her, embracing her and keeping her as close as I can. “I’m sure that was shocking to experience, especially alone.”
“I chose to be alone. I wish I hadn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asks, resting her chin on my chest and looking up.
“The surprise and not warning you.”
“If you would’ve warned me, it would have ruined the surprise.” She laughs humorlessly and then leans against me, this time facing the mirror. “I guess we were both surprised.”
“Tatum,” I say, shifting to the side to put space between us. Not to push her away but I need room to think. “I don’t know what to say or ask. I’m confused. You’re on the pill.”