by Jacie Lennon
My cheeks are wet, and I reach a hand up in astonishment to brush a tear away.
“Hey. Whoa, whoa. Are you crying?” Mason leans forward a little, his brow furrowed in concern.
I walk forward and shock both of us by wrapping my arms around his broad chest and laying my head against his quickly beating heart. This is the first nonsexual contact we’ve had, and it’s weird but oddly comforting. After a minute, he puts his arms around my back, his head hovering above mine and my tears soaking his shirt. I pull back, wiping both eyes, and I laugh.
“It’s hormones. This doesn’t mean I like you,” I tell him.
He chuckles, breaking the awkward tension in the room. “The feeling is mutual,” he says with a wink.
The nerves I felt earlier are calm now, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that he was in this with me. Enemies are now allies in a beautiful disaster of their own making.
“Have you told your dad?” I ask, not sure which is the better answer.
He’s my boss, and here I am, knocked up by his son. I don’t want him to judge me for that.
“I have, and I also told Grams.”
“Oh, not Grams,” I moan. “I need more of her delicious pie.”
“Don’t worry; Grams is cool,” Mason says and points behind him. “She might have sent a slice with me. It’s in the mini fridge.”
“What? Right now?” My eyes widen as I try to determine if my stomach is revolting right now. When I notice I don’t feel sick, I grin.
“Yes, but it’s”—Mason glances down at his watch before looking back at me—“ten thirty in the morning.”
“It’s never too early for pie.” I level him with a look that says, Don’t mess with the pregnant lady.
This is weird, this amicable conversation with Mason.
“If I had known this was all it would take for us to work things out, I would’ve knocked you up the first night I met you.” Mason attempts to keep his face straight as I study him.
“Don’t push your luck.” I sweep past him and bend down to peer into the mini fridge behind him. Nestled among water bottles and a few takeout boxes is my prize. A beautiful piece of strawberry pie that is making my mouth water. I grab it and turn to find Mason watching me, eyes hooded. “Were you staring at my ass?”
His eyes slowly come up to mine, and he grins.
“This is only a cease-fire between us. You’ve got a lot of work to do, mister,” I say, jabbing a finger into his chest as I walk by him and out of the office door.
Technically, I’m on the clock, but at the moment, I can’t get this pie off my mind. I walk to where the coffee shop area is roped off and pick a small table closest to the area to sit down with my spoils. I sigh and lift the fork to my mouth before I see Nick slip into the chair across from me.
“Hello,” I say, lowering the forkful of pie back down to the plate while my stomach yells at me.
“Don’t stop eating for me,” he says with a smile and gestures to where my stomach just growled like a jungle lion ready to eat his kill.
I smile and quickly shove the bite in my mouth, containing a moan that threatens to rip from my throat when the buttery crust and strawberries hit my tongue. I’m pretty sure my eyes roll back in my head before I remember where I am and snap my gaze back to the man smiling across from me.
“Good?”
“Mmhmm,” I mumble around a mouthful.
“My mom used to make that pie every Saturday while I was growing up. It was my favorite.” He fondly looks at the pastry as I stuff my fork back into it. “It still is my favorite.”
“I can taste why. It’s amazing,” I tell him honestly.
“I’ve debated on using her recipe for a pie here at the bistro.”
“You should. I think it would double your income.” I nod emphatically.
We sit there silently while I finish the rest of the pie, and then Nick leans forward and clasps his hands on top of the table.
“I want to apologize for my son,” he begins. “I know that he hasn’t exactly been on his best behavior with you … but he’s a good man, and he will make a good dad.” The earnest look in his eyes as he’s talking warms my heart. It’s hard to imagine this sweet man as Mason’s dad. “Mason … he didn’t have the best role models in parents for a while, myself included.”
“He told me his mom wasn’t around,” I say, my fingers nervously twirling the fork around the empty plate.
Nick’s eyes widen as he takes in what I said. “He told you?”
“Yes. Was it a secret?”
“Mason doesn’t talk about it much. I’m just surprised, is all. I’ll let him tell you his version when he feels like the time is right. I’ll be honest; I wasn’t the best father, but I’m trying to make up for it now. I hope …” Nick shifts in his seat and glances off to where Mason is walking into the room before looking back at me. “I hope that you and he get to a place where you can be friends because this child deserves what Mason didn’t have. Parents who are there for him … or her.” He nods once and stands, resting a hand on my shoulder in a fatherly gesture as he walks past me.
I sit there a moment, processing his words. It makes a little more sense why Mason freaked out and left when I told him. I come from a home with two parents who raised me together, and Mason didn’t have that. He didn’t have a lot of stability to make him feel secure, and it only seems normal that he wouldn’t feel secure in raising his child.
I get up to throw away my disposable plate and fork, my stomach full and my heart heavy. I’ve been so selfish, not considering how Mason might be feeling. It never crossed my mind that I couldn’t be a mother to a child, but maybe it would have if I’d had parents who hadn’t been there for me. I’ve been so blessed, and I need to take that into account.
With renewed purpose, I square my shoulders, and I resolve to sit down and have a long talk with Mason about his expectations and how we should proceed in this relationship we have to develop. It’s the responsible thing to do.
22
Jules
Being at the bistro and participating in opening the coffee shop is surprisingly fun. It is nice to have something to occupy my mind. When Mason and I quit bickering, we work well together.
My mind drifts back to the first meeting with Nick when Mason told him that with a chuckle.
“We perform well together.”
My cheeks heat as I remember the night of the party and how good it felt. My hormones are raging, and I find myself clenching my legs together more than once around Mason. He has been the perfect gentleman, much to my chagrin. His hands never linger; they barely even touch me. Like he is reining himself in. But now that I have all these extra feelings coursing through me, I feel like a nymphomaniac.
My first doctor’s appointment is today, and Mason asked to go. If the online gestational predictor test I took is correct, I’m about eight weeks along. We still haven’t sat down to hash anything out, and whenever I think about it, it makes my stomach clench. What if we don’t see eye-to-eye on anything? I’d hate to burst the small, happy bubble we are finally living in, and for some reason, I convince myself that that will do it.
I’m stuffing my water bottle into my purse when a knock sounds at the door. I check the time and see that he’s ten minutes early. I cross the floor and throw the door open with a smile before freezing.
“Hello, Jules.”
I quickly close the door a little in self-preservation even though he hasn’t made a move to come in.
“Kyle. What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”
I peer behind him, hoping to see Mason walking up. Our last encounter when Kyle forcefully grabbed me enters my thoughts, and fear niggles at the back of my mind.
“You aren’t an easy woman to track down, Jules,” Kyle says with a smile creeping across his face.
I think he means it to be nice, but it only appears sinister to me.
“I didn’t want you to track me down. Please le
ave.” I try to shut the door, but his hand flies out, smacking against it and keeping it open.
The fear at the back of my mind works its way forward, becoming more pressing. If he tries anything, I will be powerless to stop him.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He leans in a little, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Have you been drinking?” I wrinkle my nose in disgust at the pungent smell that makes my stomach roil.
I’m going to throw up.
“How did you find me, Kyle?”
“Don’t you know that you can find anyone these days? No one can remain invisible. You haven’t been answering my calls.”
“I changed my number,” I tell him. “I don’t want to talk to you. Please leave.”
“You fuckin’ heard her.” The deep voice behind Kyle makes my knees weak, and I grip the door for support. “You need to leave.”
I watch the smile drop off of Kyle’s face as a sneer takes its place. He turns to Mason and then looks back at me.
“This the guy you are fucking?” he asks in a deceptively calm voice.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Mason says between clenched teeth. His hands gather into fists at his sides, and I close my eyes, silently praying that this won’t escalate. “Now, leave. She asked you nicely, and I’m giving you one chance to do the right thing.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kyle says, throwing his hands up and laughing. “No need to be so serious. I just wanted to talk to Jules here, but I’ll come back another time.”
“No, you won’t,” Mason says calmly, not taking his eyes off Kyle.
“You aren’t her fucking dad.”
“No, but I’m pretty sure her dad would want me to beat your ass.”
“You don’t know me,” Kyle says, taking an aggressive stance.
“I know enough,” Mason says. The tension coming off of him in waves is suffocating.
“It’s all lies if it came from this bitch,” Kyle growls as he points behind himself to me.
If he’s trying to win me back, he’s doing a bang-up job.
Mason lurches forward, and his right hook connects with Kyle’s cheek. An audible crack is the only sound that lingers in the air for a few moments until Kyle’s body hits the ground with a thump. A strange noise erupts from my throat as I cover my mouth and look with wide eyes at the unconscious man lying on the ground between Mason and me.
“Oh my God,” I whisper as Mason steps over his body and walks up to me.
“Are you okay?” He takes his fingers and lifts my chin, turning my head several ways as his eyes caress my skin.
“I’m fine. You showed up just in time.” I let out a shaky breath, and my hand that was clenching the door releases to grab on to Mason’s arm.
“Go sit down. I’ll get him out of here.”
“Don’t kill him,” I say.
Mason barks out a laugh. “I’m not a mobster. I’m just going to get him awake and gone. You should think about getting a restraining order against him.”
I nod in agreement. Mason leaves me sitting on the couch and returns outside, shutting the door. I hear a few muffled curses before a body is shoved against my door and then silence. A full five minutes later, Mason opens the door and walks to the sink, washing his knuckles off under a stream of cold water.
“Oh my. Oh, your knuckles. Hold on,” I say as I rush down the hallway for the first aid kit I keep in my bathroom.
“I’m okay.” His voice floats after me.
I roll my eyes. Men.
I return to the kitchen, and he’s sitting at the table. I gingerly pick up his hand, turning it to look at the scraped-up knuckles. Red and angry, they stare back at me, and I suck in a breath. Mason’s hand is warm, and the calluses on his palm scrape my skin as I spread his fingers out. He lets out a long breath as we both stare at his hand, and I place it on my thigh. The warmth seeps through my jeans, heating my body.
“Thank you,” I say in a whisper as I dab ointment on the scrapes and lean down to slightly blow across them.
I feel his gaze on the top of my head as he watches me, and he shifts slightly in his seat. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle under his scrutiny, and I ache for his hands to touch more of me. I crave that warmth I feel on my thigh. I want it to seep into all the parts of my body. All of my body is aware of the man sitting in front of me, more aware than I want it to be. I finish bandaging his hand and stand up, putting some space between us, hoping to clear my head.
“We are going to be late,” Mason says, standing and hooking the thumb on his non-bandaged hand toward the door.
“Oh my God, my appointment.”
In the excitement, I completely forgot why Mason was here in the first place. I reach for my purse and throw it over my shoulder.
“I’ll clean everything up when I get back.”
Mason nods and reaches over to open the door to usher me out before thinking better of it and stepping in front of me to look in both directions. It’s sweet to see the concern on his face, and the protectiveness of his actions doesn’t go unnoticed.
He’s going to make a good dad.
A smile takes over my face, and the mirth bubbling up inside me spills over into a laugh.
Mason glances back at me, the corners of his mouth turned down. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking that, a week ago, we still hated each other’s guts, and today, you punched out my ex-fiancé for me. It’s weird how quickly things change.”
“I’ve never hated your guts, Jules,” Mason says quietly before dramatically rotating his shoulder. “It did feel good. I haven’t punched anyone in a very long time.”
He opens the truck door for me, and I chew over his words as I climb inside.
“I’ve never hated your guts, Jules.”
The drive to the clinic is uneventful, and once I sign in, I lower myself beside Mason, glancing around at the other couples in the waiting area. The women range from ready to pop down to me, where you wouldn’t even know I was pregnant. I look at the couples holding hands and those who are talking quietly. I realize that’s what Mason and I must look like. It’s funny how things aren’t always as they seem.
I look over at him to find his eyes on me. “What?”
“I just never thought I would be here, never pictured myself as a dad,” he says with a shrug before turning back to the television mounted on the wall.
“I don’t think you can call yourself a dad until you start wearing white tennis shoes with jean shorts and gain a few pounds,” I whisper back to him with a smile.
A chuckle rumbles in his chest, drawing my eyes to his taut upper body. My gaze skates over his shoulders and trails down his arms, his corded muscles ending in strong hands, hands that I long to feel on me again. I cross my legs and shift over in my seat so that I’m not close enough to inhale his scent, but it still reaches me.
Curse this pregnancy-induced super-sniffer.
The sound of my name being called in the waiting room pulls me from my stupor, and I rise on shaky legs. This is it. This will tell me what I already know is true.
The appointment consists of a lot of questions about medical history and an in-office pregnancy test to confirm that I am pregnant. I am.
The last thing we do before leaving is the ultrasound. The part I’ve been most excited and scared out of my mind about. Lying back on the table while the ultrasound technician squeezes jelly on the wand, I glue my eyes to the screen in front of me. I want to look at Mason, but I decide not to. I can’t focus on how he is going to react, but I’m very aware of his presence beside me.
The technician flicks on the screen, and there it is. My baby. Mason’s baby. Our baby. In a little white circle, the fuzzy, alien-looking gray being rests, and I’m in awe. That’s inside me right now. The technician moves some things around, and the room is filled with the rapid thump of a heartbeat. I do it; I look at Mason. His hands are gripping the sides of the chair as
he leans forward, his eyes squinted before they are drawn to my gaze.
“There’s your baby,” the tech says as she looks at us. “Healthy heartbeat, around one sixty-five.”
“One sixty-five? That’s healthy? That seems fast,” Mason says.
“A fetus’s heart rate is usually in the one hundred twenty to one hundred seventy range and stays so throughout the pregnancy. It’s completely normal.”
“Is it true that you can tell if it’s a boy or a girl with the heart rate?” I ask the tech.
“No. Some people say you can, but the only way to know for sure is a blood test—or to give birth.” She smiles. She scans around the baby, measuring different things and showing us each little part that’s formed.
Mason’s hand lands on mine, giving it a small squeeze before releasing and dropping back to his lap. A jolt of happiness zooms through my body, sending a warmth flowing through my veins and leaving me in a state of euphoria. The tech draws the wand back, and a machine starts to print while she hands me a wet cloth.
“Everything looks good on my end. The doctor will be in to talk with you and answer any questions you might have,” she says and then pauses. “I’ll draw this curtain again, so you can get dressed.” She walks out, shutting the door behind her and leaving us in silence.
I shift behind the curtain to put my pants back on after cleaning the remaining jelly off. When I pull the curtain back, Mason is sitting on the other side, his head in his hands.
“Hey, are you okay?” I walk a few steps toward him, and he jerks his head up.
“Yeah. I think it just became real for me. Seeing it in person,” he says, motioning to my stomach. “It’s weird, thinking that I’m going to have a child in nine months.”
“It’s technically seven months now.”
“Damn … even less time to prepare.” He shifts in his chair and lays his head back before glancing at me.
Before he can say anything else, my phone starts ringing. I pull it from my purse and grimace at the name on the screen. I lied to Kyle. I didn’t change my number. I just deleted my voice mail so that a generic one would play in its place, and he wouldn’t have any way of knowing it was still me. I didn’t think Kyle was capable of stalking. I don’t know how I missed the signs when we were together. I guess I took his overprotectiveness as a sign of love. I decline the call and stuff my phone back in my purse while Mason intently watches me.