Once I got home, I cranked my ceiling fan to its highest setting and got situated on the couch with my laptop and a bottle of water. This heat was fucking ridiculous. I’d lived in Florida all my life, so it wasn’t unexpected. But being pregnant gave me a new, passionate hatred for the humidity. I literally couldn’t remember how it felt to be cold, no matter how low I set my A/C.
The evening passed slowly, and it didn’t take me long to realize I was too distracted to accomplish much writing. I switched gears to focus on my editing project instead, but even that was difficult. My eyes kept darting to my phone, checking the time and watching for new messages. Donovan usually texted or called on his breaks, but I knew it would be at least another hour before the dinner rush waned enough that he could step away.
I hoped he was having a good night. The mild dissatisfaction he’d voiced about his job the first time we’d met had since evolved to irritation that was causing him daily stress. I accepted Miranda’s explanation of why Donovan didn’t like to bring his work troubles home with him up to a point, but I was beginning to worry that perhaps there was some other reason he didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with me. Sure, David West may have taught his children the importance of that particular boundary, but I doubted Laurelle had been completely unaware of her husband’s professional life. They seemed to have a very healthy and happy marriage, and that kind of relationship depended heavily on open communication.
When I found myself disappointed by the number on the clock for the eighth time, I gave myself a mental shake and closed my laptop. A new idea struck me, and I tapped my fingers on the top of the computer as I considered it.
In another hour or so, Donovan would be able to step out of the kitchen for a few minutes and maybe even sit with me while I ate a quick dinner. He often said the sound of my voice put him in a better mood, and I wondered if seeing me in person might help him even more. I knew I would appreciate it if I were in a similar situation, and it would be fun to surprise him.
Deciding to follow the impulse, I changed into a soft, jersey-knit dress that hugged my body a little more closely than most of my other dresses. I turned this way and that in front of my bedroom mirror, studying my changing body. I seemed to be carrying all of the pregnancy weight in front thus far, so I really only looked pregnant from the front and the side. When it came to maternity clothing, however, it was sometimes easy to feel like I was wearing a tent rather than a dress. I missed some of my stylish pre-pregnancy outfits, but I’d come to prize comfort over just about everything else.
As I settled into the driver’s seat of my vehicle, my belly rubbed against the steering wheel, and I reached down to move the seat back. Again. Driving comfortably was one thing I hadn’t considered about pregnancy, and it wasn’t the only part I was still adjusting to. The pregnancy had become the first thing people noticed about me. Where once it might’ve been my hair, my eyes, or my smile, now it was my belly. Not only did they stare at me, but they treated me differently too.
Most southerners are friendly and outgoing in the first place, but apparently, pregnancy elevates everyone to the status of instant family. I’d lost count of how many random strangers had struck up conversations with me about being pregnant. Everyone seemed to have their own pregnancy or baby story to share, and most of them didn’t hesitate to ask personal questions about my own experience.
The touching was the worst. I could tolerate the occasional elderly woman wishing me well and rubbing my belly a little, but people crossed the line far too often in my opinion. Although I knew in the back of my mind that everyone meant well, I had lost my patience more than once. Between the miserable heat and general discomfort of pregnancy, I’d begun to feel like my body was no longer my own. Having random strangers touch me without permission didn’t help matters.
My wandering thoughts distracted me the whole way from my apartment to the downtown area, and I sighed at yet another symptom I hadn’t counted on. That ‘pregnancy brain’ thing was no joke. Not only did I get caught up in my own musings all the time, but I’d have forgotten my own head if it weren’t attached.
The parking lot at The Aviston was only about half full when I arrived, and I hoped that meant Donovan would be able to sit with me for a few minutes and unwind a bit. He’d brought me to the restaurant once or twice since we’d started dating, but he preferred not to be there when he didn’t have to be. As such, I didn’t recognize the face or name of the hostess stationed in front.
“Good evening, and welcome to The Aviston. How many in your party?”
“I’m actually just looking for Donovan West, if he’s available. If not, I can wait a little while.”
“May I tell him who’s asking?”
“Kennedy. I’m his girlfriend.”
Predictably, the girl’s eyes darted to my rounded stomach, and her expression conveyed surprise but not recognition. She faltered for a moment but pulled herself together quickly, glancing at her watch.
“Um, he’ll probably be on break pretty soon, if he’s not already. He usually sits at the bar.” The hostess directed me around the corner toward the bar area, and I thanked her politely, studiously ignoring the piercing stares of multiple employees and patrons.
When I rounded the corner, it took me no time at all to spot him. As usual, my body was attuned to his presence, and the sight of him always put a smile on my face. I stopped in my tracks to simply take in his appearance. He was wearing his white chef’s coat, and it contrasted nicely with his dark features. But then, Donovan looked good in everything. And downright edible in nothing. He was taking long drinks of ice water and nodding silently as a coworker spoke to him. He didn’t look up from the bar to see me standing in the archway.
I was about to approach him when a gorgeous smile suddenly stretched wide across his face, and he turned to the woman who sat next to him. I hadn’t paid much attention to her until that point, but now my gaze zeroed in on the woman’s hand, which was resting on Donovan’s forearm.
No, not resting. Stroking.
What the fuck?
Fifteen
Kennedy
A sickening chill prickled over my skin, and I held my breath as I examined the scene with new eyes. The unknown woman was dressed in the standard wait staff uniform with her silver-blonde hair styled into an edgy, asymmetrical bob. She was slender but had clearly learned to play up her curves even in her uniform, and I had to admit she was gorgeous. Her face was animated as she spoke, but the low, ambient music from the sound system obscured her words. Their heads were extremely close together, and Donovan was smiling his beautiful smile at her.
I knew that smile well. It was the one he usually wore when he was relaxed and comfortable. When he was enjoying my company. The woman’s hand was still on his arm, but he didn’t seem to have noticed. He was either accustomed to her behavior or he was just that interested in whatever she was saying. I stood shell-shocked for a moment, my mind reeling.
Mentally sifting through our past conversations, I tried desperately to recall whether Donovan might have mentioned any coworker who fit the woman’s description. Whoever this stranger was, it was obvious she and Donovan were close, and my stomach churned at the question of just how close they might be. I didn’t want to watch anymore, didn’t want to consider the possibilities.
Fuck.
Was this why he’d been so intent on keeping his work and personal lives separate? Had he been leading me on all this time? Had he changed his mind about wanting to be with me? Had the changes in my body and the unpredictable hormones simply become too much baggage for him to handle?
I couldn’t help but take stock of the woman’s appearance again, dejectedly comparing it to my own. I’d had a body like that when Donovan and I had met. I’d been thin and pretty. But now…
I can’t do this.
Humiliation washed over me, and a horrible ache twisted my heart into knots. Unable to bear another second, I fled, moving as quickly as my added girth would allow i
n my desperation to escape the restaurant before he realized I was there. I didn’t want him to see me, and I sure as hell didn’t want to hear his explanations or excuses.
I was back in my car and pulling into my driveway quicker than should have been possible, unable to remember the actual drive home. The turmoil of emotions and hormones was nauseating, and the hold I was keeping on my tears of jealousy and dread was tenuous at best. I stomped into my house and kicked my sandals off, sending one of them a good five feet away from me, and I breathed heavily as I began to pace.
Stupid, stupid, stupid… This is karma. Has to be. Maybe I offended him more than I thought with the fake name thing, and this is how he decided to get back at me… Why the hell did I ever think a hot guy like that could find a fat, pregnant chick attractive?!
My thoughts swirled, a new question echoing through my mind with each step I took across the tile floor. Would he try to deny it if I just came out and asked him for an explanation? Would I be able to believe him if he did? Or worse… Would he admit that what I’d just seen was exactly what it looked like? Would he tell me he’d changed his mind about our relationship and decided that dating his sister’s surrogate was just too fucked up for him after all?
I had no idea what to do. Confront him and demand an explanation? Pretend it never happened and just ignore the unrelenting doubt that churned in my gut? I shook my head dismissively at that idea, knowing there was no way I could ignore this. I couldn’t imagine looking Donovan in the eye and being able to hide this miserable feeling. He’d see through me in a heartbeat.
Though I’d been hungry when I’d gone to the restaurant, all thoughts of food were now long gone. Even the water I forced down for the baby’s sake made me feel like throwing up. My heart rate was up, and I wondered nervously how high my blood pressure might be.
Calm down, Kennedy. For the baby if for nothing else. It’s not her fault her uncle is a…
A what? A cheater? My mind revolted at the word, especially since I knew how Donovan felt about infidelity. Or had that all been a lie too?
Nearly an hour of miserable pacing and circuitous thought passed before my phone pinged with a new text message. I eyed it with a sense of foreboding before opening the message. It was from Donovan.
Hey, babe. Someone said you were here looking for me a while ago, but I never saw you. Is everything okay?
No, everything is definitely not okay, I scoffed angrily. I tossed the phone away from me without replying and continued to pace. Eventually, my aching feet forced me to the couch, and I stared up at the rotating ceiling fan in silence.
As the evening wore on, a missed call and several texts from Donovan went unanswered, and my anger grew steadily. Not only at him, but at myself as well. Maybe more at myself. I hated that I was so vulnerable. So weak. I’d never been the jealous type, and I had no fucking clue how to handle this. Any time I’d suspected infidelity in my previous relationships, I’d simply confronted the issue head on with a rather pragmatic attitude, and I now realized just how unaffected I’d been in those situations.
I’d never been this afraid of hearing the truth. The prospect of ending a relationship had never gutted me like this. How had I let myself become such a pathetic, codependent mess? When had I begun to rely so heavily on Donovan’s presence in my life that the mere thought of his absence was almost debilitatingly painful?
Jesus, Kenn. Get a fucking grip. I could almost hear Miranda’s voice in my ear, and I fought the instinct to call her for advice. Bringing another person into this mess would only make the situation worse. The baby kicked periodically, the little taps and nudges punctuating each of my silent, self-loathing curses as though she agreed with my thoughts. I stroked my belly apologetically and renewed my efforts to calm down.
A knock on the door startled me, and when I checked the clock, I was shocked to see how much time had passed. It was after one a.m., and although I didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who was on the other side of the door, Donovan confirmed it a moment later by calling my name as he knocked again. I could hear the concern in his voice, and it was that more than anything else that prodded my swollen feet across the living room to open the door.
His expression was one of anxiety and confusion, and the sight of his face was all it took to unleash the emotions I’d been struggling to contain. Angry tears spilled over my lashes, and I turned away quickly, unable to look at him. I heard him follow me in and fling the door shut behind him, his tone now edging toward panic.
“Kennedy? What’s wrong?!” His arms were around me in an instant, turning me to face him, but I avoided his gaze. “Are you okay? I’ve been texting and calling all evening. They said you came to the restaurant... Why didn’t you have someone come get me from the kitchen? Or answer any of my texts?”
Donovan pulled back to try to get a better look at me, but I stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. I knew what he’d see in them if I looked at him, and I didn’t trust my voice either.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head and tugged free from his embrace, taking a few steps away from him to wipe my face and collect my thoughts. Clearly, trying to pretend nothing had happened wasn’t an option. I could feel him come to stand behind me, but this time, he didn’t do more than rest his hands on my upper arms.
“Kennedy, you’re scaring me. I need you to talk to me, all right? Is the baby okay?” he asked nervously. I guess he was starting with what he would consider to be the worst case scenario. I replied as loudly as I could manage, though it was little more than a whisper.
“The baby’s fine.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I came to see you and maybe get something to eat.”
“Okay… I’m sorry, but they didn’t tell me until you were already gone. Did you eat?”
I shook my head and allowed him to turn me around again, fixing my eyes stubbornly on his manicured beard and noting the tension in his jaw. My voice was raspy with emotion when I spoke.
“You weren’t in the kitchen. You were at the bar. I saw you.”
“Why didn’t you come over and talk to me?” he pressed. I couldn’t tell if the confusion I heard in his voice was feigned or genuine. No going back now…
“It looked like you were enjoying yourself, and I didn’t want to interrupt.” There were several beats of silence while I waited for him to say the words I knew were coming. The words that would bring an end to this fairy tale I’d deluded myself into believing was real.
“Was it around nine?” I nodded and lowered my chin to hide another tear. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and I braced myself for a lie or a lame excuse. Or the truth. I didn’t know which would be worse.
“Don’t… Just… If that’s the kind of girl you want, all you had to do was say so.” I began to pull away, but he caught me and forced my chin upward. His heavy sigh might have been one of exhaustion or relief, and his tone was firm.
“Hey, look at me. I don’t know exactly what you saw, but I can absolutely guarantee it’s not what you think.”
It’s not what I think… That’s what he’s going with? Seriously? He must think I’m an idiot.
“It was pretty obvious,” I spat, my anger building again. “She was stroking your arm and sitting much closer than she needed to be. And you were smiling at her like it was nothing.”
“Because it was nothing!” Again, I tried to pull away from him, but he held me steady. “That was Jessa. I thought I’d mentioned her to you before, but maybe I haven’t. We’ve worked together for a long time, and we’ve hung out outside of work a few times in the past.”
I bit back a sob, shaking my head involuntarily as I tried to tune him out. I didn’t want to hear this, but he kept talking.
“She was telling me a funny story about her girlfriend,” he added in a rush. I froze and finally looked at him directly, and his dark eyes were intense as he continued. “That’s why she was touching me like that. It was part of
the story. Plus, she’s just a tactile person in general. Some people are like that. She doesn’t mean anything by it, and half the time, she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
“I’ve gotten used to that about her, and it doesn’t bother me. But I never gave much thought to what it must look like to other people, and I’m sorry you got the wrong idea. Everyone at work knows she’s gay and that I’m not single, so I’m sure no one thinks we’re involved or anything like that. It was really, truly nothing to worry about.”
I stared into his eyes for a long moment, and I could see the honesty in them. The desperation. My expression crumpled in relief and embarrassment, and he wrapped his arms around me, letting me bury my face against his chest in shame. I took several long, staggering breaths as he rocked me gently, and the tumultuous knot of anxiety in my stomach began to unravel.
“I talk about you all the time at work,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear. “Jessa must not have seen you either, or she’d have figured out right away who you were. She’s been wanting to meet you.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered into his chest. “I assumed the worst and just ran away.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I should’ve known better. I do know better. It’s just…”
Just what? How the hell did I let myself lose it like that? My insecurities must have been bigger that I’d realized, because in the space of a few hours, I’d managed to forget a lot of very important factors. First and foremost, this was Donovan. Donovan, who had spent months catering to my every craving and anticipating my needs. Supporting me in every possible way. Not to mention worshipping my body with the kind of reverence people usually associate with religious devotion. What the hell was I thinking?
Chance Encounter (Fates Aligned Book 1) Page 12