A KISS FOR A KISS

by Hunting, Helena

  “I know. You’re right. But beyond the confusing family circumstances, I’m scared that I’m going to tell my mom, and then she’ll finally come around, but it will be just like last time.” Only I already know what I stand to lose. The tightness in my throat eases with that admission.

  “Oh, Han. I wish this were easier for you.” She nabs a tissue from the side table and passes it to me.

  I dab my eyes, not realizing they’d started leaking. “I wish I were a decade younger.”

  “I know there are a lot of things you’re worried about, Hanna, and that focusing on all the other stuff is probably a distraction you need, but at some point, you’re going to have to stop being so concerned about how everyone else is going to handle things and bring the focus back where it needs to be, on you.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I can’t pretend to know what this must feel like for you, but you deserve to be happy. And you deserve to have this baby. Give yourself permission to do both of those things, however unconventional that family is going to look.”

  “Thank you for always being here for me.”

  “That’s what best friends are for. I’m always beside you, no matter what happens.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  How It All Fits Together

  Hanna

  THE WEEK THAT follows finding out I have a bun in the oven passes in a blur of saltines, plain chips, work, accidental naps, and a lot of phone calls. Between conversations with Jake making sure I’m okay, Ryan checking up on me—he’s still off, but swears everything is fine and that he’s just worried—the group chat with all the girls, and Paxton showing up almost every night of the week with dinner, I’m feeling both overly pampered and exhausted.

  I’ve also made Ryan promise not to say anything to Mom until after I’ve gone for the first ultrasound and I’ve heard the heartbeat. There’s no real logic to my not telling our parents, other than being nervous.

  By Sunday, I’m a ball of anxious energy. I do an hour of yoga, followed by two hours of cleaning, even though my cleaner was here in the middle of the week. By the time I’m done, I’m sweaty and exhausted all over again.

  Which means I fall asleep the second I sit on the couch.

  And that’s the position I find myself in when Jake shows up on my doorstep.

  I have a slew of missed messages and six missed calls—not all of them are from Jake. It looks like my Seattle Girls, as I’ve named the group, were chatty this morning. I have no idea how long he’s been ringing the doorbell, but considering that five of the last six calls came in the last eight minutes, I can guess.

  I don’t have time to do anything but stumble to the door and throw it open.

  His expression shifts from frantic, to relieved, to concerned in the span of three blinks. One of his hands settles on my waist and the other lifts, sweeping wayward strands of hair off my cheek. “Hanna? Are you okay?”

  I can feel my face warming with embarrassment. “I’m fine. I fell asleep on the couch.”

  “Oh. Okay.” His shoulders come down from his ears and his smile turns wry. “You must have been out cold. I’ve been ringing the doorbell for ten minutes.”

  “It would definitely explain the dream about an alarm going off that I couldn’t find.” I take a step back, noticing that my neighbor to the right, who’s always in everyone’s business, is pretending to trim her hedge. “You should come in. I’m sorry I’m such a hot mess.”

  “You’re hot, but you’re not a mess.” He picks up his suitcase and a second bag—it seems like a lot for an overnight visit—and steps over the threshold.

  “And you’re a liar, but I still like you anyway.” I give my neighbor a wave, so she knows I’m on to her, and close the door before she gets the idea to come over and ask a million questions.

  Jake stands in the middle of my foyer, looking ridiculously delicious for someone who spent five hours on a plane. I glance beyond him, to the mirrored front hall closet door. My hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. I’m wearing a baggy shirt and a pair of sweats that are better suited for a twenty-five-year-old, not someone in their mid-forties. But Queenie gave them to me for Christmas and they’re comfortable, so I can’t resist wearing them.

  “Oh wow, I need five minutes to freshen up.” I cringe at my reflection. “It’s a wonder you didn’t turn around and head right back to the airport. I look like yesterday’s garbage that’s been baking in the sun all day.”

  One of Jake’s eyebrows pops.

  I spin around and take a step toward the hall leading to my bedroom, where there’s a shower, a brush, and clothes that are presentable.

  “Whoa, whoa. Hold on a second. Where are you going?” His fingers close around my wrist.

  “To change.”

  “You don’t need to change. Come here.” He takes a step closer and tugs me toward him at the same time. His arms come around me, strong and solid. He smells faintly like plane, but also like laundry detergent, cologne, and cinnamon, or mints, or possibly both.

  “I probably smell horrible,” I mumble into his chest, but I melt into the embrace, needing it more than I want to admit.

  “You smell a lot prettier than any of the hockey players I work with.” He drops his head, and I can feel his warm breath in my hair.

  “King smells like the inside of an old shoe after he’s played a game or worked out, so there’s a lot of room left for various levels of disgusting in there.” I absorb the comfort of his presence like a salve to my worries.

  He chuckles. “Those boys actually smell like used jock straps.”

  I make a gagging sound and Jake releases me and takes a quick step back, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. That was too far, wasn’t it?”

  I laugh, in part because his expression is priceless, and he’s jumped back about four feet. “I guess I can’t really make that sound right now, can I?”

  “You can, but I might take cover. Not very chivalrous of me, but there you go.”

  “That seems fair. And I think I was better off not connecting that smell to that particular part of their uniform.”

  “To be fair, the odor is a combination of a lot of things.” Jake purses his lips and closes his eyes. “And we’re going to stop talking about it, because it’s not an appealing topic.” His eyes pop open and he smiles almost shyly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you this week.”

  “Seems reasonable since I’m carrying your baby and all.” We have yet to address what exactly we’re doing here, apart from having a baby together, and I know we’re going to need to talk that through, too. I’ve thought about it a lot this week, and while trying to be a couple could be good, it also has the potential to go very, very wrong. And I have no idea where Jake stands on any of that. Despite all the potential hurdles, I think I at least want to try to see where it goes. “And I’ve been thinking about you all week, too,” I confess.

  “Because you’re carrying my baby?” His gaze moves over me in a slow sweep that I feel like a caress.

  There’s some relief in knowing the attraction we share hasn’t disappeared in the wake of this new, unforeseen development. “That is definitely at the top of the list.”

  “What’s at the bottom?” he teases.

  Whether or not I should invite you to share my bed tonight or offer you the spare room.

  When Jake and I first started talking more frequently, it revolved around King and Queenie’s engagement party. I kept sending him shared task lists so we could keep track of what needed to be done. For a while, every time he went to start a task, he’d find it had already been ticked off. He couldn’t understand how I managed to get to everything before he did, especially since I was doing it all remotely. After a while, he started at the bottom of the list and we’d meet in the middle.

  “I should probably keep what’s at the bottom to myself,” I mumble.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Do you want a tour?”

  “Nice deflection.” He smirks. “I think the bottom of both of
our lists is probably the same based on how pink your cheeks are right now.”

  I give him the side-eye and continue deflecting. “You don’t make lists.”

  He sets his keys and sunglasses onto the side table and points to the bucket and the mop leaned up against it. “Were you cleaning before I got here?”

  “I might have forgotten to put that away the other day.” It’s a small fib.

  His left brow arches. “You don’t forget to put things away.”

  He’s not wrong. Whenever I stayed at his place, I’d basically follow him around the kitchen, or whatever room we were in, and put things away. Even after sex sometimes I’d try to get out of bed and pick our clothes up off the floor. Often that would result in full body hugs from Jake to keep me from leaving the bed. Which isn’t something I should be thinking about, but the memories are already surfacing.

  I clear my throat. “I’m pregnant, Jake. I forget my own name these days.”

  He pokes at his lip with his tongue and stares at me until I have to look away. It’s a thing he does when he thinks he’s being bullshitted. Usually that look isn’t directed at me, and I find myself struggling not to fidget under his scrutiny. He reaches out and skims my cheek with his knuckle. “Based on your blush, I’m calling BS. Why are you mopping your floors? Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”

  “I’m pregnant, not made of glass. And mopping isn’t particularly taxing.”

  “Still, you’re already working full-time, and you have your art studio. You have enough on your plate without all the extra stuff that comes with maintaining a house, don’t you think?” His question is soft, not demanding, and he’s taken on a tone I recognize. It was the same one he used every time I would try to take on another wedding project for Ryan and Queenie.

  Could I delegate some of it? Would one of the other girls be able to help with that? I didn’t need to take on everything myself.

  He would always put a hand on my shoulder and step into my personal space, just like he’s doing now. It was as disarming as it was welcome.

  I tip my head up so I can meet his concerned gaze. “I have a cleaner, and she was here on Wednesday, but I was restless this morning, and when I’m restless I tidy. It’s what I do. Which you already know. And then I wore myself out and fell asleep. Hence this exceptionally sexy look I’m sporting.” I motion to my less than appealing outfit. “I’d planned to be wearing something that doesn’t scream too lazy for real clothes, but I didn’t have time to change on account of my spontaneous napping.”

  “I happen to like this outfit.” He tugs at the sleeve of my shirt. It’s loose and hangs off one shoulder, exposing my black bra strap.

  “You can thank Queenie, then, since she’s the one who picked it out for me.”

  “Speaking of my daughter, it looks like she’s messaging you.” He nods at my phone, which buzzes on the side table, right next to the mop and his keys.

  I’ve missed a lot more than calls from Jake during my nap. “She’s probably checking to see if you made it here okay.”

  “She knows I did. She’s already messaged me sixty times since the plane landed. She wants me to share her list of baby names with you,” he says wryly.

  I smile. Her excitement has helped balance out my fears. “She did that earlier this week.”

  “She has a new one on the go, and recently she’s been retracting her choices and telling me she’d like to reserve the names for her own baby, which is fine by me, because I don’t really think I want to call our kid Jax or Ambrosia. I know I was a little out there with the whole Queenie thing, but it suits her, you know?”

  I laugh. “It does. And I’m very glad to hear that both Jax and Ambrosia are off the table.”

  He swipes a hand across his forehead. “Phew. That’s a relief. I was hoping for something more traditional, like Jacob Junior.”

  “I wouldn’t have a problem with that, unless we’re having a girl. Then it would require an annoying amount of explanation.” I settle my hand low on my belly. There isn’t movement yet, but soon, if all goes well, I’ll get to feel him or her doing acrobatics in there.

  “Hmm.” Jake taps his lips. “You make a good point. What if we add an A to the end if it’s a girl?”

  “Uh, I’m vetoing Jacoba right now.”

  “Maybe it’ll grow on you.”

  “Like fungus?”

  He laughs and I grin, glad that despite everything, we still seem to have fun together.

  “If you need me to tell her to dial it down, I can,” he offers. “I know she’s excited, and I think it’s good that she is, but I don’t want it to overwhelm you either.”

  “It’s okay. It’s actually been really nice. And I’m comfortable enough with Queenie to be honest with her about things like that.”

  “Okay. That’s good. I figured, but I wanted to put it out there.” He rocks back on his heels. “She, uh . . . sent some stuff for you. I can get settled, and then you can check out the gifts from Queenie?”

  “That would be great. Maybe we can talk about how we’re feeling now that we’ve had time to digest things? Go over what to expect tomorrow?”

  “That sounds perfect.” His smile is gentle and warm.

  I lead him down the hall and push open the first door on the right. “This is the spare room.” I put fresh sheets on the bed this morning. The frame is simple, whitewashed wood. The comforter is a very pale yellow, and the pillows are different shades of yellow and orange. The walls are white and so is the dresser set. “It’s a bit bright. And feminine.” Not that he needed me to tell him that since he’s standing in the middle of the room.

  “Seems appropriate since you happen to fit into the bright and feminine categories as well.”

  I poke him in the side. “My ex only liked grey and blue when it came to color themes, so I made some serious adjustments when I bought this place.”

  “I like the yellow.”

  “You don’t necessarily have to sleep in here.” I rub my bottom lip and look at him out of the corner of my eye. Way to make things awkward. “Unless you’d prefer to.”

  Jake’s gaze moves slowly from the bed to me. There’s heat in it, but softness, too. “Do you have a preference?”

  “My hormones have a preference.” I rub the bridge of my nose.

  “I see how it is. You just want to ride this ride.” He motions to himself, grinning.

  I bite my lips together. He’s not wrong, but he’s not right either. “I’ve missed you,” I admit.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” He takes a few steps toward me, close enough that I can smell his cologne. He dips his head, wearing a smirk. “And I think this probably warrants a discussion, which we should probably have before we make a final decision on where I should be sleeping tonight.”

  “Okay.” I exhale an unsteady breath. In the past, whenever we saw each other, the first thing we’d do was get naked. It was always a flurry of clothing removal, roaming hands, and battling tongues. Half the time we didn’t make it to the bedroom. Sometimes we didn’t even make it past his front entryway. And then I put an end to it. Except now I’m trying to un-end it. And I’m pregnant. It’s a lot. And he’s right. We definitely need to have a conversation. I wish I had an inkling as to how he feels, so I don’t go embarrassing myself.

  I motion to the door beyond the bed. “There’s an attached bath through there. I’ll let you get settled and I’ll meet you in the living room in a few?”

  “Sounds good.”

  I leave him in the spare room and rush down the hall to my own. My plan is to have a quick shower, but once I get started, I end up washing my hair.

  And then I make the stupid decision to check my phone. The messages from the Seattle Girls are blowing up. There are two group chats: one with all the girls, including Queenie, and one without—we set up that one when we were working on a surprise group gift and her wedding shower. The most recent messages are in the group that doesn’t contain Queenie.

  Violet
: Girl, you have some explaining to do. I just finished extorting information out of my husband (you don’t want to know how) and I have it on good authority that JAKE IS IN TENNESSEE RIGHT NOW.

  Lainey: *wide eyes* OMGee. You and Jake?

  Stevie: Bishop said he caught you two making out.

  Stevie: Wait. He said he caught you fixing Jake’s hair. Not the same.

  Violet: IS THE BABY JAKE’S????

  There are surprise emojis and a range of mind-blown gifs, along with a picture of Bishop frowning and holding a sign that reads I KNEW IT.

  I send one message in response:

  The baby is Jake’s. He’s here with me now. Queenie and Ryan know, but can we keep this on the DL, please? I promise we will have a video chat in a couple of days.

  I leave my phone in my room and find Jake in the living room. He, too, looks freshly showered based on his damp hair and change of clothes.

  I offer him something to drink, and even though I picked up the scotch he likes, he declines and opts for ginger ale, which happens to be what I’m drinking.

  There are several boxes sitting on the coffee table.

  “As you can see, Queenie got click-happy.” One corner of his mouth quirks up and his cheeks flush. “She tried to send me with more, but I told her she should hold on to them for a bit.” He hands me the first box.

  By the time I’m done unwrapping, I have several new cute shirts with sayings like Momster in the making and Mama to be and carrying precious cargo. I pull my current shirt over my head—I’m wearing a tank underneath—and replace it with one of the new shirts that reads ICE ICE with an arrow pointing down. It’s a couple of sizes too big at the moment, but in a few months, it’ll fit perfectly.

  “This was really sweet of her.”