Page 30 of Afterglow

I approach from behind, trying not to focus too much on how his back muscles shift under his shirt as he removes his jacket and lays it on the counter beside the takeout containers.

“Thank you for bringing dinner,” I respond, and hope he doesn’t hear the acute nervousness I’m trying to hide.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His gaze rakes over my body, but not in the way mine did to his a moment ago. He’s checking to see how I’m doing—if I’m really okay.

“Much better, thanks to Rebecca and anti-nausea meds,” I admit, realizing he’s had no insight to the state of my health for three days.

He nods and steps forward with a relieved smile. I meet his eyes and decide to make the first move—going in for a quick hug. But he shifts at that exact moment, aiming for my cheek, I think, and we meet in the middle with my mouth on his. One of my hands lands on his biceps and the other on his chest, while his hand skims my waist. It’s only a split second, but the zing of awareness has me catching my breath.

He steps back, a flush rising beneath his beard, and his eyes go comically wide. “I’m sorry. I was going to kiss your cheek. I—”

Tension crackles between us and I pull my hands away from his body like they’ve been burned. “It’s okay. I thought it was going to be a hug.”

That was not a hug. It may have barely counted as a kiss, but it was a kiss, and my lips are still tingling from the contact. I fight the urge to touch them, looking instead at my feet to avoid his gaze.

After another beat of sticky silence, he says, “So, dinner?”

“Right. Yes. Dinner.” I follow the heavenly smell wafting from the containers on the counter and sidestep him to open one. The gooey cheese melting between the halves of the sandwich has my mouth watering. I transfer everything to plates as Bryce moves around the kitchen behind me, opening and closing cabinets.

I look over my shoulder and raise an eyebrow in his direction.

“Do you have wineglasses?” At my even more puzzled expression, followed by me looking down at my nonexistent pregnant belly, he laughs. “I brought a bottle of sparkling apple cider…” he says, and palms the back of his neck. “And now I’m feeling kind of stupid about it.”

“No, don’t,” I insist, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. “They’re in the cabinet over there.” I point to the hutch by the dining table.

“Thanks.” He moves to the cabinet and pulls out two glasses, promptly filling them from the bottle of Martinelli’s—something I haven’t had in a very long time, though it was present at every holiday dinner in my youth.

When I join him with our plates, he watches to see where I’ll sit—at the head of the table—then takes the seat directly to my right.

He takes a bite of his sandwich at the same moment I do, and our twin moans of pleasure have me covering my mouth with my hand to avoid accidentally spitting it out as I laugh.

The next thirty minutes feel very much like a first date, with all the surface-level questions we’ve never had the chance to ask each other. Favorite color: forest green for him, burnt orange for me. Favorite ice cream: butter pecan for him, cherry garcia for me. Where we went to college, what we wanted to be when we grew up, do we like our jobs, how I’m feeling now that I’m not getting sick all the time.

It’s comfortable, even if we are skirting all the big questions—there will be plenty of time for those later.

I look at my empty plate and sigh. “This was incredible. Exactly what I was craving.” My hands fall to my stomach and rest there in a way that feels all too natural.

His gaze tracks the movement and his smile widens. I’m not sure I’ve seen him smile this way before and I wish I could capture a picture of it. It brightens everything about him, especially his eyes.

“I’m glad I could be of service,” he jokes with a mock bow. Then his face grows more serious and his throat bobs on a swallow. The mood in the room instantly feels weightier with the shift in his demeanor. His gaze holds mine before he says, “I really want to be here for you, Leanne. If you’ll let me… I’d like to be part of this.” His voice is steady and earnest. The taunting edge that used to be between us, cutting hard lines into all our interactions, is a distant memory. “If you’re in, blondie… I’m in.”

His gaze bounces again to where my hands cover my stomach. I see deep sincerity etched in the lines of his face and it’s enough to make me believe him, to quiet the insecurities telling me to be cautious. I’m stunned at the overwhelming sense of relief that washes over me, and my eyes prick with tears before I sniff them back, willing the stinging at the back of my throat to subside. I might not know Bryce well, and we still have so much to figure out, but I won’t have to do this alone—and it wasn’t until he said those words that I realized how afraid I was that I would have to.

“I’m in,” I say in return, and I think I see the same relief echoed in his features.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Leanne

Ten Weeks ~ Baby is the size of a cotton ball

My knee bounces under my hand and I squeeze hard, pushing the tension coursing through my veins into the movement. I should be excited about today, ecstatic, but even the lavender-painted walls are making me edgy.

I lay awake last night with only one thought running on a loop in my mind: what if something is wrong?

“Leanne Kole?”

A nurse in scrubs the color of the walls stands in the doorway with a bright smile on her face.