Page 42 of Christmas With A Stranger

"I wrote some things down," he says. "I forgot it at the hotel. It's less than a mile from here. Can we stop there after we eat so I can give it to you?"

I glance at the time on my phone. I should be heading back to work. Instead, I'm going to a Hampton Inn in Asheville with the father of my twins to discuss our financial arrangement.

If the dentist had pulled both of my molars without novacane, it would be better than what I’m going through right now.

TEN

Mackie

Ding dong merrily on high / In heav'n the bells are ringing

The room is a king. His brown canvas bag with leather straps sits squared on the luggage rack, zipped, with its corners lined up with the frame. His spare boots stand underneath it with the heels together.

Carson pulls a folded sheet of hotel stationery from the nightstand and hands it to me. There are numbers written down in his messy block handwriting. Five hundred a month until the baby comes. He drew a large question mark beside hospital bills, and another beside daycare.

I stare at it, but the numbers won't settle into anything useful. My brain is still stuck on two heartbeats and two blurry circles.

He put thought into this. I can see that much. I just can't do anything with it right now, so I set the paper on the TV stand.

"I don't know what any of this costs," he says.

"Neither do I, Carson. I’m sorry, I’m just not there, yet, to discuss this with you.”

Carson takes the ultrasound picture I gave him from his shirt pocket and props it against the base of the television, tipping it back until it stands on its own.

For a minute, neither of us says anything at all.

I pull out my phone and check the time. Trina is probably already wondering why I'm not back. I text her that the appointment ran long and I have to run a few errands before I'll be back. I promise her I'll look at the report she left on my desk first.

She sends back a thumbs-up.

I sit on the edge of the bed and kick off my flats. My feet are cold, and my face is hot. There is too much angst trapped under my skin, and somehow taking off my shoes relieves a smidge of it.

Carson stays by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the parking lot and the road beyond it.

Two babies. I look at the ultrasound picture propped beneath the television. There are two, no doubt about it. My stomach turns over again, threatening to return the bite of biscuit.

Carson finally looks at me, and that doesn't help. He rubs a hand over his scruff.

I stand, obviously not thinking this through. Using my brain has done absolutely nothing useful for me today. I cross the carpet in my bare feet, put my hand flat against his chest, and kiss him.

It's totally the worst idea, but the only way I know how to relieve some of the energy swirling around inside of me. He kisses me back, and then his hands close around my arms, and he sets me back an inch.

"This is what got us here."

"What's the worst that happens now, triplets?"

He laughs, flashing that damn dimple, finally, the one I keep forgetting about until it ambushes me. His shoulders come down, and I kiss him again.

This time he doesn't stop me.

He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. He works the buttons of my blouse open one at a time while I fight with his belt. His hands are cool and dry on my skin. When he gets my bra unhooked and his palm closes over my breast, I hiss through my teeth.

"Careful." I catch his wrist. "They're sore."

He studies me for a second. Then he takes his hand away, bends his head, and uses his mouth instead, so slow and soft that his tongue barely moves over my nipple. The gentleness is worse. My knees give out, and I sit down hard on the edge of the bed.

"I don't have a condom," he says against my skin.