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June lets go and I leave with another smile and a murmured thanks. I check on all my players as I make my way to the restrooms—servers are busy clearing tables, the DJ gives me a thumbs-up from across the dance floor, and the girl at the coat check counter is swiftly dealing with the guests starting to leave.
As rushed as I was getting this engagement party together, paired with the pressure of Scott’s semi-celebrity status, I think I may have actually pulled this off. Pleased with myself, I take quick steps to the women’s restroom.
I may have gotten one adult thing right, but the roller coaster of “am I or aren’t I” from this week has been exhausting. I’ve counted dates, when Kel and I had sex versus my cycle, how long I was on antibiotics, the morning in Seattle I missed taking my pill until almost bedtime. All of it has had my easily excited heart wavering between being convinced there was no possible way I could be pregnant, to being sure I must be—otherwise why hasn’t my period come yet?
Locking the stall, I pull down my trousers and sit. A telltale red stain greets me, as does a massive twisting in my uterus. Disappointment and relief flood through my system, the adrenaline of earlier leaving in a rush.
Deflated, it looks like fate isn’t going to intervene and make the decision for me after all.
If I’m not tied to Kel by circumstance, is he really who I want to be with?
I let myself mull the question over while I wad up some toilet paper to act as a temporary pad. It’s not ideal, but there’s tampons in my event kit back in the kitchen. I always keep them on hand, especially for events to do with a bride or bride-to-be.
Yes, he’s grumpy, but I have a suspicion his lack of conversation stems from not knowing how to start, not having nothing to say. And he does have a dry, hidden sense of humor that I appreciate.
But most of all, even when I’m in full whirlwind mode, he watches me with that possessive smirk. The look that tells me he’s amused by my antics, but has an eye out for trouble and will keep me from doing anything too stupid. For some reason, knowing he would step in to avert disaster makes me want to do it myself. Because he already carries such a heavy burden, I don’t want to add one single worry more to it.
Not on purpose, anyway.
And most importantly, I know in my soul he genuinely likes my company. He’s not tolerating me because he feels obligated to, unlike Frank. I think there’s something special between us and I want to know what it could become.
And maybe one day we’ll do the two-point-five babies and a picket fence thing. But on purpose, or not at all.
Kel
Nate doesn’t have a chance to finish his fifty-seventh eye roll of the day before I slap a not-so-gentle hand on his shoulder. “If you say ‘that’s not how we did it in Bordeaux’ one more time, I will actually punch you in the face, Nate.”
Nate’s eyes narrow, but I don’t soften my threat.
“I think leveling this field is a waste.” Nate shrugs his shoulder, but I don’t loosen my grip. “Fuck off, man.” He grabs my hand and pries it off. Also not-so-gently.
“Watch your effing mouth.” I jerk my chin toward Olive’s dark curls, visible through bare vines as she pokes a stick into the muddy ground, looking for worms.
The tension between us has been building ever since he came home last week. Between Nate’s dark looks, Greg’s post-surgery pain, and everyone else barely holding up under the stress of it, Thanksgiving was short on the thanks and long on the drinking. Thank god the one thing we have in abundance here is decent wine.
Not that you would know it from the way Nate sniffed and hummed his way through the bottles.
The only reason we haven’t come to blows yet is that the electrician was able to repair the squirrel damage and Nate has been keeping to himself unless Jackie forces him to come out. Like this afternoon.
“Am I not allowed to have opinions now?” Nate breaks free of my grasp and backs up a few steps, hunching his shoulders into his wool coat. Yesterday’s heavy rain has stopped, but a cold wind whips through the fog surrounding us. Dark clouds hang low in the sky, threatening more rain.
“You can have opinions, but if all you’re going to do is tell me the work I’ve done the last four years is a waste, I’d rather not hear them.” I shove my hands in my pockets and walk away. Olive is already at the end of the next row, looking around for me and Nate.
“Whatcha got, Pickle?” She’s cradling something in her hands, her fingers as dirty as the knees of her jeans.
She opens her hands to show me the small bleached skull of a rodent. “I found it under the leaves, isn’t it so cool, Daddy?”
“It’s very cool.”
“Daddy?” Olive looks up at me with a serious expression on her face. “What’s a dilf?”
“What’s a…a what?” I choke on the question. There’s no way she’s asking about what I think she’s asking.
“A dilf. Is it like an elf? Can you hold this?” She hands me the skull and walks away down the next row of vines.
Low snickering behind me means I heard what I think I heard. “Where the hell would she have heard that phrase?”
I turn to face Nate, who’s doing a terrible job at disguising his laughter at my expense. “And how would you know?”
