Page 58 of The Trouble with Flings

“I’m not trying to be perfect.”

“I know. That’s the problem. It’s annoying.” She looks down at her glass. “Aren’t you bothered by any of this? The woman you had a fling with is pregnant with your child.”

“Bothered? No. Surprised? Hell yes,” I say honestly. “But I think it’s fate.”

She rolls her eyes. “What is it with you and fate?”

“I just think there’s more to us than a fling. I’ve thought so since last summer.” I hold her hand a little tighter. “Talk to me, wild girl. Are you sure you want to do this?”

She nods, but she’s quiet for a long moment, and when she speaks, she does it carefully. “I spent the last three weeks one hundred percent certain I didn’t want to keep it. My life isn’t exactly a Hallmark movie. I’m sure my pregnancy will raise eyebrows with the school board and maybe a few parents.”

“This happened so fast, I haven’t had time to even consider your job,” I say. “That’s a valid worry.”

“I know. That’s just one reason I was sure I didn’t want to carry out this pregnancy. But then I saw the baby and heard the baby’s heartbeat, and—”

“You saw the baby? And heard its heartbeat?”

She smiles. “Yeah. I have pictures,” she says, and pushes to her feet, heading over to her bag by the door. “Sorry. I should’ve shown them to you right away.”

“It’s okay. I wish I could’ve been there with you.” I feel like I’ve missed something epic.

“I have to schedule another one in a few weeks. You can go to that one with me.”

She hands me two grainy black-and-white sonogram pictures like Grant and Jules had with Stevie. I turn them to make sense of what I’m seeing, and when it clicks, they’re the clearest things I’ve ever seen. I stare at the pictures, unable to look away, my throat and chest tightening. That’s my baby. That’s our baby.

My finger drifts over the outline of the tiny head, and in that moment, every plan I’ve ever made for myself makes room for our baby. I watch Jennifer as she settles on the couch again, and my heart swells. “Can I keep one?”

“Of course.”

“What did the heartbeat sound like?”

“It didn’t sound like a heartbeat. It was more like swish, swish, swish. When I heard it, it suddenly became real, and then I saw the tiny baby on the screen, and everything changed. I know it’s only a little bean of a fetus right now, but I could almost feel every part of me wrapping around it, protecting it from everything and anything.” She wraps her arms around herself. “That’s when I knew, with my whole heart, that I wanted to have it, and believe me, I’m as shocked by that as you probably are to hear that.”

That big heart of hers overshadowed her fear. “I’m not shocked,” I say, taking her hand again and holding it between both of mine. “You’ve always known exactly what you wanted to protect. I saw that the first night we met.” The way you protected your heart. “Now the circle is just a little wider.”

She looks down at our hands and slips hers free, placing it over her stomach. I lay mine over hers, and for a few perfect seconds, everything seems right. But then I feel the shift in her energy, the familiar drawing inward, her armor reassembling itself.

I lift my gaze and see a hint of fear in her eyes. I know this is going to take time for both of us, but I’m not going to let her disappear behind all that armor again. Not tonight. Not with me.

“I want to ask you something,” I say softly, “and I need you to actually answer me this time.”

She looks at me warily. “Fitz…”

I can’t tell if that’s a warning or a plea, but either way, I’m not deterred. “The baby is important, but so are we. Where do you see this going?”

“This doesn’t change anything,” she says defensively, and I hear the fear in her voice.

“It changes everything, Jennifer. When this baby is born, we’ll be tied together for life.”

“I know that, but it doesn’t change anything for us. We’re still the same people. Set in our ways, living an ocean apart—”

“That’s not what we are,” I say firmly. “I’m not that set in my ways. I’m here, Jennifer. I’ve never left the island for a woman. That should tell you something.”

She goes quiet again, and that resistance is louder than anything she could say.

“What are you afraid of?” I ask.

“Nothing.”