Page 90 of Fall Love

The wind picks up, and the leaves rustle in the trees. And Aunt Charma cackles one more time before I can no longer see her. I spin back for the sunrise.

“I’ve got to go. Neve has a doctor’s appointment,” I clarify as if that explains my outburst. Explains the hammering behind my rib cage.

Fisk chugs the last of his beer. Landon salutes the sun with his can. I just stand there another second, breathing in clarity.

Then we all turn and hike back to Lovewell Landing.

CHAPTER 31

[Neve]

We have a disappointing doctor’s visit. I’m not progressing. Not that I’m in a rush to get Little Wrench out of me, but I am tired of being pregnant. I’m no longer patient and want to start the next phase.

“Let me take you somewhere,” Tate says once we’re back in his SUV and I laugh at how this is almost becoming a private joke between us. His special way of asking without asking to give me a surprise.

However, this surprise makes me anxious when we exit the coastal highway for a major one and eventually pass a sign for Bangor.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, as he rolls down an exit ramp.

“Shopping.”

The look on my face must have said I’d rather commit murder. I’m more of an online, convenient delivery type than a physical store shopper.

Tate laughs. “You need items for the baby.”

“I have items. I have a crib.” I say it like it’s the only thing I need when I know he’s right.

“What about a car seat?”

“Lumi has it. She’s my birth partner.” The words come out faster than I can consider he’d like to be my partner. And I’ve been meaning to ask him about it.

Which he confirms when he says, “I want to be your birth partner.” The look he gives me is full of hurt, and my heart sinks to my stomach as we enter a Target parking lot.

I hadn’t asked him about the birth partner thing because I’m not good at asking for help. Which might be one reason I lost Rusty’s Wrecks. It isn’t pride so much as fear. I’m afraid others do not want to help me. And then I’ve asked, and put them on the spot, and they don’t know how to get out of something they don’t want to do. And⁠—

“You need diapers and onesies. Pajamas and blankets. A sleep suit,” Tate says, interrupting my rambling thoughts. The closer I get to my due date, two things are happening: the need to organize and a lack of concentration.

I didn’t even realize we were parked. Tate holds his phone and he’s reading off a list, like he’s suddenly an encyclopedia of baby needs.

When we enter the store, I’m overwhelmed, but Tate has his handy-dandy list at the ready and with each item he pulls forward, my excitement grows. So do my nerves.

The clothes are so tiny. And there are so many gadgets and gizmos. A Diaper Genie? What is that? Nipple sterilizer? Sounds painful. And I’m blatantly aware I have not done enough research on being a mother. Especially a mother of an infant.

“I’m going to be so bad at this,” I quietly admit, holding up a sweet pink bodysuit with ballet-like slippers on the feet.

“There’s no manual, Neve,” Tate chuckles.

“I think that’s the issue.” I’m better with instructions. With a guide. With details. Tab A fits into slot B. And then the engine turns over, or the fanbelt runs, or the tires spin.

Tate gently takes the outfit from my hands and sets it in the cart, which is practically overflowing with items.

“Thank you,” I say, quietly. “For all of this.” I wave at the shopping cart. “For everything. For being here, even if you feel like you missed out until the nth hour, or rather the nth month.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Neve. I’m excited.” The hitch in his voice expresses that enthusiasm.

“Still. I’m really glad you’re here. With me.” I lift my eyes but quickly look away, feeling that familiar burn at the back of my eyes. God, what is wrong with me?

As much as I want to blame the emotions on the pregnancy, I think I’m more overwhelmed by Tate. His attentiveness. His dedication. His thoughtfulness.