Page 102 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“Time for what?”

“Harper’s having her baby.”

“Oh, my God!” I whirl around, suddenly frantic, as though I should be doing something. But there’s nothing for me to do. No bag to pack or baby to push out or car seat to grab or⁠—

“Pages?” He steps into the house, cups my cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to figure out what to do,” I whisper. “Do we wake Ollie up and go to the hospital? He has school tomorrow. So maybe I shouldn’t. But will he be sad—or more importantly, will Harper be upset that we’re not there?”

His knuckles brush along my jaw and his voice goes gentle. “We wait, Pages. Visitor’s hours aren’t until the morning anyway. If we don’t hear anything by then, we’ll head over to the hospital.”

I exhale, mind clearing. “You’re right,” I say. “Of course you are.”

“Words a man loves to hear?” he teases.

Swatting at his chest, I tilt my head toward the kitchen. “Hungry?”

“For your cooking?” A grin. “Always.”

“Good, I have your plate from yesterday.”

He reaches into his backpack. “And I have the cookies.”

“Sawyer,” I whisper.

He brushes his lips over mine. “I’ll lock up. You make the coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“If we’re going to pull an all-nighter while we wait for baby news, we’re going to need caffeine.”

My mouth quirks. “How’d you get so smart?”

“School of Hard Knocks,” he jokes, slipping an arm around my middle. “Let’s hit it, Pages.”

We do just that, moving into the kitchen so I can heat up his plate and then eating all but one of the cookies he brought from Molly’s.

Eventually, we move to the couch.

“Is everything okay with your mom?” I ask as we settle onto the cushions.

“Yeah,” he says. “All good.”

Something about his tone has me leaning closer, taking his hand. “Sawyer,” I murmur. “Are you sure?” I ask when he looks at me.

“What?” A blip of something that looks very much like panic ripples across his face. “Of course I am.”

“And your mom too?”

His fingers spasm in mine. “Yeah. She’s fine.” He sighs, voice dropping. “Or as fine as she’s ever going to be.”

“What does that mean?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “It means…” He sighs. “Fuck, I don’t really know. She’s…she just needs a lot from me. Since my dad died, she always has. Sometimes it…”

I wait for him to finish that sentence.

God, I want him to finish that sentence so badly.