Page 52 of Dissonance

Chapter Twenty-Two

Thea

Catching my reflection in my office window isn’t something I usually do. Nor is standing in front of it pulling my blouse tight against my stomach. Seven weeks pregnant and still perfectly flat beneath my clothes. No hint of anything different.

Not that I expect it to be. I know it’s too soon to see any change, but if I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t believe there’s a life growing there. My hand drifts down before I can stop it, resting lightly over my abdomen.

It still doesn’t feel real.

Huffing out a quiet breath, I drop my hand and grab my phone and purse from my desk before I can spiral back into another round of what-ifs. Mae looks up as I open my door, smiling when she sees me.

“Heading out?”

“Grabbing lunch,” I say, sliding my sunglasses down from the top of my head.

“I can go for you,” she says, looking around for her bag.

“It’s okay. I need the fresh air.”

She hums knowingly. “If you’re going to that stand on the corner, bring me back a chicken wrap?”

Taking the stairs, I’m out in the LA sun barely five minutes later, my skin warming as I step onto the sidewalk. The courtyard outside my father’s building buzzes with the lunchtime crowd, a few familiar faces offering polite smiles as they pass.

But it’s the man leaning on the wall, one boot resting against it, that has my footsteps slowing. He’s tall, big, broad-shouldered, dark jeans hugging powerful thighs, the denim stretched over muscle built from hauling gear across mountains, functional and worked, rather than hours in a gym. A black t-shirt clings to his chest and arms, the fabric pulling tighter when his biceps flex. Even from here, I can make out the thick line of his beard, his hair pushed back from his forehead, aviators hiding his eyes. I’d recognize that stance anywhere.

Lockie pushes off the wall the second he spots me, hands going into his jeans pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he says, like it’s obvious, like he’s not supposed to be in Canada.

I take him in properly, my heart lurching before I can stop it. God. He looks unfairly good in the afternoon sunlight.

“Why?”

His mouth curls slightly beneath his beard, eyes glinting behind his glasses. “Wanted to take you to lunch.”

I glance at my watch. “I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes. I was just grabbing something from the vendor on the corner.”

“That so?”

“Yes.” It’s embarrassing how breathy that one-word sounds.

“Dinner then.”

It’s not a question, more of a statement, and it should not make my chest flutter. “Lockie—”

He steps closer, enough to block the sun behind him, casting me in his shadow.

His hand lifts before I can find the rest of the sentence, fingers circling my wrist lightly. “No brace?”

“Oh.” My cheeks heat as I twist my arm in his loose hold. “Yeah, it doesn’t hurt anymore, so I took it off.”

He hums, letting go to brush a loose strand of hair back behind my ear that must have escaped my bun. The touch is brief, barely there, but it burns all the same.

“Seven,” he says quietly, that Scottish lilt curling around the word.

I blink. “Seven what?”