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A knock on the front door startles me out of my deliberations. I turn my head in that direction as if I can see through the thick wood an
d drywall.
“Uh, come in!”
The handle jiggles but doesn’t open.
“The door’s locked!” Nathan shouts.
Fu-crap. I wanted to stay in my blanket fort for this. I emerge from the cocoon and trip over the leg of my table. This is starting out so well. I reach the door, fumble with the lock, and fling it open.
Nathan stands on the other side looking utterly delicious in a pair of dark wash faded and ripped jeans, a black belt securing them low around his hips, a plain gray tee haphazardly front tucked, and a pair of mirrored shades. He pulls them off his eyes slowly at the same time his dimpled smile drops from his face.
“You look like…hell.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. I heard you weren’t feeling well, but I didn’t expect…” He trails off, letting his perusal of me speak without words.
“Like a goblin. Yeah, I know. Come on in and keep your insults to a minimum today. I’m not back to one hundred percent yet, and my ego is a bit tattered.”
Nathan steps inside and closes the door behind him. “I could say even sick you’re still stunningly beautiful. Does that help?”
I flop back onto my blanket fort. “No, because I know it’s a lie.”
He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Honestly, it is, I guess. Sorry, beautiful.”
Unaffected by his honesty, I’m more concerned about my body’s reaction to the sight of him. The traitorous swarm of flutters catches me off guard.
“Did you bring me anything?”
His face falls again, and he glances back at the door as though ready to bolt. “Shit, you said you didn’t want anything. I can go.” He jerks his thumb to the door. I throw a pillow at his face, but he knocks it easily to the side.
“I’m joking. Har har. I have to get one in somehow since you already insulted my appearance.”
“Are we even?”
At his innocuous question and easy banter, my stomach sinks. We aren’t even. Not even close. Not until I know how he takes this atomic bomb I’m about to toss into his lap.
“Why don’t you sit down?” My nerves bubble to a boiling point. My lower lip takes the brunt of it.
“Yeah, sure. Everything okay?” He crosses cautiously to the side of the sofa closest to him and lowers onto the cushions. The way he perches on the edge conveys his anxiety about what I have to say.
“I guess that depends on how you look at it.” Soreness envelops my lip. Holding eye contact with his soulful eyes is uncomfortable, knowing I’m moments away from delivering immeasurable joy or sorrow beyond belief.
He rakes a hand through his silky strands. “Whatever it is, spit it out. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I didn’t call into work because I’m sick.” I trail off and mutter stupidly what I thought was beneath my breath but was very much not, “Not with a curable illness that is.”
“What does that mean?” He swallows audibly. “Not curable. Does that mean terminal?”
“Terminal? Why would you…? Oh, no. I didn’t mean… that was a poor choice of words. I’m so sorry for even making you think that.” Heat blazes my cheeks with the blunder. He’s suffered enough loss, and here I make him think he’s about to experience more.
Nathan’s shoulders shudder as he scrubs his fingers across his mouth, and the pain I injected him with tears me up inside. So much so, I just spit it out without a filter.
“Nathan, I’m pregnant.”
His head rises, and he looks me directly in the eyes. “What?”
The incredulity stings. Might as well get used to repeating it, seeing as I have to tell my parents, my doctor, my employer, and so on and so forth until my belly pops out and can announce it to the world for me.
“I’m pregnant. With your baby.”
