Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I glance back over at her and my mouth falls open.
She’s shoving every single pregnancy test into her tote bag. One by one they are disappearing from my view.
“I’ll handle it,” I tell the service employee even though I won’t.
I end the call and take a few steps toward Delia. “Delia?”
When she looks at me, I see a tear falling down her cheek. “I know I said I wasn’t going anywhere before you went to get the tests, but I need to go home.”
“You don’t want to take a test before you go?” I ask evenly, trying to appear calm although I’m anything but that right now.
I’m anxious to know the results.
She drops her gaze to her trembling hands. “Maybe at home.”
Fuck.
I wanted to be with her when she finds out if she’s pregnant, but I can’t push her to take a test she’s not ready for.
“I know you ran out to get all of them.” She brushes a hand over her cheek to chase away the still falling tears. “I think I just need a few minutes to process everything, before I take one. I’m sorry, Donovan. I can pay you back for the tests.”
“No,” I say loudly. “You’re not paying me back for anything and you have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”
“Okay.” She nods. “I think I’ll go home and think. I need to think.”
The emotion in her voice is evident. It’s there in her expression, too. Seeing the tests hit her hard. It’s made all of this much more real.
“I can take you home,” I offer.
She rids herself of my T-shirt and tugs her dress back over her head. “I’ll get there on my own.”
I want to beg her to call me the second she knows if she’s expecting our baby. I want to tell her I’ll be here for whatever comes next. I’ll be here forever because if I had even a shred of doubt left about what I’m feeling for her, it’s gone.
I love her. I love Delia Hawthorne.
I’m about to reach out to her but she beats me to it. She pops up to her tiptoes to wrap her arms around my neck. “I’ll call you. I promise I will.”
I cling tightly to her, burying my face in her neck. “I’ll answer, Delia. Night or day. I’ll answer.”
The kiss she offers me is soft and laced with a tenderness that I’ve never experienced before. I hold her in place, deepening the kiss ever so slightly, drawing a soft moan from her.
When we part, her brown eyes search my face. “I promise I’ll call you soon.”
I’ll hold her to that promise. Until then, I’ll wait because that’s what she needs from me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Delia
I sit in a worn leather chair in the center of one of the many rooms in my penthouse and imagine something I have never imagined before.
A baby’s nursery.
This bedroom is as large as the other three guest rooms that I’ve rarely ever set foot in. I made the fourth into my bedroom shortly after I moved in. I removed the furniture that was there and replaced it with new items that better showcased my style.
It’s a simple room with a king size bed, white furniture, and soft blue linens on the bed. The artwork is a mix of things I found from street vendors and a painting that a friend did for me years ago.
The rest of the penthouse is still a reflection of its original owner.
Professor Grace Northrup inherited this home from her father, who inherited it from his father before him. A Northrup’s name was always on the deed until Grace died and left everything to me.
I became the beneficiary of her estate because as she put it in her will, “Delia Hawthorne held more promise than any other student who had ever trusted their educational pursuits to me.”
Professor Northrup taught me several courses when I was studying for my first degree. My plan back then was to teach third graders because I remember fondly that was when I first realized how much I loved to learn.
I’ve always been an eager student and Grace appreciated that. She encouraged me to keep learning after I’d graduated with my teaching degree. I did and a friendship between us blossomed because of it.
She once told me that all she ever wanted was a daughter, and in the note that her attorney presented to me shortly after her death, she explained how she had come to view me through that lens.
“I’ll put the crib there,” I whisper to myself as I look at the empty spot next to a window that overlooks Park Avenue before my gaze shifts to a corner across the expansive room. “And a rocking chair there.”
My hand jumps to cover my mouth as I let out a sob. “I’m going to be a mom.”