Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
On the drive home, Katie falls asleep in Maren’s lap. We decide to keep driving, the weather too perfect to go home. I drive to the marsh. Katie wakes up and the three of us head onto a dock where my dad sets out crab traps. We spot a bald eagle. An alligator. Several turtles, which of course has Katie asking us to go to the turtle conservancy here on the island.
“Why not?” Maren says with a shrug when I ask her if she’s up for it.
We do the conservancy. After that, it’s a quick trip to the grocery store. I buy the ingredients for pasta, figuring Maren could go for some comfort food. I could too.
At home, I make a big-ass tray of ziti while Maren and Katie do a puzzle on the family room floor. The smells of garlic and rosemary fill the house.
Pasta turns out great. I keep telling Maren she doesn’t have to stay, that she can go home and put her feet up if she needs to. But she stays. Insists on helping with bath time, and then bedtime too.
“Can we all snuggle in my bed?” Katie asks.
Clearing my throat, I pull the covers up to her chin. “I’ll snuggle with you.”
“No, I want Mare to snuggle too.”
“Katie—”
“It’s all right,” Maren says. “How about we make a Katie sandwich?”
That’s how the three of us end up smushed together on Katie’s twin bed. I’m uncomfortably close to Maren, our gazes meeting over Katie’s head on her pillow.
Sorry, I mouth.
Maren gives her head a little shake. Girl’s a fucking trooper. She’s gotta be exhausted after a very full day, but she still has the patience to indulge my daughter.
And Squish? She’s besides herself with both of us here. Glances from me to Maren and back again as I read Goodnight Moon for the five hundredth time with a big smile on her face.
Can she smell Maren’s perfume? Does she notice the way Maren’s eyelids flutter as she fights sleep?
I’m dying.
I’m also . . . weirdly, absurdly content?
“Can we snuggle together every night?” Katie asks when I turn out the light.
I glance at Maren, but she keeps her gaze averted as she puts Goodnight Moon back on the bookshelf by the door.
I tell myself Katie just loves having the full attention of two adults. Any kid would. She’s not stuck on those adults being Maren and me, together.
Bullshit.
I lean in and kiss Katie’s forehead. “I love you.”
“Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Mare. Goodnight, moon.”
“Can you even stand the cuteness?” Maren whispers after I shut the door behind us.
“I can’t.” Just like I can’t stand keeping my hands to myself right now. Maren’s ass looks biteable in those shorts. And the sleepy, sated look in her eyes . . . what I wouldn’t give to take her to my bed right now. I don’t want this day to end, so I’d fuck her slowly. Thoroughly. Make both of us forget the bomb that was dropped on our lives.
Her eyes meet mine in the dim light of the hallway. The space between us tightens. Heaviness settles low in my groin. The look in her eyes changes, becoming sharper and softer all at once.
She’d let me have her. Just like she let me before.
I want you, Tiny, but that’s what got us into this mess.
“You got food at your place? Coffee?” I ask hoarsely. “I have lots of leftover ziti I can send with you. Just in case you, uh, get hungry, or feel nauseous or whatever.”
Maren tries to hide the disappointment written clearly on her face by pasting on a smile. “I think I’m good, thanks.”
“Thanks for hanging with us today.”
“Thanks for having me. I needed that. It was a good day.”
A great day.
Best I’ve had in a long time.
It’d be the best day ever if I could ask Maren to stay the night too. But I can’t. Instead, I collapse into my bed, dead tired.
Alone.
fifteen
. . .
Maren
More Than Nothing
Logically, I know I’m pregnant.
My symptoms have only gotten worse over the past week. What began as a hint of nausea has turned into a full-blown wave that hits me over and over throughout the day. My boobs hurt. When I’m cold and my nipples get hard, it feels like Satan’s twisting them in the worst, most painful purple-nurple of my life.
But I still start to cry when Dr. Yelich confirms that I am, indeed, pregnant at my appointment the following Friday. She glances at Tuck, who glances at me.
“I take it this was unexpected?” she asks.
Tuck clears his throat as he reaches for a tissue, which he hands to me. “We didn’t plan this, no.”
“You have options.”
She goes into detail on those options. My head spins. I sneak glances at Tuck, wondering what he’s thinking. But his expression is blank. Only his eyes give any hint of feeling. The green is clouded over, growing darker the longer Dr. Yelich goes on. It’s like I’m watching a storm roll in, the thunder getting louder, closer.