Got the signature brush off.
“Hey,” he says as he gets closer, his eyes searching my face in a way that has me wanting to fix my no doubt messy ponytail. “You look like you feel better.”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
His brows drag together. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
Only that you were staring at Smitty yesterday like you wanted to crush him for giving me a hug and tonight you’ve barely looked at me because you’re here with your girlfriend?
“Harp—”
“Thanks for the ginger candies. They’re helping a lot.” I bite the inside of my cheek, shove down my anger. I know the score, and this is fine, it’s all fine. “I appreciate you dropping them by.” A beat. “And the food too. You didn’t have to do that.”
Not having to buy groceries—and also not going through the ones I already have all that quickly (because I can’t eat much)—meant I was able to make an extra payment on my mom’s loans this month.
He shrugs. “It’s my kid too.”
Fuck, why does that hurt?
“Right,” I whisper, but I don’t say anything else, just wait for him to explain why he stopped me from leaving.
But all he does is stare at me.
And a woman can only take so much.
“I need to go?—”
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a plastic bag. “I won’t keep you. I just…wanted to give you this.”
My brows drag together as I take it, peek inside?—
And then feel my damned heart squeeze again.
“It’s adorable,” I whisper, unfolding the Grizzlies onesie that both seems too big—because the baby is only the size of a strawberry—and too tiny—do humans even come that small?—at the same time. “Thank you. Though”—my lips twitch—“we have three teams in the area, are you sure she’s going to be a Grizzlies’ fan?”
His eyes dance. “Pretty sure, yeah.”
I giggle. “Confident, much?”
“That my baby is going to root for the Grizzlies? Yeah”—he grins—“I am.” He tugs lightly at my ponytail, asks softly, “You think we’re having a little girl?”
“I don’t know for sure, obviously.” I shrug. “I just…”
“Have a feeling?”
His question is so gentle, his eyes so warm that my body drifts towards his.
“I think—” he begins.
“Leo, are we going or what?” Shannon shouts from the porch.
We both snap apart and I quickly climb into the driver’s seat as he tells her he’ll be right there.
I’m an idiot.
An emotional, pregnant idiot.
