“Hmmm, not really. I talk to my bump a lot. I guess in a few weeks, loneliness will be the furthest thing from my mind. Dare I say, sleeping will become a priority.” I huff a laugh, not sure what to expect from my life when my baby arrives. But I know life's going to change. Again.
“You talk to your bump a lot?” I notice his lips quirk. Great, now he probably thinks I’m crazy.
“All the time. I think it’s already sick of me.”
He glances over, head shaking. “You’re going to be a good mom.”
I blink away some emotion at his sincerity, warmth blooming in my chest.
“I hope so…” I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat. The pressure of trying to give my baby everything has me wringing my hands on my lap.
“You got a family that will be here to help you?” I almost laugh. My family? Help?
“No. They don’t… approve of my situation. I didn’t really have any choice but to leave them and do it on my own. So I did.”
“Don’t approve?” His frown back in full force.
“Yeah, well, I grew up in a religious household in a religious community. For the most part, it was okay. I always had my grandparents, you know. But they passed, and now I’m having a baby out of wedlock… It’s seen as a sin. I’m a disappointment. A big one.” I sigh heavily, resigned to the fact that no matter what I do, I’ll never have my parents' approval.
“What about the baby's father?” His jaw works overtime. This is the most transparent I’ve been with anyone, and my heart rate increases when I think about sharing more. I haven’t told another person my story, but for some reason, Griffin makes it easy.
“I met him at church, actually. You know the type. Slacks, button-down ironed to within an inch of his life. Turns out, he doesn’t have a backbone. He left town the day after I told him I was pregnant. Doesn’t want anything to do with me or my baby.” It’s sad, but it’s my reality. I want to change the subject, so I put the question to him. “What about you? Got a family?”
His jaw tics as his eyes remain glued to the road ahead. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a sore spot. The silence stretches, and I’m about to apologize for asking, but he speaks.
“Had a few. Grew up in foster care. Wouldn’t recommend it.”
I can feel his hurt and anger rolling off him in waves. My heart breaks a little for the boy Griffin was and what he obviously had to endure.
“Any siblings?”
His eye twitches, and I feel like I’m pushing too far, but I wait.
“One. A younger brother. He passed.” I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white.
“Looks like we’re both trying to find our way…” My heart is nearly beating out of my chest, but I reach my hand out and place it palm up on the seat next to his thigh. He spots the movement, his eyes flicking down, before his gaze meets mine and his nostrils flare as he takes a breath. When he looks back at the road, I leave my hand there, hopeful. And as we pull onto Main Street, his posture softens, his hand leaves the wheel, and his palm finds mine. Our fingers lace, and he lifts my hand in his and rests it on his thigh. I feel his thumb then, strumming my skin where we’re connected. It’s a simple gesture, one of friendship, care, maybe a moment of solace in a world where we both feel so alone. My hand feels small in his, but his grip doesn’t waver and neither does mine.
“I’m in Sundown Valley for a few days, then I’ll be back. You’ve got my number. You call me if you need anything.” He still looks straight ahead, but his tone is less grumbly than normal.
Smiling, I nod. “Sure. I’ll be in a whirl of stress trying to get the bakery ready.”
He gives my hand a squeeze. “Don’t lift anything, don’t rush, don’t work late…”
“You know, you’re bossy, but for a grump, you’re surprisingly gentle,” I murmur, watching our hands settle.
His lips twitch. “Don’t get used to it.”
I clamp my lips together so a smile doesn’t take over my whole face. I’m enjoying this moment. Enjoying his touch. Feeling a little more at ease with life.
If only that feeling lasted.
12
Savannah
I frown at the register, frustration worming its way to the surface.
“What if we hit this button?” Melissa suggests, leaning in beside me. We’ve been staring at this thing for thirty minutes, both pretending we’re not technologically cursed. She presses the button. The machine whirls, lights blink, and my shoulders drop in relief.
