The first night.
The night she walked in not knowing who I was. The night she told me about the second bedroom and the life she’d been building for two. The night I gave her mostly orange juice and listened and told myself it was just the kind of thing I did.
“Nash,” she said quietly. “Say something.”
I looked up at her.
She was watching me with those blue eyes, careful and steady, waiting for my face to do what it was going to do. Even now. Even after everything I’d said last night. She was still waiting to find out if I meant it.
That landed somewhere it had no business landing at midnight in her living room.
“You’ve been sitting with this all day,” I said.
“Since this morning.” A pause. “Delia took me to the pharmacy.”
“And you waited?—”
“I needed to tell you in person,” she said. “I needed to see your face.”
I set the test down very carefully on her bookshelf, right next toThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, and crossed the room in three steps and put my hands on her face.
She went still.
“I meant it,” I said. “Everything I said last night. All of it.”
“Nash—”
“The promise stands,” I said. “Nothing about this changes anything except that it’s sooner than I thought.” I paused. “Ifyou want to keep it.”
She nodded. “I do. I meant it all too.”
“Then what are you so nervous for?”
She let out a relieved breath, her eyes sparkling—then she flung her arms around my neck.
I held on.
She was warm against me, her arms tight around my neck, and I felt some last held thing in her release—the day of sitting with it alone, the waiting, the watching my face to see if I meant what I said.
I meant it.
I turned my face into her hair.
“The first night,” I said quietly. “You came in because the light was on.”
“I didn’t even know it was your bar,” she said into my shoulder.
“I know.”
“I just needed somewhere to be.”
“I know.” I pulled back enough to look at her. “And now you’ve got somewhere.”
She searched my face.
“Here,” I said. “With me. With Nell.” I paused. “With this one.”
Her hand moved without thinking — just barely, just the beginning of a gesture toward her stomach—and then she caught herself and looked slightly embarrassed about it.
