Page 108 of Sugar & Shadows

For one uncomfortable moment, we studied one another. Then he picked up another tool and clamped the thick tubing that ran between trees.

Once the metal clamp snapped into place, he focused on me again. “If you came here to yell at me, might as well help.” He nodded to the other lines that led to the junction he was replacing.

I grabbed a clamp and followed his instructions.

Mine hung crookedly, but Gabe silently reached over and adjusted it, his gloved fingers brushing my bare ones.

“I came here to have a rational conversation about the, um, logistics of our situation.”

“Our situation?” he said, his voice rough.

God, his eye really looked terrible. Another wave of shame hit me.

“You mean the child you’re carrying?” he went on, his voice pitching higher. “Our child?”

His calm demeanor was slipping. He stood abruptly, nearly hitting his head on one of the lines, and tore off his gloves.

“Yes,” I said, straightening, once again irritated with him. “Is it so wrong to want a plan? A strategy? I know it’s new information to you, but we’ve only got thirty-three more weeks to figure this out.”

He took his hat off and ran his hands through his hair. Then he put it back on and picked up the piece of cracked tubing, twisting it like he needed an outlet for his anger.

“You’re trying to manage this pregnancy like a political scandal.” He shoved the dirty gloves back on.

I recoiled. The accusation hurt. Mostly because he was right. Not that I was ready to unpack that.

“And you’re trying to placate me like I’m one of your constituents, angry about parking permits,” I snapped back.

Glowering, he cut and replaced the leaky junction. His movements were precise and confident, despite his frustration. It was annoying how competent he was.

But as I watched him, the tubing trembled in his grip, that polished façade slipping. “I said we’d talk later,” he gritted out.

His voice was full of hurt. But it did nothing to quiet the anger rising inside me.

“Yes, because nothing screams emotional support like ‘Let’s circle back after my agricultural responsibilities.’”

He snorted, and a burst of slushy sap sprayed sideways from an unsecured line, splattering both our coats. Neither of us looked away from one another. We were like two bulls ready to charge.

I was developing a head of steam now, my plans to be cool and calm flying out the window.

My phone vibrated in the pocket of my coat, but I ignored it.

“I expected more out of you.” I poked him in the chest. “The bar is on the floor, Gabe, and you brought a backhoe. Should have known none of this would matter to you.”

“Matter?” His mouth dropped open like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said, and real anger flashed in his eyes.

But just as quickly, his face softened.

“Matter?” he repeated. “Fuck, Sabrina. Nothing matters more. You walked into my house this morning carrying my child and blew up my entire life. Taking a minute to process shouldn’t be a crime.” He sucked in a harsh breath. “You think I’m okay? That I’m calm? Not a chance.”

Head shaking, he dropped the pliers into the snow.

“You dropped this bomb on me and then punched me in the face. And I don’t know what to do from here. My vision is blurry from the fear and joy and confusion.”

One word in particular hit me, forcing me to take a step back to steady myself. Joy.

And then his lips curled up and he looked at me as if this was a miracle instead of a catastrophe. My phone buzzed in my pocket again, but I was too dumbstruck to really even register it.

I bent down, picked up the pliers, and handed them back to him.