Page 45 of Make it a Double

“You mean about getting knocked up by the first man I slept with? Oh, just fantastic. I’m really loving my souvenir. It’s the gift that just keeps on giving,” she said sarcastically, tightening her grip on the seatbelt.

I shrugged. “It could always be worse.”

Sawyer rolled her head against the seat. “Please enlighten me.”

“Well, your baby daddy could be ugly.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t break. “Someone thinks highly of themselves, don’t they?”

“Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong?” I asked, pointing toward my face. “These dimples don’t lie.”

Sawyer kept her head straight, but was trying not to give in. “I don’t see any dimples.”

“Okay, so I might not have any, but you do and they’re gorgeous. I haven’t stopped thinking about them for the last six months.”

She tensed the moment I slid my gaze her way momentarily. Even though my world had just been turned upside down, I wanted to know what she was thinking. Just one piece of honesty, given freely instead of having to pry it out of her. “That was smooth,” she muttered.

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, not knowing what to say or do. Maybe I should have taken her back to her car so we could process everything that’d happened on our own, but I couldn’t do that without all the facts. And I would’ve been a goddamn liar had I said I wasn’t upset about her keeping this from me. I needed to know why. If it was about me or something I’d done.

With each passing second, I could feel her anxiety increasing in the silence. The constant shift of her weight in the seat, the refusal to let go of the seatbelt. I didn’t know how I could make it better, or even if I could.

By the time I pulled up to the cottage, Sawyer had unbuckled her seatbelt and hurried out of the car. I quickly followed behind as she staggered toward the porch, struggling to breathe like she’d just run a marathon. “Sawyer?” She didn’t answer. Only squeezed her eyes tighter. “Sawyer? Hey, talk to me.”

I didn’t care that we were out in the open, or that I smelled like vomit. My entire focus turned to Sawyer and her needs. Every instinct I had screamed at me to protect her, to make sure she was okay. It was increasingly hard to do when she flat out refused to talk to me.

“How about we go inside?” I tried again, placing my hand on her back. Her entire body was quaking beneath my touch. To my surprise, she didn’t push me away. “I can make us something to eat while you shower.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” she mumbled, meeting my gaze for the first time. There was a lifetime of fear swimming in those green depths. Fear I’d never be able to understand or rationalize. Especially if she never let me in. But then it was gone in an instant. “I’m fine. I just needed some air, or else you’d be paying to clean out your interior.”

“You can wear something of mine,” I offered. Admittedly, I was desperate. She could throw everything I owned into the fucking lake at this point if it would convince her to come inside. “I always overpack. There’s a dresser overflowing with clothes you can pick from.”

Sawyer groaned, but mumbled a despondent, “Okay,” before letting me help her up the stairs and into the house. Nothing had changed since my last stay here, save for the picture frame we’d broken within the first thirty seconds of being alone. I didn’t miss the way her eyes snagged on the empty spot before darting away.

Part of me wished they’d replaced it. I settled the cost after I left, and when I got here that first day, it was immediately what I searched for. I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like either of us had gotten a good look at what it’d been. Maybe I needed a sign that not everything had changed.

I gestured toward my room. “The bathroom is just through there.” She already knew that, you fucking idiot. “Towels are under the sink, and feel free to use anything you find. Make yourself comfortable.” Neither one of us moved for a beat. We stood there, staring at one another, before I said the first thing that came to mind. “So, uh, has your morning sickness been pretty bad?”

She nodded. “It was. The first four months were nothing but saltine crackers and the occasional chicken tender. It was a pretty miserable experience, and there are some foods I can’t tolerate anymore, but my appetite is finally back to normal. I think today was more of a freak accident paired with nerves.”

Okay, rude, but fair.

I had neither of those foods at my disposal, but I could still whip something up. “What are your thoughts on pasta?”

Sawyer’s nose scrunched up almost immediately. I thought it was going to be a quick no, but then she paused. “What kind?”

I bit my lip to cover up my joy at her curiosity. “I make a pretty mean spaghetti bolognese, but I should have everything I need to whip up a chicken alfredo, too.”

The inevitable twitch couldn’t be stopped as she brought her thumb up and began chewing on her nail. Even if the rest of the night had gone to shit, I finally seemed to be doing something right. “What about garlic bread? And I’m talking about the cheap, frozen kind. Don’t give me some rich boy shit.”

It felt good to laugh. The tension from moments ago was still there, but nowhere near what it’d been when we were in the car. This felt like breathing clean air for the first time after being stuck underground. “You’re in luck. That’s my favorite, too.”

She nodded her head, seemingly resolved in her decision. “I think that could be good.”

“You think?” I asked, placing my hand over my heart. “You wound me.”

“Well, you kidnapped me, so I guess that means we’re even. You better not be a bad cook, though. I can’t lie right now.” She pointed to her belly. “The bean is hard to please.”

My gaze followed her finger. It was the first time I’d heard her say anything about her pregnancy that didn’t feel inherently negative. It was also a reminder of the very real predicament we’d found ourselves in.