Page 24 of Fall Love

“Sit?” Tate questions, waving toward one of two chairs positioned at an angle on the point.

I nod and take a seat, awkwardly holding onto the armrests to lower myself into the sloped-back chair.

Tate waits, watching, hovering until I’m seated, then takes the chair next to me. I lick my lips and squint toward the horizon. The sun has already slipped away. A blanket of blue tones fills the sky.

“So, you wanted to talk to me,” he begins.

“Yeah,” I whisper, running my hands up and down my denim-covered thighs. A singular buoy dings, sounding like a death knell. My heart feels like it’s trying to bang itself out of my chest.

“So, remember last New Year’s Eve?”

He chokes on a laugh and stares at the side of my face. “Uhm, of course.”

“Why are you saying it like that?” I whip my head in his direction.

He sets his fist in front of his lips and clears his throat. “Well, it was only one of the best nights of my life.”

“Really?” A breathy sigh accompanies the question, and I clear my throat. “I mean, me too.”

We stare at one another, memories dancing in each of our eyes. What sticks out to him? I know my favorite parts.

But that is not the point of this conversation.

“Anyway.” I swallow thickly and turn my attention back to the marina. I run a hand over my stomach. “You haven’t really asked about me, since returning to Lovewell Landing.” Like he hasn’t sought me out or inquired what I’ve been up to. Then again, it might be obvious. I’m pregnant.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his mouth pop open, but if he interrupts me, I won’t get this out, so I continue, “Other than wanting Rusty’s Wrecks for Bucky Beaver Body Shop.”

He slowly leans forward, elbows on his thighs, but his head is still turned in my direction.

“And on a more personal note, you haven’t asked for more details about my pregnancy.”

I rub faster, stroking harder over my belly, like I’m trying to calm the already sleeping baby within me.

“Neve, it’s not like I don’t want to know. I just figured you’d tell me if⁠—”

“You’re the father.”

He smiles softly, as if I’ve completed his thought. But the longer I stare at him, his expression slowly shifts from compassion to understanding.

I’m not finishing his sentence. I’m making a statement.

“January first⁠—”

He shoves off his chair and stands, facing the water. His hand swipes through his hair.

I stare at the firmness of his back. The dip near his waist despite the flow of his flannel over his backside.

“I’m due October first.”

He spins to face me, sputtering as he asks, “How? Why? What?” He pauses, setting his hands on his hips before he swipes through his hair again. “Just what the fuck, Neve?”

I flinch at the sharpness in his voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t know who you were, remember?”

He nods, his head pinging like a bobblehead. “Yes, but a week ago?” His voice cracks.