Page 52 of Fall Love

“I know you can.” I just want to take care of you. But I leave that comment unsaid.

Only, my hand swipes over her belly. Taking the liberty to touch the swell. I should have asked permission. I know some women hate how openly strangers behave toward a pregnant woman.

But I’m not a stranger. I’m this baby’s father. And I want to be Neve’s man, whatever that might look like.

Our gazes lock for a second. Her mouth is rosy. Her cheeks flushed. Both make her eyes even brighter. Today is overcast, but Neve is all blue skies to me.

I slowly drag my gaze from hers and shut her door. Circling around to the driver’s side, leaves kick up around my feet. We’re weeks away from the trees truly changing color, but some leaves have already fallen here and there. They dance around the edge of the new SUV.

Once we’re on our way, I point out some of the SUV’s features, like I’m a car salesman.

Neve sits silently, taking it all in before she says, “I can’t believe you bought a new car so quickly.”

I can’t believe I did either. But buying the SUV also felt right.

“You said you’re due October first,” I remind her. “That’s a couple of weeks from now. I needed better wheels than the rental.”

Neve stares at me as I pull out of Lovewell Landing proper and along the winding road that curves with the coastline.

“You’re staying?” She chokes over the question.

“Of course.” My brows pinch as I sneak a glance at her. “You’re having our baby, Neve. I want to be here for the birth.”

“You’re staying until I have the baby,” she clarifies. “Three more weeks.”

I’ve already been here for two.

I shrug. “Yes.” I plan to stay longer, but I haven’t worked that part out yet. “Unless you want to move to New York.”

“Absolutely not,” she nearly shrieks.

I chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

“This isn’t some Hallmark movie,” Neve states, her tone winding up. “You can’t waltz in like some city slicker and then decide to stay because you feel sorry for the woman you got pregnant.”

“I don’t feel sorry for her,” I say, glancing over at her again. For some reason, I adjust the silver watch around my wrist, and her gaze falls on it. “I feel sorry for me. I missed out on most of this pregnancy.”

“Well, if I could have given it to you, I would have, but we aren’t seahorses.”

I guffaw. “Neve.”

“I’m serious,” she says loudly.

“I’m serious,” I repeat. “I wish I’d been here. I wish I’d known.” I’m not faulting her. I’m faulting myself. I should have sought her out instead of letting her haunt my dreams.

“You really want a baby,” she says, more curious than accusatory, like she’s trying to make sense of it. “At this stage of life?”

I glance at her once more. A quick check of her shape. The swell of her belly with my baby inside. The glow of her skin from pregnancy and a warm autumn day. The curiosity in those blue eyes.

“I don’t just want a baby. I want our baby. And why wouldn’t I?” I ask quietly. “What stage of life do you think I’m in?”

“Shouldn’t you be having a midlife crisis? Be in some existential phase about your purpose in life?”

Maybe I am in one. But the moment doesn’t feel like a crisis. It feels like clarity. The kind that’s been sitting with me for a long time now, quiet and unshifting, where I know I want a wife. A child. To be a husband and a dad. To have a family that is ours. And that hasn’t changed. It’s just become harder to ignore.

And presently, a wish fulfilled. At least in part.

Last year might have crushed me, but this situation seems like a blessing. Almost like . . . Fate.