Page 94 of Where I Should’ve Been

“Listen here!” Josie yells, not even waiting for a response from Logan or anyone else. “You’re either drinking coffee or getting out. Nothing else is going on in here, you hear me? No cursing, no arguing, and definitely no hitting.”

Clay laughs. “Talk about a family reunion.”

When the bell over the door rings again, I half expect my dead father to have come back from the grave and arrived in Red Bridge—but instead, it’s the one man I’ve been thinking about all damn morning and night.

Tad. The unwitting father of my baking bun. The sheep farmer with the sperm power of a thoroughbred. And the man whose coffee is sitting right in front of me.

But before I can act or react or do something in the name of grabbing his attention, a frazzled-looking Eileen Martin comes storming in behind him. A stack of newspapers practically weighs down her arms, and when the door falls closed behind her, it knocks her forward with a hit to her ass.

Unfazed, she starts yelling. “Hot off the presses! Hot off the presses! Get the latest issue of the Red Bridge Chronicle right here!”

When people ignore her, she turns into a tornado, purposefully grabbing the attention of everyone in the coffee shop by shoving papers in their hands and faces and laps. Sue Nagel, Betty Bagley, Hal Newton, Derrick and Fran, Sheriff Pete—they’re all here and being forced to read the damn newspaper, and those are just the faces I can see.

As Norah cracks open the paper, I get a look at the front page—and my name emblazoned in big, bold letters along with Josie’s is the first thing I see. Norah moves it quickly before I can get a read on the whole headline, but mayhem explodes quickly enough that I wouldn’t bet any money on it saying something good.

“What the fuck, Eileen?” Josie yells, all bans on cursing, arguing, and quite possibly fistfighting going right out the window.

I jump up and grab the paper right out of Eileen’s stack, flipping to the front and swaying slightly when my stomach flips completely over inside me.

Swans are in the air in Red Bridge: Josie Harris and Breezy Bishop BOTH pregnant!

Logan grabs both of my biceps to steady me as I sway even farther, settling me into the chair across from the one I vacated with worried eyes. “Breeze? Breeze!” I can see his mouth moving, but the sound is nothing but white noise.

I glance from him to Norah, and then Bennett, and then Clay and Josie, who are hugging in front of the counter like being connected is their only lifeline.

And then I swing to the door—to a wide-eyed, completely frozen Tad right in front of it.

His hands shake slightly, his fingers clenched on each side of the newspaper as he stares right at me. I know immediately he’d just as much like to know the truth—if what the paper says is real—as he’d like to time-travel to somewhere in the past and never come back.

He’s in real, raw shock. To be finding out like this—I can’t even imagine.

I lick my lips and steady my chin, holding it up. And then, I nod. Twice. Once for confirmation, and then again to prove his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

After that, I leave the ball in his court, and for as much as I’m hoping he’ll rush toward me and pull me into his arms, I can’t—I won’t—judge him for any other response.

He can run. He can yell. He can faint.

It doesn’t matter. I’ve promised myself grace—for him and for me—and that means giving him the time to process however he sees fit.

The door bursts open behind him, a young, fashionable woman throwing her hands in the air and shouting. “Surprise! I’m heeerrreee!”

It’s only then I recognize her as Norah’s best friend from New York, Lillian, a weirdness flowing over her as she reads the room. “Okay, whoa. What the hell did I just walk into?”

My eyes jump back to Tad automatically.

White washes over his face, sickness and a sudden problem with digestion, I’m guessing, turning him ill. I wish it didn’t make my heart flip in my chest, but it does. I don’t blame him, but I do feel bad for myself.

Last night, I finally let myself come to terms with the fact that my life of independence in New York and the boss-bitch persona I played so well was one comprised of loneliness. It was battles fought on my own and tears cried in the shower. It was strong will and the ability to handle anything that came my way—traits born because I had to.

I’ve always been the caretaker, but so often, when you take on that role, no one takes care of you.

And God, no matter how hard it is to admit this, I desperately want someone to take care of me.

I want someone to comfort me in times of trial and champion my wins. Someone to wade through the mud with me, no matter the depth.

I know this thing with Tad started out as casual, but when I wasn’t looking, hope edged in. Longing and dreaming and daring to think, maybe, I wouldn’t always have to do it alone.

His reaction is valid. Hell, I’m shocked by the way Eileen just plastered the news everywhere, and I’m already in the know.