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“I’ll have an entirely new life in L.A. Living in a new place, hanging out with new people.” Like Anna. And others he’d met in the past weeks. Guys who’d invited him to play golf. A bar he’d found where there were high-stakes dart tournaments. He’d been pretty good at darts in college.
Her look had him stumped. Was it pity he saw on her face?
No, but...something.
“Answer me this. If it wasn’t for the fact that we both know life was growing stagnant and had to change, that we needed a break between us...if this was just a business venture, would you accept the offer?”
“Probably. As you said, it makes sense in a lot of ways.”
“So let’s table this for now, okay? Think about it some more. See how it goes with me in L.A. and you in San Diego. I think you’ll see that the distance we need will be there.”
She shook her head. “I know I need to say no, Bray.”
“Please,” he pushed. Because he couldn’t not. The plan made perfect sense for both of them. And then something occurred to him. She’d had to fight hard to recover from the panic attacks and fear that had beset her in the early days after Tucker’s death. They’d only lasted a month or two, but the fact that they’d happened at all had scared her. “Are you afraid you can’t let go of me?”
Her gaze shot up. He got hot again.
“I’m pregnant, Bray.”
He dropped his sandwich. At first he didn’t even notice. All he could see was the glow in her eyes, that odd look again. It wasn’t pity. It was compassion. Her “mother” look, he’d once dubbed it. He should have known.
“But you said you had your—”
“I did. But they did a test this morning and it turns out I’m pregnant.”
Hmm.
Well.
Whoa.
He nodded a bit.
And when he thought maybe he had assimilated the situation he said, “I’m seeing someone.”
Chapter Eleven
That first weekend Mallory was consumed with baby buying. She’d done Tucker’s room in yellows and greens, giraffes, elephants and monkeys. This time around she chose primary colors, balloons and bears, mostly. And she bought a new crib—she’d gotten rid of Tucker’s the day he’d been taken from it—in a new style, too; instead of brown, white this time with a changing table to match. She filled her car and went back a second time, filling it again.
If you build it, they will come. The phrase came to her from somewhere in her past. From a movie about baseball fields. She couldn’t remember when she’d seen it or with whom, but since the words presented themselves out of the blue, she took them to heart.
She’d build the nursery and her baby would come.
And then she was done.
There’d be more to add as the months passed. Outfits, diapers, cute things she’d pick up for the room as she saw them. And a rocker—she was thinking old-fashioned this time, not the glider kind she’d had before. But, for the most part, what had taken her months the first time around was done in three days.
No researching was necessary this time. She knew what kind of swing she preferred and why; she had them at the daycare. Car seat, portable crib, bouncy seat and high chair, too. She was a woman who knew pretty much everything about baby paraphernalia—down to the style of breast pump.
By Sunday afternoon she was satisfied with how the room across the hall from hers looked. Liked how the portable crib fit into her room’s decor.
And then she panicked. What if something happened? What if she miscarried? Should she have waited until she’d passed the critical three-month stage? What if she’d jinxed things? Like she’d left Tucker that night?
If you build it, they will come.
She wasn’t jinxing; she was building.
Heart pounding, she concentrated on slowing her air intake so she didn’t hyperventilate. She drew in deeper breaths as she thanked God that Braden wasn’t around to witness her weekend.
