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Except this is no food baby.
Almost.
But not quite.
I lick my lips nervously and open my mouth, but he beats me to the punch.
“You’re pregnant.”
I swallow hard and lift my chin higher by just a fraction.
I’m not enjoying the scrutiny of his gaze.
Bending down, I grab my phone and speaker, and walk toward him.
I refuse to back down.
Refuse to give in to the disappointment coursing through my body.
And for what?
Why am I disappointed?
In me?
In him?
Who the hell knows.
But after my rock-bottom hit last week, I refuse to allow him to push me there again.
Just by being…
Him.
When I near Cade, he steps to the side, allowing me to walk past him.
And as much as I appreciate it…
That’s just what I want, I think sarcastically.
To walk in front of him while wearing almost nothing.
I do it though.
And why?
Because my baggy sweatshirt is just up the stairs, and around the corner.
Not that I have anything to hide now. There’s no hiding the extended bump of my stomach, small as it is.
Between here and the patio, I need to come up with a plan.
Something to tell him.
Tell him I’m not ashamed of this pregnancy.
I am, but I’m not, in the same breath.
