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As her mother placed the turkey on the serving tray, Becca was anxiously aware that Nick had not yet arrived.
An unsettled wave of apprehension washed over her. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he wasn’t coming?
That was a ridiculous thought. Had Nick let her down yet?
No. But after Tuesday night’s interrogation, she really wouldn’t blame him if he decided to skip the Flannigan’s annual turkey brawl.
Come on, Becca. Buck up. He had to work until seven. Maybe something came up.
Like a better offer.
No. That was decidedly not the man she’d fallen in love with. He’d been her rock, her touchstone. While she knew she was capable of breaking the news of the pregnancy to her family, she had liked the idea of him standing beside her, helping her set the tone, when they made the announcement.
As the parade of side dishes, dinner rolls and condiments started to roll toward the table, Becca slipped off to check her phone. Just in case.
Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the text from Nick.
Sorry for the late notice. I have an emergency and I can’t get away from the hospital. Will try to stop by later if it’s not too late. Please give your parents my regrets. Happy Thanksgiving.
Chapter Nine
Nick steered his car onto the Flannigans’ paved circular driveway and parked behind a dark Toyota Prius.
After work, he’d gone home to take a quick shower and trade his scrubs for a pair of black pants and a button-down. He swapped out the Harley for the Jeep before going to Thanksgiving dinner. He’d done it for Becca’s sake more than anything. After meeting Isabel and Patrick and informing them that their daughter was having his babies, he’d come away with the impression that they’d like him even less if he showed up on a bike.
He wasn’t trying to impress them or win them over. Her mother had already proven she could be a handful, and Nick simply didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.
That was all right. He was in a good mood. He always was after he saved someone’s life.
He grabbed the bottle of merlot he’d bought for the occasion and headed up the porch steps that led to the front door of the two-story brick home.
This was the home where Becca had grown up.
Before he reached the porch, he wondered which window had been hers and how many boys might have stood below it and tossed pebbles to get her attention.
The gas coach lamps glowed, and other ambient lighting lit up the lush, well-landscaped yard that still looked remarkably green despite the unseasonably cold temperatures. The redbrick Colonial wasn’t a mansion by any means, but it certainly wasn’t a shack.
It was a nice upper-middle class abode that any family would be lucky to call home. It was a far cry from the places he’d lived as a child as he’d shuffled back and forth between his parents’ places. They were usually leased apartments in a part of town where rent was affordable. His parents’ divorce had not only torn apart the family, but it had also ruined both of them financially.
On the porch, Nick could see through the illuminated windows into the dining room, where a crowd was gathered around the table enjoying dessert.
Maybe he should’ve texted Becca before he came, but he was already so late that he’d been in a hurry to get there. Now it seemed pointless to text from the front porch.
He rang the doorbell and heard the sound of running feet and a couple I’ll get its—a herd of children, no doubt, racing to answer the door.
He was right. When the door opened, a small crowd of kids clustered around the threshold.
“Who are you?” asked a boy who may have been six or seven years old. His nose was covered with freckles, and he was missing his two front teeth.
Nick shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m Nick. Who are you?”
“My mom says I can’t talk to strangers,” said the boy, who was obviously the spokesperson for the munchkins.
“Probably a good idea,” Nick said. “Would you please go get Becca so I can talk to her?”
“He’s here to see Becca?” a little blonde girl asked. “How come he’s not at his house having Thanksgiving?”
“Because he’s here to see Becca,” the freckle-faced boy said, in that way older and usually self-designated wiser kids talked down to younger kids.
“He’s right,” Nick said. “I’m supposed to come over and have Thanksgiving with Becca. Right here in this house with you.”
