13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Trent
A fter Emily stops crying, we move to the living room couch. The rest of this conversation probably isn’t going to be as easy as what just happened. I’m not sure how she’s going to react to my terms.
My test results are in her lap, and she keeps looking through them and then staring at me as though she’s never seen me before.
Which is fair—my response a few weeks ago was pretty emphatic.
Does this give me a way to make sure I’m always in her life?
Yes. Is that the best reason to be doing this? Maybe not, but I’m offering anyway.
“If you still want to do this, then I’m willing, obviously,” I say, gesturing to the papers. “But I have some requests.”
“What are those?” she asks, her voice still hoarse with emotion.
“I don’t want anyone to know I’m the father,” I say.
“Trent,” she says, and I can hear the disappointment in that one word.
“People already think you’re using a donor, and my big reason for saying no in the first place is still valid.
I have a shit reputation in this town. Horrible.
I’m not putting that on a kid. The Sullivan shine isn’t enough to counteract it, at least not yet.
If I can turn around people’s opinions of me through the shop, then we can reconsider. ”
“We’re going to have sex in secret,” Emily says, her tone brimming with disbelief.
“Well, that answers another one of my questions. I wasn’t sure how we’d do it, but yeah, I guess we would.”
Her cheeks turn red, and she avoids eye contact. “If that’s not the way you want to do it, then that’s fine. We can use a fertility clinic instead.”
“I suspect the route you had in mind would be much more fun,” I say. “Not going to lie. That kiss got in my head.” Really far in, so far that I’m not sure I’ll ever forget it.
“For me too,” she says, her voice still abnormally quiet.
There’s a beat of silence between us, and then Emily squares her shoulders. “I’m not going to lie to our kid about who their dad is.”
“I’ll be around a lot, and he or she will know me as a person, just not as their dad,” I say. “Hopefully, by the time we need to worry about telling anyone, I’ll have the shop in good shape, and I’ll be back in the good books of most of the town.”
“I have complete faith in you, Trent, and I’m not asking this because I don’t. But what if that’s not what happens? What if you never convince all the people you want to convince that you’re a decent, upstanding guy who made a colossal mistake at nineteen? What then?”
“Then I’d only want our child to know if it was critical.”
“A dad is important. You know that.” She stands up and starts pacing. “If you’re not okay with our child knowing you’re their dad, then I don’t think we can do this. Donor sperm would honestly be easier. More straightforward.”
I release a deep breath. “Fine. We can tell them when they’re old enough to understand what it all means—no matter what.
” And then I decide to say more, “But I’m going to work really fucking hard, Em.
I’m going to win people over. Until I do, I don’t want anyone in this town shitting on you, giving you a hard time about your choices.
I wouldn’t take it well if someone hurt you.
” I raise my eyebrows and consider any scenario that involves negativity directed at her.
“Really, really wouldn’t take that well. ”
“For now, you want me to tell people I’m using a donor, but that donor will actually be you.”
“Correct. If you want it to be.”
“And you and I would be…”
“Friends with a shared goal.”
“That’s a very sanitized version of what we’ll be doing.”
“I hope so too,” I say, giving her my cockiest grin. In fact, I’m hoping it’s all quite dirty.
“I’ll keep track of the best dates for us to be together. Anything that makes this more transactional is probably better in the long run.” The crease in her brow suggests she’s deep in thought.
“I just need,” I say, turning serious again, “I need your guarantee that whether this works or not, we’ll be okay. I don’t want to ruin ‘us’ in this process.”
“Do you want to set a timeline? Like a number of months we’ll try, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll go to Plan B.”
The responsible thing would be to say “yes.” An end date makes sense so we’re not tied to each other indefinitely, striving for something Emily really wants but that I might not be able to give her—despite my excellent swimmers.
“I say we just play it by ear. See how it goes. Keep the lines of communication open.”
“I think we’re being na?ve to think we can keep this a secret,” she says. “Remember the last secret you kept with a Sullivan? It didn’t exactly go as expected.”
“And this might not either,” I admit. “But I’m willing to take the chance if you are.”
“You want to go ahead with purchasing the shop?”
“And a year from now, I’ll take out a loan and pay you back the price you purchased plus some sort of interest. Whatever’s fair.”
“You’ll move back to Little Falls?” she asks.
“I’ll need to look for a place to rent, but I can sleep in the shop until I’ve sorted that out.”
“Or,” Emily says, drawing out the word. “You could ‘rent’ from me for a few months while you get your feet under you. I have a spare room. No one would question it, since you’ve just made a big purchase, and it would cover our asses in terms of how we spend our time together.”
“You want me to move in with you?”
“Temporarily. If a great apartment comes up or you just decide you want your own space, we can do that. But I think it might make sense at first.”
I take a deep breath and consider her offer.
Part of me wonders whether the storm, staying under the same roof for days, is what got us here , and it makes me a little nervous to consider where else the close proximity might lead us.
But I can’t deny that we got along well during the storm. She’s easy to be around.
“I’ll give my notice,” I say. “We can try it, see how it goes.”
“Amir will be ecstatic,” Emily says, a true smile appearing for the first time since I arrived with my proposal. “Trent twenty-four-seven is his dream.”
“Buy the shop, track your cycle, move in here,” I say. “Nothing monumental there.”
“Just a totally regular Monday afternoon.”
“Jesus, Em, can you believe we’re doing this?”
“No,” she says with a little laugh. “I think we’re so far out of our depth that we’re probably already drowning and don’t realize it.”
“No matter what, we’ve got each other, right? That’s not going to change.”
“ I promise,” she says with a small smile, “that’s not going to change.”
When I stand up, Emily follows me to the door. She tries to hand me back my test results, but I shake my head. “You keep them. I did it for you.”
After I’ve got my coat and boots back on, we examine each other for a beat.
“I don’t think this is really the kind of deal we seal with a handshake,” I say, searching her expression.
“No?”
“No,” I say, and I slide my hand into her hair, gentle but firm, and draw her into a kiss, my heart hammering against my chest. The minute her soft, gloss-stained lips meet mine, I know I’m a fucking goner.
Just like at the club, it’s as though one touch ignites a wildfire. She angles her head, deepening the kiss, and her tongue meets mine. It’s impossible, but it feels like we’ve done this more than once before.
She presses against me, pushing me back against the door, and normally I’d laugh at how feral she seems, but fuck if I don’t feel the same way, as though I could already rip her clothes off, take her here on the kitchen table, sink so deep inside no one else would ever make her feel full again.
I’ve never had a pregnancy kink—in fact the idea used to terrify me—but something new has been unlocked. The idea of spilling myself inside her, of knowing how much she wants it, wants me, is heady, intoxicating.
“I should go now,” I murmur against her lips, and then, as I brush her hair to the side, I trail a line of kisses down her throat, “or I’m not going at all.”
“You should go,” she says, but her voice is breathy, and I’m not sure she means it. “We should keep this professional.”
“Should we?” I ask. “What does that even mean when all I can think about is fucking you on your kitchen table?”
“I haven’t slept with anyone since Omar,” she says.
“What?” I say, drawing back as though she’s doused me in cold water. “Really?”
“Oh god,” she says, closing her eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Now, you’re going to make a big deal out of it. I had lots of sex before Omar, okay? It’s not like I’m some kind of born-again virgin. You don’t need to treat me with kid gloves. It’s fine. I shouldn’t have even said anything.”
“This feels like a big deal,” I say, stepping to the side and biting the inside of my cheek.
“It’s not,” she says with a huff.
“No one?”
“Ugh. Okay, look, this is probably going to give you a big head or whatever, but I haven’t wanted to sleep with anyone since Omar died. Like, I thought maybe all those feelings were just gone . But I’m not, apparently, dead below the waist.”
“I’m oddly flattered right now that I’ve made your pussy purr,” I say, splaying my hand across my chest. “Do you think it’ll develop claws too?”
“Trent!” Emily says, but it’s half-laugh, half-scold.
“In all seriousness, I know this is just a means to an end, but I really am flattered that I get to be that guy.”
“Do not get weird on me,” she says, giving me a light punch in the arm. “It’s probably just because I trust you. I know I can trust you.”
“Em, you cannot say shit like that to me and expect me to be cool about it. You’re firing fucking arrows right to my heart.”
“Yank out the metaphorical arrows, and let your heart harden over the next few days before we see each other. Cupid’s arrows, real or pretend, are not allowed.”
“Noted,” I say, and I draw her back into my arms for another hug and a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back to my flirty, hard-to-take-serious self next time you see me.”
“I hope so,” she says, pressing her cheek against my chest. “I’ve missed that guy.”
I don’t know if I’ve missed him, but I’ve definitely missed this—Em in my arms as that familiar little sigh of contentment escapes her.