CHAPTER THREE
EDEN
A drink. It’s just a drink. I repeat the words in my head like a mantra all the way to the local pub.
The Stag has been going since the war, according to Mrs. Wainwright. I’m not sure how accurate her information is, but the decor suggests she’s right.
I take my lemonade and join Pete by the crackling fire. “Cosy,” I say as I unwrap the large scarf Martha forced me to wear.
I take a seat as he sips his pint nervously.
I wasn’t going to come. I thought of a million excuses as to why I shouldn’t, but Martha wouldn’t let me pull out, even threatening to drag me here kicking and screaming.
She reasoned I didn’t have to agree to date the guy, but I needed to make friends if I was planning on sticking around. And I am.
“It’s a change for me to go out in the evenings,” I say, settling into the comfy seat.
“I try to get out, even if it’s just for a quick one,” he says, nodding to his pint. “But it’s nice to have company.”
“You must be busy with the farm.”
He nods. “Since my father died, it’s been harder.”
“Sorry to hear that. He ran the farm before you?”
“Yeah, three generations,” he tells me proudly. “I’m the first to run it alone. I have a farmhand, but he’s not much use.”
“No kids?”
He shakes his head, smiling. “Not really my thing.”
I laugh. “But you offered to come for the scan.”
“My sister, she raised her kid alone. Well, not entirely cos she has us, but she chose to have the scan alone and told me she’d always wished she’d taken someone to share the excitement.”
I find myself smiling. “That’s really sweet. And thank you for thinking of me.”
He gives a bashful smile. “Not a problem.” He hesitates then asks, “Is the father completely out the picture?”
I’m prepared for curious questions—Mrs. Wainwright's been asking plenty—but for once, I don’t want to think about Kade or his rejection.
“I left it open door,” I say with a shrug. “He knows the situation, and so far, he isn’t here, so . . .”
“His loss.”
I take a large gulp then set my glass down. “Look, just to lay my cards out, I’m not looking for anything. My life is a complete mess, and if I’m honest, I’m not over Kade.”
“Eden . . . relax. I’m not hitting on you.”
I stop, my mouth hanging open. And then I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Of course, you’re not hitting on me.” I scoff, shaking my head. “Why would you? I mean, look at me,” I say, rubbing a hand over my stomach.
He grabs my hand, gently holding onto it. “Not because you’re pregnant,” he tells me, and my heart slams harder. Maybe he just thinks I’m a troll. “Or because I don’t think you’re hot,” he smirks, “because you are beautiful.” My cheeks burn brighter. “But because I’m not into girls.”
I inhale sharply, almost choking on my own saliva. “Oh, oh god. I didn’t know. Mrs. Wainwright never told me, and you don’t look . . .” I trail off again, this time wincing as he laughs hard.
“Gay?” he finishes for me. “I get that a lot. And Mrs. Wainwright likes to think she knows everything, but she doesn’t. Plus, I keep my private life very private.”
I nod. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”
“Not that it’s a big secret,” he adds. “If someone asks, I’ll tell them.
But this is a small place, and some of the residents are a little .
. . set in their ways. So, I don’t make a big deal out of it.
And any guys I meet are off Tinder from outta town.
They arrive in a taxi and leave the same way. ”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say.
“You just look like you need a friend, so I thought I’d invite you for a drink.”
I bury my face in my hands. “I’m so embarrassed,” I whisper. “The nerve of me to think you fancied me.”
He laughs again, deep and throaty, but somehow, it doesn’t have the same effect it had on me before. “Sorry, I should’ve been more upfront. It’s just weird, though, isn’t it, introducing yourself and adding, ‘oh by the way, I’m gay’.”
“I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just Martha and Mrs. Wainwright, they put this idea in my head that you liked me.”
“I do, just not in that way.”
I smile, nodding, even though I’m crippled with embarrassment. “I don’t know what’s worse, me thinking you fancied me and was about to ask me out or that you’ve asked me out for a drink as a pity friend.”
He laughs again. “Pity friend?” he repeats.
“I’m a sad loner, so you befriended me.”
“Not at all. I like company, and we hit it off.”
By the time I get home, I’m over my embarrassment. Martha is waiting, and she pauses the television when I enter. “How did it go?” she asks excitedly.
“Great,” I beam, and her eyes widen in surprise. “He’s hot, charming, everything I want in a dad for this little one,” I say, patting my stomach.
She narrows her eyes. “Are you joking?”
I grab the nearest cushion and throw it at her. “He’s gay,” I wail, falling onto the couch beside her. “He was just being nice.”
“Oh my god, he is not,” she cries, her mouth falling open.
“One hundred percent. Christ, Martha, I let you and Mrs. Wainwright completely get in my head.” I giggle. “I almost gave him the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line.” She claps her hands over her mouth. “Exactly,” I cry. “I was mortified.”
“That’s hilarious.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m entertaining you.” I sit straighter. “Have you heard from Rabbit?” I ask. It’s been days since she saw him, and she hasn’t stopped smiling or checking her phone like a lovesick teenager.
“He’s on a job tonight. Some meeting. Said it’s a fancy place and totally out of his comfort zone.” I grin. Rabbit hates anything that forces him out of his oil-stained jeans. “He sent me a pic,” she adds, practically vibrating. “He’s in a shirt.”
She opens the photo and hands me her phone. Rabbit’s front and centre, grinning like an idiot in a mirror selfie.
“He actually looks quite cute,” I say, zooming in.
And then I see him in the background. Kade.
My heart stutters. Because he’s not alone. His arm is around another woman’s shoulders. They’re standing close, talking to a man whose back is to the camera. She’s smiling up at Kade, bright and wide.
And he’s smiling back. He’s also in a shirt, and he’s not wearing his kutte, which almost never happens.
Something in my chest twists, sharp and mean.
I must be staring too long, or maybe my face has already given me away, because Martha leans over and gasps when she sees where I’ve zoomed in.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
I blink hard, shove the phone back into her hand, and stand on shaky legs. “I’m shattered,” I say abruptly, “and I’ve got to be up early for the scan. Goodnight.”
“Eden, wait—”
I walk towards the stairs, keeping my back to her, willing my voice not to crack. “I can’t do this right now, Martha. Just . . . leave it.”
And before she can say anything else, I disappear upstairs, swallowing the ache burning its way through my chest.
I don’t sleep much. My mind won’t stop chewing through questions I shouldn’t care about.Stupid things. Pointless things.
Does he love her?
Was he seeing her before I left?
Was she the real reason he grew distant?
I groan and scrub a hand over my face, catching my reflection in the mirror. I look pale, exhausted. Nothing like myself.
The bedroom door opens, and Martha slips inside, wrapped in her dressing gown, sniffling miserably into a tissue.
Instant panic flares, and I stand quickly. “Are you okay?”
She shakes her head, her voice croaky. “I feel terrible. My throat’s killing me, and I started throwing up in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, Martha.” I step closer, pressing a hand to her warm forehead. “You’re burning up. You need to get straight back into bed.”
“But the scan—”
“It’s fine.” I force a reassuring smile I don’t feel. “You can’t go infecting every pregnant woman at the clinic. Honestly, I’ll be okay.”
She holds out her car keys with a pitiful little sigh. The car barely sees daylight since we moved here. “Take Wanda,” she murmurs. “And call me the second you’re out. I want to know everything.”
“I will,” I promise, squeezing her arm before guiding her back to her room.
By the time I reach the car, I’m a mess of nerves. My hands shake as I start the engine. I grip the steering wheel, resting my forehead against it, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
I’m almost certain everything is fine. I’ve felt the baby move, little flutters that warm me from the inside, but still, doubt whispers in the back of my mind. After everything I’ve been through, it’s not impossible that something could be wrong.
A tap on the window makes me yelp.
Pete stands outside, worry etched across his face.
I force a smile and roll the window down. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” His gaze scans my face like he’s memorising every crack.
“I’m fine,” I lie softly. “Just feeling sorry for myself.”
He glances at his watch. “Isn’t your scan soon?”
I nod. “Yeah. Martha’s sick . . . she can’t come.”
He grins, completely undeterred by my frayed state. “You only had to ask.”
Before I can protest, he rounds the car and climbs in, fastening his seatbelt.
“Pete, really, you don’t have to—”
“I’ve always wanted to see one of these things,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A smile escapes, and suddenly, the tightness in my chest eases a little.
The waiting room smells like disinfectant and over-brewed coffee. Chairs line the walls in tidy rows, and posters about breastfeeding and morning sickness stare back at me. A couple sit opposite, fingers laced tightly, whispering excitedly to each other.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Pete sits beside me, tapping his foot like a man trying not to look nervous himself. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I lie then shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He smiles in that soft, steady way he has. “You’re allowed to be nervous. It’s a big day.”
It is. Bigger than I ever expected it to feel.