Chapter 32
HOLLY
My doc fits me in first thing the next morning. The test confirms it: I’m pregnant.
I head to work, partly because I need to keep my head on straight.
Not that anything in my life right now is even remotely straight.
I’m pregnant with my best friend’s baby.
I’m moving to England to open a kindergarten with my sister.
And somewhere between the test and the kitchen, I full-on kissed Dexter.
I keep telling myself it was the excitement. Hormones. Adrenaline. But that kiss didn’t feel accidental. That kiss felt like... heaven.
The second I get to my office and drop my bag, I call Shelby.
She picks up instantly. “Right then, how’d it go?”
“I’m pregnant.”
There’s a beat and a soft gasp. Then a shaky inhale. “Oh, Hol…” Her voice cracks. “I’m so happy, darling. So damn happy for you… for us. I didn’t think I’d get this emotional,” she says, sniffling. A little gasp slips through. “You’ve told Dexter?”
“He was with me.”
“And, how did he take it?”
“Good. He was… good. Calm. Happy.”
“Of course he was,” she says warmly. “He adores you.”
I hesitate, then blurt: “I kissed him!”
On the other end, there’s nothing. No gasp, no squeal, no audible shock, which feels a bit ungrateful given the bomb I just dropped.
“I kissed him!” I repeat, in case Shelby somehow missed it.
“Ooh-kay? And?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen!”
“What, kissing him? Darling, you’re having his baby. A kiss is hardly front-page news.”
“I just got excited. One thing led to another.”
Shelby goes quiet, the sniffing stops, and I can almost hear her shaking her head on the other end. “So… you slept with him again?”
“No. It was just a kiss. A… not-exactly-friendly one.”
“Thank God for that. I’d be worried if it was a peck on the cheek. Do you regret it?”
I pause. “Not really. Maybe. A little bit.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Holly. You kissed the man.
Hardly the end of the world. Stop dwelling on it and get some crackers down you.
Plain ones. They’ll settle your stomach.
And grab yourself something to drink before you keel over.
And no, coffee absolutely does not count.
Grab an apple juice. That posh one Dexter gets shipped in from that off-grid hippie farm upstate.
Or tea. Yorkshire, obviously. Something that won’t dehydrate your common sense.
Honestly. There are bigger things to worry about. ”
I smile. “Love you.”
“Course you do. Now get something down you before I fly over and sort you out myself.”
Later that day, my phone lights up in my hand. Dexter again. He’s been checking in on me like clockwork.
Dexter:
Hey, how you feeling?
Me:
Fine. Ate crackers.
Dexter:
Miracle cure?
Me:
Surprisingly, yeah.
Dexter:
I’m making you dinner. No eggs, scout’s honor.
Such ruthless tactics.
Me:
Fine, you win. Quesadillas?
Dexter:
Done. Be here at 6.
I’m barely through the door when the smell hits me: garlic, onions, something warm and spicy.
Delicious! I find Dexter in the kitchen, flipping quesadillas.
He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt, sleeves tight around his arms, hair damp from a shower, and barefoot.
He looks like the only thing that makes sense today.
And I feel myself exhale the first real breath I’ve managed all day.
“Hey,” he says, glancing up. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.” I move to lean against the counter, watching him. “Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes warm. “You’re pregnant. You get a pass on everything now.” He turns the burner off, moves the quesadilla to a plate already stacked with others, and starts arranging things on the table: guacamole, salsa, sour cream. “Big news tends to rattle the system.”
I smile at that. “Yeah. About that…”
He pulls out my chair. “Sit. We’ll eat. You can tell me whatever’s on your mind.”
I sit. My stomach’s rumbling, but it’s not just from hunger. It’s nerves. I grab a quesadilla.
He drops into the chair across from me. “So?”
I swallow. “I wanted to apologize.”
He looks up from spooning salsa into a bowl. “For?”
“For yesterday. The kiss.”
He doesn’t blink, studying me carefully. “Has that been bothering you all day?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Well, stop.”
“I can’t! It was out of line! I said once I was pregnant, the physical stuff would stop. I broke the rule.”
“So bad.”
“It wasn’t part of the deal.”
Dexter sets the spoon down, wipes his hands on a towel, and walks around the table. He drags a chair around, flips it backward, and straddles it, facing me. His arms hook over the backrest.
“We got news. Big news. You were overwhelmed, and happy. Emotional. That’s allowed, Holly. Feeling something is allowed.”
“I know. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
He angles his head slightly. “Which is?”
“That the kiss meant something more than it did.”
Dexter, the unmovable force who stares down hostile boardrooms without flinching, draws back as if I’d slapped him and goes utterly still.
He doesn’t say anything for a second.
Then he cocks his chin up. “Tell me it didn’t mean more than that. Go on.”
My throat tightens. I swallow and look away. He must see the panic flicker in my eyes, because just as I want to wrap my arms around myself, he catches my hand and places his fingers over mine, easing them down.
“Holly,” he says. “Look at me. It was a kiss. One we’ve shared before, multiple times. It’s not going to unravel anything. We’re right where we need to be, and you don’t owe me an apology for being happy.”
I try to hold his gaze, but it’s too much. “It’s just that... I thought this would feel clearer. That once I knew I was pregnant, the arrangement would be over. That it would be simple. But it doesn’t feel simple at all.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” he murmurs. “Nothing real ever is.”
I let out a shaky breath.
His voice doesn’t waver. “You think I didn’t notice how good it felt? To be close to you like that?”
I say nothing.
He shakes his head. “I’m not putting any pressure on you. But if it’s just the rules holding you back, I’m saying it’s time we change them.”
“But isn’t everything already complicated enough?”
“We’re adults. We’ll handle it.”
I look down at his hand on mine. He’s not rushing me, he never does. He just… waits.
My eyes drift to his mouth. To his stupid mouth. Stupid, beautiful, maddening mouth. And I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing it again. But I am.
He tilts his jaw a fraction.
His hand comes to my chin, and he angles my face to his.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
When he leans in, I don’t stop him.
The kiss is different from yesterday’s. His lips press to mine, and I feel the certainty in it. The urgency. The ache he’s been holding back. His hand slides up my arm and cups my face, and for a second, I melt into it, forgetting every rule I set for myself. Forgetting everything except him.
When we break apart, my breath catches. I blink up at him.
“Okay,” I whisper. “So… about the rules.”
His mouth curves slightly, eyes not leaving mine. “We both know the rules were never going to last.”
“We did not!”
“If it’s up to me, they’re irrelevant at this point. We’re well past all rules.”
Standing back up, he releases my wrist, turns toward the table, and picks up the serving spoon, as if nothing about the moment was earth-shaking. “Now,” he says, scooping food onto my plate, “let’s get you fed.”
I reach for my fork. The quesadillas are perfect. And for a few moments, that’s all we do—eat.
Until he sets his fork down and looks over, “I had a thought.”
I glance up. “About what?”
“Your plan. The UK. The kindergarten.”
Oh boy. “Dexter…”
“Just hear me out,” he says. “I’ve been running the numbers, thinking it through. You don’t have to go. You could do all of it here, and I’d help. I’d support whatever you need.”
I set my fork down. “Dexter. My sister’s there. Her kids are there. We already found a building.”
“I’d fly them over.”
“You can’t just move a whole family for me.”
“Why not? I’d do it.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“It’s a big change.”
“I know. But it’s the one I’ve chosen. I told you I made a promise to Shelby. I’m not going to pull the rug out from under her now. That would be a horrible thing to do.”
The words come out easily enough. I don’t touch the other thought. The one that wonders what I’d choose if this weren’t already decided.
He nods slowly, gaze closed off. After a moment he gestures toward my plate. “Eat, Holly.”
I do. And for the rest of the meal, we don’t talk about the future.