Chapter 8
Patrice
Iwake up on Trace's couch Monday morning with a blanket tucked around me and sunlight streaming through the windows.
For a second, I forget where I am. Then everything crashes back—Alaska, the job falling through, staying with Trace, sleeping on his couch like some overgrown burrito.
The pregnancy book sits on the coffee table where he left it, a bookmark stuck partway through. I pick it up, flip to where he stopped reading last night.
He wasn't just reading to me. He'd highlighted sections. Made notes in the margins.
*Check hospital bag list.*
*Ask Dr. Martinez about this.*
*Patrice will hate this technique—too complicated.*
I close the book carefully and set it down.
He's actually preparing. Not just going through motions or playing house. He's taking this seriously.
Taking us seriously.
The baby does a flip. I press my palm flat where it's rolling around. "Yeah, yeah. I know. He's stupidly perfect."
"Talking to yourself?"
I jump. Trace stands in the kitchen doorway, two mugs in hand. "Talking to the baby," I correct. "It's judgmental this morning."
"About?"
"You." I hold up the book. "You made notes."
He sets the mugs down, looking embarrassed. "Yeah, well. Seemed important."
"It is." My voice comes out softer than I mean it to. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Caring."
He sits on the opposite end of the couch, handing me a mug. Hot chocolate, not coffee. With tiny marshmallows.
"I thought pregnant women weren't supposed to have caffeine," he says at my raised eyebrow.
"We can have some. Just not excessive amounts."
"Right. Well. This is safer."
I take a sip. It's perfect. Sweet but not too sweet, exactly how I like it. "How did you know?"
"You made it this way yesterday. I paid attention."
Of course he did.
The baby kicks hard, and I wince.
"You okay?"
"It's awake. And active." I shift, trying to find a position that doesn't feel like I'm being used as a punching bag from the inside. "This is the morning workout routine."
"Can I—" He stops, uncertain.
"Feel?"
He nods.
I should say no. This is already too intimate, too comfortable. But the hopeful look on his face kills me.
"Sure."
He moves closer, and I guide his hand to where the baby's currently practicing kickboxing. His palm is warm through my shirt.
The baby kicks, hard.
His whole face lights up. "Whoa."
"Yeah. Strong kid."
"Like you."
I roll my eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Worth a shot." He keeps his hand there, grinning like an idiot every time it moves. "This is amazing."
"It's weird. There's literally a person inside me, and somehow I forget until it reminds me."
"How?"
"I don't know. It just becomes... normal, I guess? Like having another heartbeat." I watch his face. "Does it freak you out?"
"A little." He's honest about it. "I mean, there's a whole person in there. That's wild."
"Tell me about it. I'm the one carrying it."
He laughs, and the baby kicks toward his voice.
"Likes you," I say before I can stop myself.
"Good. Because I already love it."
The words land between us, heavy and true.
"Trace—"
"I know. Too much, too fast." He pulls his hand back. "But it's true. I don't know how not to feel it."
I don't know what to say to that. How to explain that I'm terrified of exactly this—of him being all in while I'm still figuring out which way is up.
My phone buzzes, saving me. Text from Tessa:
Tessa: Don’t forget! Tonight! 7pm. My place. Wear something comfortable.
"Bachelorette party," I explain at his questioning look.
"Right. I have the bachelor thing at Moosehead Lodge."
"Riveting plans?"
"Probably darts and bad jokes. Maybe some questionable life advice from guys who've never changed a diaper."
"Sounds productive."
"Hey, I'll take all the advice I can get. Even the questionable stuff." He stands, collecting our mugs. "You want breakfast?"
"Always."
"Pancakes?"
"You're going to spoil me."
"That's the plan."
He heads to the kitchen, and I sink back into the couch cushions. The baby settles, finally quiet.
This is becoming a routine. Morning hot chocolate. His notes in pregnancy books. The way he looks at me like I'm not a problem to solve.
I should be more careful.
But watching him move around the kitchen, humming off-key while he makes breakfast, I'm not sure I can be.
Tessa's place is packed when I arrive that evening. Trace dropped me off on his way to the bachelor party, promising to pick me up later.
Well, "packed" is relative. Six women total, which in Ashwood Falls probably qualifies as a massive gathering.
"You made it!" Tessa hugs me carefully, avoiding my stomach. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a whale in a flannel shirt."
"You look beautiful."
"Liar." But I smile anyway.
She introduces me around. Marnie from the general store, who immediately offers to set up a meal train for after the baby arrives.
Dr. Martinez, who's here as a friend, not a doctor, but still manages to ask how I'm feeling.
Two women from the lodge—Emma and Sarah—who welcome me like I'm already part of the community.
Everyone's drinking wine.
Everyone except me.
I'm stuck with sparkling cider in a wine glass, trying to pretend it's the same thing.
"Cheers!" Tessa raises her glass. "To love, laughter, and not freezing to death in Alaska winters!"
Everyone laughs and drinks.
I take a sip of my cider and try not to feel left out.
"So," Marnie leans in conspiratorially. "Trace."
Oh god.
"What about him?" I ask carefully.
"He's a good man. Little quiet, but solid. Good with his hands." She waggles her eyebrows. "If you know what I mean."
"I—"
"She means woodworking," Emma cuts in, laughing. "Marnie, behave."
"I am behaving! I'm just saying, the man can build anything. Including a future." Marnie winks at me. "Just saying."
My face burns.
"Leave her alone," Dr. Martinez says, but she's smiling. "Patrice doesn't need life advice from you troublemakers."
"Thank you," I murmur.
"However," Dr. Martinez continues, "as your doctor, I will say stress isn't good for the baby. So whatever's causing that worried look you've had since you got here? Address it."
"I'm not—"
"You are." She's kind but firm. "And I'm guessing it has to do with a certain carpenter who's been calling my office asking questions about pregnancy complications."
My hand stills on my glass. "He has?"
"Three times this past week. Wanted to know warning signs, what to watch for, emergency procedures." She sips her wine. "Man's doing his homework."
"He's just being responsible."
"He's being a partner," Marnie corrects. "There's a difference."
"We're not—" I stop. What are we? "It's complicated."
"It always is," Sarah says. She's older, maybe mid-fifties, with kind eyes. "But complicated doesn't mean impossible."
"Sometimes it means exactly that."
"Not here." She gestures around. "You see this group? Emma's husband died five years ago. Marnie's divorced. I moved here after my kids grew up and I wanted a fresh start. Tessa left everything in Florida to move here." She smiles. "We're all complicated. But we're all figuring it out."
I swallow hard. "I don't know how."
"Start by admitting what you want," Tessa says quietly.
"I don't even know what that is anymore."
"That's okay too." She squeezes my hand. "What do you need right now?"
"To not feel so alone."
"Done." Marnie raises her glass. "You're officially not alone anymore. You're stuck with us."
Everyone laughs, and the conversation shifts.
Emma starts in about Tessa's dress. "We need details."
Tessa lights up. "It's simple. Cream-colored, long sleeves because Alaska in January. Nothing fancy."
"Has Gage seen it yet?" Marnie asks.
"Absolutely not. That's bad luck."
"Does he even care about that stuff?" Sarah laughs.
"No, but I do." Tessa grins. "Besides, I want him to be surprised."
"He'll cry," I say without thinking.
Everyone looks at me.
"What?" I shrug. "He cried when they got engaged. Tessa told me. He'll definitely cry at the actual wedding."
"Trace too," Marnie says. "Those two are basically the same person. Both big softies under all that Alaskan mountain man exterior."
"Trace doesn't cry," I say automatically.
"Oh honey." Dr. Martinez pats my hand. "Wait until the baby comes. He'll be a mess."
The baby. Right. Because that's actually happening. The baby kicks, hard, like it heard us talking about it.
"When are you due?" Emma asks gently.
"Late February or early March. About six weeks."
"First baby?"
"Yeah."
"Exciting. Terrifying. All of it at once." She smiles. "But you'll do great."
"I don't feel ready."
"Nobody does," Sarah says. "I had three kids and didn't feel ready for any of them. You just figure it out as you go."
"That's what Tessa keeps saying."
"Because it's true," Tessa says. "Look, I moved to Alaska on a whim for a guy I barely knew. Literally left my entire life behind. If I can do that, you can handle this."
"That's different."
"How?"
"You chose it. I just... ended up here."
"Didn't you, though?" Marnie tilts her head. "You bought a plane ticket. You came. That was a choice."
She's not wrong.
"I came because I had to," I argue weakly.
"You came because you wanted to tell him," Tessa corrects gently. "You could've stayed in Florida. Could've figured it out alone. But you didn't."
The room goes quiet.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I admit.
"Join the club." Emma raises her glass. "To not knowing what we're doing but doing it anyway."
Everyone drinks to that.
The conversation moves on. Decorations at Moosehead Lodge. The small ceremony. The ridiculous amount of flannel everyone's going to be wearing.
It's sweet and simple and everything Tessa wanted.
"What about you?" Emma asks me. "You ever think about weddings?"
"Not really. I've been focused on survival."
"But if you did?" she presses.
I think about it. "Small, I guess. Just people who matter. Nothing fancy."
"Sounds like a Trace kind of wedding," Marnie says innocently.
I throw a pillow at her.