Chapter 7
7
IVY
I’ve always loved Christmas.
My mother was a bit over-the-top with it when I was growing up, and I kept all of the same traditions living on my own that we had then.
There were years when the tree would go up before Halloween had even arrived, and I think those ones were my favourite. Mom would always order Dad to haul the bins up from the basement, and we’d spend the entire day figuring out where to put everything.
The theme for our living room tree alternated every year, from red and green to pink and silver and sometimes blue and white. Mom insisted we stick with one and work around it with the ornaments, tinsel, the tree skirt, and even the lights.
Then, we’d set up a second tree in the family room, where she’d give Dad and me free rein to decorate how we wanted with no rhyme or reason. I’d hold my box of sentimental ornaments to my chest and let Dad take his hockey ones, and then we’d get to work. Some years, it would take hours to get the tree how I wanted it, and I’d have Dad huffing and puffing from how many times I’d have him adjust something I was too tall to reach.
By the time we’d finish, Mom would already have Chinese takeout on the way, and we’d turn the fireplace on before making hot chocolate in our matching mugs.
It’s those memories that I replay on the days when I’m feeling lonely. The holidays aren’t the time to feel alone, but ever since I moved away from my parents, they’ve felt that way more than normal.
I always make the time to go back home for dinner and presents, but once you leave your childhood home and start a life on your own, it’s just not the same as it was. They’re growing pains, I know. Acknowledging that doesn’t magically stop the gnawing in your gut and craving for something more.
Puffing out a long exhale, I continue down the road to the Frosty Mug. My tires sink into the heavy dump of fresh snow that has yet to be plowed, and I grip the steering wheel tighter, growing more nervous. Even with the quick swipe of my wipers, the snow is falling hard enough in front of me to make it hard to see where I’m going.
It’s a December 22 white-out, according to the weatherman on the radio, and after exchanging a few emails with Niko, I was left with no other choice than to agree to see him today regardless of the weather.
Sure, he offered to come to my place, but if he’d done that . . . just no . First, I don’t trust myself around him enough to welcome him into my home without pouncing like a horny animal, but second, I wanted to check on how the decorating at the bar has come along.
The last time I was there, it was bare and sad. But I’ve given him clear instructions on how everything should be decorated, and I’m ready to see if he followed them.
My stomach rolls as I come to a slick stop at a red light. Of course, there’s more to my visit than just work.
I went to my doctor yesterday and had her confirm that yes, I am indeed pregnant. Three weeks along, to be exact. I’m nauseous from the morning sickness but also the nerves of telling him the news.
Will he be upset? Or tell me that he doesn’t want it? God, I hope not. I don’t know if I could do this on my own.
It was so reckless not using a condom. I’ve always known that birth control isn’t ever one hundred percent effective, and surely, he knows that, too. We acted out of impulse, and now I don’t know what to do.
The light turns green, and I softly press on the gas to avoid spinning my tires and ease through the intersection. It’s too bright out to see the lights hung around town, but the wreaths on every shop door are visible. They’re enough to make me smile a little before I pull into the bar parking lot.
A country rendition of “Jingle Bells” plays through the speakers as I put the car in park and settle a hand on my stomach through my thick jacket.
“I hope you like Christmas, baby. If not, you’ll break your mom’s heart. Not to mention your grandma’s,” I say softly.
Pulling the key from the ignition, I steel my spine and nod once to myself. When I step out, the snow attacks my face. Wind howls through the air, and I gasp at the force of it when it slashes my cheeks.
I pull my fur-lined hood up and jog through the piles of snow in the parking lot to the entrance. Even with my gloves on, the metal door handle is so cold it burns my fingers when I pull it open.
It’s hot inside, and I drop my tense shoulders before patting my jacket clear of snow. I’m nowhere near showing yet, but I wore my baggiest jacket and dress as if that would make any difference at all today.
Footsteps approach when I start shrugging out of my jacket, and I tense automatically, waiting for whoever it is to reach me. The tables closest to me are empty, which isn’t surprising, considering the empty parking lot and the weather outside. It’s not exactly all that safe to be driving on the roads, and it won’t be long before they’re shut down altogether. I’ll have to make sure I’m gone by then.
“I’ll take that,” Niko grunts, appearing from around the tables with his hand already reaching for me.
He grabs my jacket once I go to drape it over my arm and clutches it in a huge hand. When I lift my gaze, I’m immediately trapped beneath the weight and intensity of his hazelnut eyes.
“Hi,” I mutter shyly.
“Hi.”
With a blink, I’m able to free myself of his stare and finally take in the sight of him in front of me. My heart skips a few too many beats when I focus on the green-and-red sweater he’s wearing with his jeans. I wheeze out a breath and pinch my shirt sleeve.
“What are you wearing?”
He has the nerve to stare down at himself as if he doesn’t know why I’m asking him that question and shrugs a bulky shoulder. “A sweater.”
“Why that one?”
“It was a gift, wasn’t it?”
I snap my head back to stare into his eyes again, this time narrowing mine. “Maybe it wasn’t for you.”
“It’s a bit snug, but I made it work.”
“That could have been for Travis.” It explodes out of my mouth before I can reel the words back in. I swallow an apology, even as his face thunders. “I mean, it wasn’t, but it could have been.”
The space between us disappears in a matter of a few seconds. Niko doesn’t hesitate to take my face in his hands and crane my head back before swooping in to kiss me. I shouldn’t let it happen after how we left things weeks ago, but as my eyes close and my stomach fills with flapping wings, I don’t have it in me to pull away again.
It’s a statement, but not for the public. Just for me. It’s a reminder that while he stayed away, he didn’t forget about me or what we’d done together. I smile into the kiss without thinking twice about it, and he deepens it, drawing me closer.
The yarn I used to make his sweater is soft beneath my fingers when I drag my hands around to rest flat on his back. He wasn’t wrong about it being a bit too snug, but the fact he still wore it means more to me than I bet he expected it to.
He smooths his thumb along the edge of my jaw and then pulls out of the kiss to run it over my lip. “Come with me. I’ve already made you a drink.”
The wings in my stomach vanish. “Oh, I’m okay with just water.”
“I tweaked the daiquiri recipe. Thought I could put ’em on the drink menu for the event.” He takes my hand and starts pulling me further into the bar. “Peppermints instead of strawberries.”
“That’s brilliant, actually,” I muse, even if the thought of smelling anything scented makes me want to vomit.
I’ve cut using perfume at all after realizing that I hate the scent of my favourite one now that I’m pregnant. At least the smell of the bar hasn’t upset my stomach much.
Niko glances down at me in surprise. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely. What else have you thought of putting on the menu?”
“Only came up with that one.”
“You could have done anything, Niko. Obviously, you’ll do a beer special, but you should do another once-a-year drink. Something with maybe whiskey?”
“Peppermint moonshine.”
My cheeks flame. “Do you like peppermint moonshine?”
“I’ve taken a likin’ to it the past couple’a weeks, yeah.”
“Oh.”
The conversation stalls as we make it to the bar, and I find it as empty as the front tables. Spinning on my heel, I confirm that we’re the only people in the place unless there’s someone hiding in the back.
There are also no decorations. Not even a single set of lights or a wreath.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, noticing the slush-filled, curvy pink cup on the bar.
Niko grabs the drink and offers it to me with something that looks a lot like hope shining in his dark eyes. My neck grows damp as I bite down on my lip and hesitate to take it from him.
“I can’t drink that.”
He blinks, and the hope is gone, replaced with cool indifference. Clearing his throat, he moves to set it back down when I reach for his wrist.
“It’s not that I don’t want it. I do. And it’s incredibly sweet that you made it for me to try. If you want, I can have a co-worker come by before the event to taste it,” I ramble, sounding as nervous as I feel.
He leaves it on the bar and crosses his arms. “I don’t need anyone to taste it but you. Made it special for you, Ivy.”
“Oh. Well, that’s even sweeter, then.”
“I shouldn’t have expected you to want it. It’s fuckin’ cold out. I’m sorry.”
“I do want it. I just can’t have it. Can we please sit and talk? I’ll explain.”
Worry tightens his features as he nods toward the closest table. It’s a booth, so I slide into the one side, expecting him to join me on the other. Instead, he moves around the bar and fills a glass with water. I breathe out a silent chuckle and wait for him to finish.
There isn’t any Christmas music playing in the bar today, and now that I think about it, there wasn’t the first time I was here, either. It’s old rock instead.
“Why isn’t there any Christmas music playing?” I ask once he’s squished his large frame into the booth beside me and passed me the glass.
We’re so close together, his thigh and bicep pressing into me. I subtly lean into his body, seeking the warmth he’s exuding.
“I haven’t changed the station in months.”
“It’s the holidays. Christmas music is kind of expected right now.”
“Not here.”
“Is there a reason for that?”
“Just don’t like it much.” He uses his knuckles to push my water closer to me. “Drink somethin’.”
My chest warms at the blunt order. Despite his grumpiness, Niko is incredibly thoughtful, and it’s nice being doted on.
I take a sip of the water and then ask, “Do you like the sweater?”
“Yes. I’ve never had one like it before.”
“Even if it is a little snug?”
He flattens a palm over my thigh and squeezes. “Yeah, angel. I’d wear anythin’ you made me, no matter the size.”
“I can make you another one that fits right. What’s your favourite colour?”
“Navy.”
“Navy it is, then. I’ve got to finish up my collection for the Christmas market, so I’ll add it to my list.”
“You make a livin’ off these things?” he asks, surprised but not in a doubtful way. Just genuinely curious.
“Not a living, no. But I love knitting, and it’s nice to see others wearing the things I make, even if it’s just a few sweaters or slippers,” I explain.
“Would you make me slippers?”
I gawk up at him, a brow arched. “You want a pair of knitted slippers?”
“Why not? I’ve got feet just like everyone else.”
“Massive ones, I’m sure.”
He huffs. “Size thirteen.”
“Yep. Just as I expected. Guys with big dicks always have big feet, and yours is massive.”
“You think my cock’s massive?”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
His hand falls to the inside of my thigh and tries to pull it closer, even if it’s not possible. “What did you want to talk about?”
The light mood between us shrivels up and dies as the reality of what I’m about to tell him sinks in. My palms grow slick with sweat, and I can’t even wipe them on my thighs without risking touching his hand with one.
I grip my water and take a few long pulls before setting it down. My pulse throbs in my throat.
“I have something to tell you. And I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”
Gosh, I can’t even look at him. The booth across from us is old and wrinkled, but it’s better than meeting his stare.
“Just tell me, Ivy. I’m a grown man.”
“I’m more than aware of that,” I mutter, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Look, I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t have to stick around or offer me money. I might be young, but I was raised right, and while I’m not sure how I’ll do it, I’m?—”
Niko shuts me up when he hooks a finger beneath my chin and forces my head to turn. I’m met with clear and open brown eyes that somehow soothe some of my panic.
“You’re pregnant.”
Hearing it from his mouth makes it more real, somehow.
Holy fuck. I’m pregnant.
Emotion clogs my throat as I drop my hands to my lap and nod. “How did you know?”
“Can almost taste your fear and doubt in the air, angel. And we didn’t use a condom. That and you refused my drink.”
“Are you mad?” I whisper.
His brows scrunch together as he wets his lips. “Mad? No, Ivy. I’m not fuckin’ mad about a baby.”
“Why not? You’re already a father, and I’m nobody to you, Niko. I’m not your wife or even a girlfriend. You didn’t mean to knock me up,” I argue, a large part of me still in disbelief that he’s not telling me to hit the curb.
“Just ’cause I didn’t mean to doesn’t mean I’m upset that I did. And you’re not my wife or girlfriend yet . Don’t use that as a viable reason for me to walk out on you.”
“What do you mean ‘yet’?”
“Do you think I make a habit of sleepin’ with all of my son’s ex-girlfriends, Ivy?”
“No.”
“That’s right. So why would I have started now?”
“You’re okay with what happened, then? And what happens next? Because I think I want to keep the baby, Niko. And that means that . . . Oh my god. Travis will have a brother. And I’ll be its mother!”
In a rush, I start shoving Niko’s arm and chest in an effort to get him to exit the booth. He frowns but stumbles out so that I can tumble out after him.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I croak, reaching up to cover my mouth when vomit slithers up my esophagus.
Niko palms my back and guides me through the bar without another word. I gag behind my hand and wince at the burn that follows. All of my focus is on not throwing up all over him and the bar.
By the time he helps me into the bathroom, I’m barely making it to the toilet before expelling all of the water I drank at the table. I haven’t been able to keep anything down all day, so there’s no food to get rid of.
My stomach growls as I hunch over the toilet and squeeze my watering eyes shut. Embarrassment floods my system as Niko squats beside me and holds my hair and rubs my back.
“I’m sorry,” I blubber, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. When I see clumps of black lashes in my vision, a sob escapes me.
He shooshes me gently. “How long has this been goin’ on for?”
“About a week.”
“Have you been eatin’?”
I shake my head, keeping it tilted down to hide my face.
“You’ve got to eat, angel.”
“I can’t. It comes up as soon as I do, and I’m just so damn hungry!” I wail.
“Okay. Do you need to throw up again?”
I sniffle. “No. I think I’m okay.”
It comes and goes so fast that I’ve wondered if it’s all just in my head. But it happens again so quickly that I know it has to be real.
Niko moves from my side to crouch behind me. He slips his hands beneath my arms and then helps me onto my feet, leaning me back against the solid wall of his chest.
“Let’s get you somethin’ to eat. We can talk about the baby while I cook.”
I swallow thickly and touch my lips to make sure they’re dry before turning around. The huge man towers over me but doesn’t make me feel small in any way other than size. I’ve never felt like someone’s equal more than I do with him.
“I might just throw it back up,” I say in warning.
The corner of his mouth twitches like it wants to lift into a smile but can’t quite get there. “Worth a shot. Come.”
I hover a hand over my mouth when he brings his face closer to mine. “Are there breath mints somewhere by chance?”
“I’ll get you one once we’ve made it to the kitchen.”
“To the kitchen, then.”
The place where we’ll decide the next steps for the rest of our lives.