Chapter 5
Antonio
The café in town is nearly empty at seven in the morning. I grab the bag of food from the counter and turn toward the door.
“Antonio?”
I stop. The voice is familiar, and not in a way that makes me want to stay.
Dani leans against the wall near the entrance, coffee cup in hand, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing workout clothes, probably heading to yoga.
I met her three years ago when I bought the lake house. She was my real estate agent, and we hooked up after signing the papers.
“Hey.” I keep my tone neutral. “Early morning for you.”
“Could say the same about you.” She pushes off the wall and moves closer. “You look good. Really good.”
“Thanks.”
“I saw a car parked at the house yesterday. Wondered if you might be around.” Her smile is the same one that used to work on me. “I’m free tonight. We could grab dinner, maybe head back to your place after.”
Six months ago, I would have said yes without thinking. Dani was easy, uncomplicated, and she never expected anything beyond a fuck or two. Exactly my type.
Now the thought of touching anyone other than Jasmine makes my stomach turn.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m busy.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Busy doing what? Staring at the lake?” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Come on. One dinner. For old times’ sake.”
“Not interested, Dani.”
“That’s a first.” She giggles. “You know where I am if you change your mind. And you usually do.”
“Not this time. Take care, Dani.”
I push through the door and head for my car. The morning air is warm and humid, promising another hot day. I toss the food bag onto the passenger seat and pull out of the parking lot.
The drive back takes fifteen minutes. I spend most of it thinking about Jasmine, about how she felt in my arms last night during the storm and the taste of her mouth when she kissed me.
I keep remembering that moment she pressed my hand to her stomach, desperate for me to feel our daughter move, and the disappointment in her voice when I couldn’t. I meant it when I told her to tell me every time. I want to know everything, even the things I can’t feel yet.
Before long, I’m parking in the driveway and grabbing the food. The front door is locked, so I punch in the code.
Inside, I find Jasmine sitting at the island with a mug of lemon water. She’s wearing a t-shirt over her shorts, and her hair is pulled up in a messy bun. She looks soft and rumpled and entirely too good for this early in the morning.
The bruise on her cheekbone has faded to a dark shadow barely visible against her skin. The butterfly bandages are gone, leaving a thin line on her forehead. She looks better. Stronger. Still too fragile for my liking, but better.
This morning, I’d woken up with her on top of me, her head tucked under my chin, one leg hooked over mine. Her weight was perfect.
We’d stayed like that until she’d lifted her head and kissed me. We spent the better part of thirty minutes doing nothing but kissing before I left for breakfast.
“You’re back.” She sets down the mug as I approach.
“Yes.” I put the bag on the counter and reach for her, pulling her close. I take my time kissing her.
“Good morning to you again,” she murmurs when I pull back.
“Hungry?” I nod toward the bag.
“Starving.”
I unpack the containers while Jasmine sets out plates. We eat at the island.
She tells me about a dream she had where the baby came out speaking Portuguese, and I teach her how to say “bom dia, minha filha” between bites. Her accent is terrible. I tell her so. She throws a blueberry at my head.
She’s scraping the last of the avocado from her bowl when the crunch of gravel reaches us through the open window.
We both turn toward the window.
A silver Olympus Artemis parks behind my car. The driver’s door opens, and a woman steps out.
“Is that...” Jasmine starts.
“M?e.” I close my eyes briefly.
Jasmine goes rigid beside me. “Your mother is here. Right now. And I’m wearing a t-shirt and no bra, and we were just kissing, and she’s going to know, and oh my God, Antonio, I can’t meet her like this.”
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing. I’m breathing very fast, which is the opposite of helpful.
” She pulls back, hands flying to her hair.
“Before, I was just Meesha’s friend. Now I’m the woman who got knocked up by her son and I look like I just rolled out of his bed, which I basically did, and she’s going to hate me. ”
I catch her hands before she can spiral further. “She’s not going to hate you.”
“You don’t know that.”
I pull her back against me. “M?e has loved you for years. This pregnancy changes nothing except she’ll want to feed you more.”
The front door opens before Jasmine can argue further.
“Antonio? I saw your car. Come help me with these bags!”
I squeeze Jasmine’s hand once, then let go. “Coming, M?e.”
My mother stands in the entryway, surrounded by grocery bags. She’s wearing linen pants and a silk blouse.
“There you are.” She holds out two bags. “Take these to the kitchen. There’s more in the car.”
“M?e. You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” She pushes past me, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ve been calling for days. You barely answer. So I decided to see for myself that you’re both okay.”
She stops mid-step when she spots Jasmine by the counter, looking like she might bolt.
“Jasmine.” My mother’s face transforms. She crosses the kitchen and pulls Jasmine into a hug. “Look at you. T?o bonita. How are you feeling? Is the baby moving? Are you eating enough? Antonio, is she eating enough?”
Jasmine shoots me a helpless look over my mother’s shoulder. I shrug.
“She’s eating, M?e.”
“Takeout.” My mother releases Jasmine and turns to glare at me. “Você está alimentando ela com comida de restaurante? The mother of your child? This baby needs nutrition. Real food. Made with love and fresh ingredients.”
“I’ve been ordering from good places.”
She waves dismissively. “I brought fresh vegetables, fruit, fish, meat and pasta. Everything you need to feed a pregnant woman properly.”
The panic has left Jasmine’s face. My mother’s warmth is hard to resist, even when she’s scolding you in two languages.
I make two trips to her car, hauling in the remaining bags. By the time I return with the last load, M?e has Jasmine settled on a stool at the counter and puts me to work chopping vegetables. The two of them talk as if I’m not here.
“I’ve wanted you for Antonio since Meesha first brought you home.” M?e squeezes Jasmine’s hand. “So quiet and respectful, but your eyes saw everything. And now you’re giving me my first grandchild.”
Jasmine ducks her head, suddenly fascinated by the countertop.
For years, M?e had commented on how lovely Jasmine was, how well she’d fit into our family. I’d always brushed it off because Jasmine had never hinted at any interest in me. Why torture myself wanting something that wasn’t mine to have?
“We’re making moqueca,” M?e continues. “Fish stew. What I made when I was pregnant with Antonio. Good for the baby’s brain.” She taps her temple. “This one needed all the help he could get.”
Jasmine laughs and I catch myself smiling at the cutting board. Of course, M?e would be the one to break through her walls.
“When I was pregnant with Antonio,” Carmen says, “I craved oranges. I ate so many oranges that his father worried he would be born orange.”
“Was giving birth painful?”
M?e pauses. “Not as horrible as losing my virginity.”
The knife slips. I narrowly avoid taking off a finger. “M?e. I’m standing right here.”
She waves a hand without looking at me. “Hush. This is women’s talk. Keep chopping.”
Jasmine laughs again, and M?e pats her cheek. I finish chopping in silence, knowing better than to interrupt.
“Now.” M?e stirs the pot, her tone shifting. “Where will you live when the baby comes?”
I keep my eyes on the cutting board, but my hands slow.
“My apartment,” Jasmine says.
“And Antonio has his condo. And this house. And the place in S?o Paulo.” M?e taps the spoon against the rim of the pot. “So many addresses. None of them shared.”
I wait for Jasmine to remind my mother we’re not together and I’m just the man who got her pregnant. But she stays quiet, and I don’t know what to do with the hope that creates.
“I’m old-fashioned and Catholic,” M?e continues.
“I believe a child should have parents under one roof. And I believe a woman shouldn’t live with a man who hasn’t committed to her spiritually and legally.
” She glances at Jasmine. “Those were my rules for Meesha, and she respected them. You understand what I’m saying? ”
“M?e,” I warn.
“I’m not scolding.” She turns back to the stove. “You’re carrying my grandchild. I want to know she’ll be raised in a home, not shuttled between apartments.”
“We’re still figuring things out,” Jasmine replies.
“Of course,” M?e adds, “Antonio has always been slow. You may need to be patient with him, but don’t waste too much of your time waiting on a ring from one man when there are plenty of other men.”
“M?e.”
“Hush.
She changes the subject after that, asking Jasmine about her cravings, but the statement lingers. I finish chopping without looking up.
By the time the moqueca is simmering, they’ve covered pregnancy cravings, swollen ankles, and my father’s fainting spell in the delivery room. I’ve learned more about my own birth in twenty minutes than in thirty-two years.
I like watching them laugh together. I like the way Jasmine looks comfortable and cared for in my house. I like the way my mother treats her.
I like all of it.
By evening, my mother has filled the refrigerator with containers of food, each one labeled with reheating instructions. She hugs Jasmine for a long time before leaving.
“Take care of her,” she tells me at the door. “And eat the vegetables. All of them.”
“Yes, M?e.”
“I’ll be expecting you two for Sunday dinner in two weeks.”
“I know.”
I walk her to her car and she kisses my cheek. I watch until her taillights disappear around the bend.
When I return inside, Jasmine is standing in the kitchen, holding one of the labeled containers. Frango grelhado, the handwriting says. Grilled chicken.
“Your mother is something else,” she says.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“I like her.” She sets the container down, but her hand remains on the lid. “She labeled everything. In Portuguese and English.”
“She’s thorough.”
“Your mom’s more prepared for this baby than I am.” Jasmine’s voice is quiet. “She showed me photos of the nursery at her house. Pink walls, a white crib, stuffed animals everywhere. She’s already bought clothes.”
She looks up at me, and there’s something sad in her expression.
“I haven’t bought anything, Antonio. Not a single thing. No clothes, no crib, no bottles. Nothing.” Her hand moves to her stomach, pressing flat against the curve. “I’ve been so focused on writing the book, I haven’t thought beyond doctor’s appointments and vitamins for this baby.”
I cross to her and pull her close, settling my hands on her hips. “You’ve had a lot going on. I haven’t bought anything either.”
She pulls back to look at me. “You found a week ago.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re in this together, remember?” I press a kiss to her cheek. “When we go back to Winter Bay, we’ll get everything she needs together. Clothes, furniture, whatever. You won’t have to do any of it alone.”
She turns her head to look at me. “You mean that?”
“I mean everything I say to you.”
I lean in until our lips meet. She sighs against my mouth, and her hand moves to my shoulder.
When I pull back, she’s smiling. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” She grabs a blanket from the back of the chair. “You can read to me when we find a comfortable spot.”
The path behind the lake house winds through a stand of pines before opening onto a small wooden dock. It’s private and completely hidden from the house. The water is still, reflecting the last of the daylight.
“This is beautiful,” she says.
“It’s the reason I bought this place.”
I spread the blanket at the end of the dock and help Jasmine lower herself down. We settle in together with Jasmine tucked against my side. I pull up the book on my phone.
We’re on chapter five now, and Detective Connor Black is closing in on the killer. I read for about an hour, but somewhere around chapter fourteen, I notice Jasmine staring at the lake.
I stop reading. “Hey. Where’d you go?”
“Sorry.” She shifts against me. “I was thinking about names.”
“Let me hear them.”
“I don’t have any yet. But I was thinking about it. That feels like progress.”
“It is.”
The sun has dropped below the trees now, leaving the sky streaked with orange and pink. She’s so close I can see the individual lashes framing her eyes.
I kiss her, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. She moans against my lips and it sends heat straight through my dick.
My mouth moves to her jaw, her neck and the spot below her ear. She tilts her head back, giving me access, and I take it. I trail my lips down her throat, feeling her pulse flutter under my lips.
Her hands tug at my shirt. I pull it over my head and toss it aside. Then I ease her t-shirt over her head.
She’s not wearing a bra. The pregnancy has changed her body, making her fuller and rounder. She’s amazing.
I lower my mouth to her breast. She inhales sharply when my lips close around her nipple. I’m gentle, mindful of how sensitive she’s become. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as I trace circles with my tongue.
“Antonio.”
I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention. She’s trembling now, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
I kiss my way back up to her mouth. She meets me halfway, her kiss urgent and searching. Her good hand roams my chest, my shoulders, my back.
“Make love to me,” she says. “Please.”
I kiss her again, then stand, lifting her into my arms. She makes a small sound of surprise.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the house.” I gather the blanket with one hand, keeping her secure against my chest. “I’m not making love to you for the first time since Vegas on a dock.”