Chapter 8
Jasmine
A few days after returning to Winter Bay, my phone buzzes with a text from Antonio.
Ready for tonight?
Tonight. Our first official date. He’d been planning it for days, refusing to give me details despite my increasingly creative interrogation techniques. All I know is that I’m supposed to wear something comfortable and that he’ll pick me up at seven.
As ready as I’ll ever be.
Wear flat shoes. Trust me.
Meesha stands at my closet, rifling through hangers. She’s already rejected four dresses, holding each one up to the light before shaking her head and tossing it onto the growing pile on my bed.
Meesha and Jessa showed up three hours ago, armed with iced coffees and pastries, staging what they called a “writer intervention.” I’d been holed up in my apartment since returning from the lake house, riding the momentum of finally having words flow again.
Jessa sits cross-legged on the floor, my laptop balanced on her knees as she reads through the chapters I wrote this week. “Oh, I love this,” she says. “The tension is perfect in this scene.”
During our last week at the lake house, I’d written more than I had in months. Three chapters became seven, then twelve. The words poured out of me as if they’d been dammed up for years.
But it wasn’t just the writing. It was waking up next to Antonio every morning, his hand already resting on my belly. It was the way he’d disappear for hours so I could write in peace. It was the reading sessions that became our nightly ritual before bed.
And then we’d returned to Winter Bay, and Carmen had put her foot down.
“You are not living with a woman unless she’s your wife,” she’d announced over Sunday dinner, her accent thickening with conviction. “My granddaughter will not be born to parents who are shacking up.”
Antonio had argued while I’d tried to disappear into the roast chicken. Neither approach worked. Across the table, Meesha, Connor, Jessa and Jaxon shook with laughter.
So for the past four days, I’ve been alone at my apartment, and he’s been at his condo. We’ve been texting and calling every day. It’s ridiculous. It’s also kind of wonderful.
“Which one?” I ask, trying to peer over her shoulder.
“The one where they’re arguing, but you can tell they both want to kiss each other.” She grins up at me. “Reminds me of Jaxon and me after getting snowed in.”
Meesha emerges from the closet holding the white maxi dress. “This one. Definitely this one.”
“Isn’t it too casual?” I ask uncertainly.
Meesha holds it up against me, studying the way the fabric drapes. “I happen to know where you’re going, and this dress is perfect. You’ll need something that moves with you.” She tilts her head. “Where is your small gold necklace? The one with the small pendant?”
“This is really good, Jasmine,” Jessa interrupts, still focused on the laptop. “Like, really good. The character development in these chapters? Chef’s kiss. This will be the best book in this Celestial series.”
I feel a flutter of pride. “You think so?”
“I'm understanding Celeste more.” She looks up, her expression warm. “The Antonio lake house retreat clearly worked. You’re back in your zone.”
“Okay, enough about the book,” Meesha says, tossing the dress onto the bed beside me. Her brown eyes suddenly turn serious. “Real talk. What’s actually going on with you two?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jas.” Jessa sets the laptop aside. “You’ve been pretty quiet about this whole thing. One minute you’re single, the next you’re pregnant and now you’re going on dates with Antonio. We’re your best friends. Talk to us.”
I sink onto the bed. “We’re having a baby together, but we’ve never actually defined... us. I like him a lot.
“He likes you a lot, too,” adds Meesha.
“He’s trying to do the right thing.”
“Jasmine,” Jessa interrupts, “the way that man looks at you? Trust me, he’s not doing the right thing.”
“She’s right,” Meesha agrees. “At Sunday dinner last week, you went to the bathroom, and he sat there smiling at your empty chair like a lovesick puppy. The guys teased him about it mercilessly.”
“Really?” Despite myself, I feel hope blooming in my chest.
“Really,” Meesha confirms. She takes my hand. “I get that trust is hard. But maybe tonight is about letting yourself find out what this could be. Not what it has to be because of the baby, but what it could be because you both want it.”
This is what I’d been missing during my writing marathon. Connection, support and the grounding presence of people who know me.
“Thank you,” I say. “For showing up today. For always showing up.”
“Please. Like we’d let our friend get lost in her fictional world.” Meesha stands, pulling me up with her. “Now, let’s finish getting you ready.”
Twenty minutes later, my hair falls in soft waves, my skin glows with just enough makeup to look effortless, and I’m standing in front of my mirror in the white maxi dress with the delicate gold necklace at my throat.
“He’s going to lose his mind,” Meesha declares, adjusting the necklace so it sits perfectly.
“And this chapter?” Jessa holds up my laptop. “Brilliant. Can’t wait to see what happens next. Both in the book and in real life.”
“Text us the second you get home,” Meesha orders.
“I will,” I promise.
After they leave, I find myself smiling at my reflection. Maybe this could work. Maybe I could let myself have this.
When Antonio arrives, he’s holding a single white rose. “You look beautiful,” he says.
“You look suspicious. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He drives us to the waterfront, where a crowd has gathered in the park overlooking the bay. A stage is set up at the far end, musicians testing their equipment, fairy lights strung between the trees.
“What is this?”
“Summer concert series.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the crowd. “Jazz tonight. I thought you might like it.”
I don’t know how he knew. I’ve never told him about my love for jazz, about the way the music makes me feel both melancholy and hopeful at the same time. But he knew anyway because he pays attention.
The music starts as the sun sets over the bay. We find a spot near the back where there’s room to move, and Antonio pulls me close.
“Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Everyone dances. You just haven’t found the right partner.”
He’s wrong. I’ve avoided dancing my entire adult life, too self-conscious to move my body while people watched. But his hands are warm on my waist, and the music is swelling around us, and somehow my body starts swaying.
We dance through three songs, then four. He spins me, mindful of my belly, and catches me when I stumble. By the fifth song, I’m laughing.
“See?” He grins down at me. “Not so bad.”
The concert ends and we walk along the waterfront, fingers intertwined, not ready for the night to be over. He buys me ice cream from a vendor and doesn’t comment when I get chocolate on my nose. I steal bites of his pistachio and don’t apologize.
This is what it could be like, I think. This is what I could have, if I let myself.
We find a bench overlooking the water, and the bay stretches out before us, reflecting the lights. A few sailboats bob in the distance, their masts swaying.
When Antonio speaks, his voice is almost tentative. It’s not a tone I hear from him often.
“Can I ask you something?”
I turn to look at him. “Depends on what it is.”
“At the hospital, you said you were scared to tell me about the pregnancy. You never told me why.”
The ice cream suddenly feels heavy in my stomach. I set the half-eaten cone in the trash beside the bench and wipe my hands on a napkin.
“I was scared you’d think I did it on purpose,” I admit.
“And I knew your views on abortion. I needed to make the best decision for myself without someone else’s beliefs clouding what I wanted.
” I hold his gaze. “If I told you before I’d decided, I was afraid your opinion would become part of the equation.
And it couldn’t be. This had to be my choice. ”
He’s quiet for a long moment before he says, “I understand.”
“And then there’s Meesha.” My voice wavers. “She’s your family, but she and Jessa are the only family I have.”
His hand tightens around mine.
“I kept imagining what would happen if I told you and things went badly. If you accused me of lying, or demanded lawyers get involved, or just... wanted nothing to do with me.” I take a shaky breath. “And I’d lose them too.”
He brings our joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is tender.
“I don’t think you got pregnant on purpose,” he says against my skin. “And Jessa and Meesha would never have chosen my side over yours. They love you.”
“I know it sounds dramatic. But when you’ve never had a family, the thought of losing the closest thing you’ve found to one...” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
He shifts on the bench, angling his body toward mine. “I’m scared, too.”
I look up at him, surprised.
“My father has never been faithful to any one woman, and I’ve never been in a relationship before. I don’t want to mess this up, or ever hurt you.”
“Just because your father is a philanderer doesn’t mean you’ll be one.
” I squeeze his hand. “You’re not your father, any more than I am my mother.
” I meet his eyes. “You told me once that people who worry about being something horrible don’t do those horrible things. I’m telling you the same thing now.
“I needed to hear that.” His reaches up and traces the curve of my ear with a single finger. “I can’t so much as look at another woman, and I don’t want to either.” His eyes hold mine. “I have everything I need right here.”
My throat tightens. My eyes burn with unshed tears. If I speak, I might cry.
I lean forward and kiss him instead. His lips are soft, tasting faintly of pistachio ice cream. The kiss is slow, and I pour everything unsaid into it.
“I should probably get you home,” he says against my lips.
“Probably,” I agree.
Too soon, we’re back at my apartment building. Antonio walks me to my door.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say. “It was perfect.”
“Yeah?” His smile is soft in the hallway light. “Not too mysterious?”
“The right amount of mysterious.” I turn to face him fully. “Do you want to come in?”
“Querida.” He cups my face with both hands. “I want nothing more than to come inside. But I’m trying to do this right.”
“Your mother isn’t here.”
“No, but I want our first date to end sweet and with longing. Not with me tearing off this dress, no matter how much I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
Heat pools low in my belly. “Oh.”
Then his lips are against mine, kissing me thoroughly. He slides a hand into my hair while the other settles at my waist, pulling me as close as possible.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him, rising on my toes. His arm tightens around me, supporting my weight as the kiss turns molten.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. “I’m trying to be the man who deserves you. Who deserves her.” His hand finds my stomach. “Even if it’s torture.”
“Antonio...”
“Next date, though?” His grin turns wicked. “All bets are off. Fair warning.”
He takes the keys from my trembling hand. The click of the lock sounds loud in the quiet hallway. He pushes the door open, reaching inside to flip on the light before stepping back into the hallway.
“In you go, querida.”
I hesitate in the doorway, not ready for the night to end. He leans against the doorframe, looking at me.
“Goodnight, Jasmine.”
“Goodnight.”
He waits until I’m fully inside before pulling the door shut. He stands there for over five minutes before his footsteps finally retreat down the hallway.
I lean against the door, fingers pressed to my still-tingling lips. My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Already planning date number two. Hope you’re ready.
I smile at the screen, feeling that dizzying, free-fall sensation in my stomach. This is what it could be like, I think again. This is what I could have.
The ultrasound gel is cold against my skin, but I barely notice it. My attention is fixed on the screen where our daughter floats in gray-scale, her tiny heart flickering.
“There she is,” Dr. Okonkwo says, adjusting the wand. “Very active today.”
Antonio’s hand tightens around mine. He hasn’t let go since he picked me up from my apartment, and I’ve stopped pretending I want him to.
“Is that her hand?” Antonio leans forward, squinting at the screen.
“It is. She’s waving at you.”
“Olá, minha filha,” Antonio murmurs. “She has your nose. Look at that profile.”
“Antonio, she’s the size of a banana. You can’t possibly tell whose nose she has.”
“I can tell. It’s definitely yours. Perfect.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as I watch him watch our daughter. The wonder on his face is something I want to write down and capture in words before it fades.
“Everything looks perfect,” the doctor continues. “Heart rate is strong. Brain development is right on track. She’s measuring exactly where she should be for twenty weeks.”
Halfway there. The thought sends a sharp jolt of panic through me.
Dr. Okonkwo hands me a paper towel to wipe off the gel. “I want to see you again in four weeks. Keep taking your vitamins, stay hydrated, and try to avoid stress.”
After the appointment, we walk to Antonio’s car in silence. The late morning sun is warm on my face, and I feel something close to peaceful. The book is coming together. The baby is healthy, and Antonio is here.
When we reach his car, he turns me toward him, backing me against the passenger door. His hands settle on my waist.
“Our daughter is perfect,” he says.
“She is.”
He kisses me right there in the parking lot, and I don’t care who might see. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with joy.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks as he pulls away.
“I need to write.”
“You always need to write.”
“That’s because I have a deadline, Antonio. With actual consequences if I miss it.”
He sighs, dramatic but accepting. “Tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree, then add with a smile, “I’ll make it up to you.”
I do. The next evening when he comes to my door, I kneel before him, undo his zipper and show him just how sorry I am with my mouth. We never make it to dinner.