Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Valentine’s Day
BILLIE
The swing at the bottom of the yard creaks as I shove my pregnant ass into the small space between the ropes and gently move back and forth.
Today was not how I envisioned celebrating my birthday. I think I’d be slightly less pissed if my favorite beef tacos from Miguel’s hadn’t set off a bout of acid reflux before I even finished the first shell.
“Do you want me to fix you some soup, honey?” Mom appears at the patio doorway, a tentative smile tracing her lips as she takes me in.
She used to push me all the time on this swing when I was a child, and while I just turned twenty-one, not much has really changed.
An acid burp rises up my throat as I push out, “Just a glass of water, please.”
Rubbing my sternum, I shift on the uncomfortable wooden seat, darkness quickly drawing across the sky.
“Okay.” She looks mildly irritated by my refusal to eat anything more. “Why don’t you come inside? It’s getting cold, and Emmett just pulled into the driveway. You should come and say hi.” Mom furrows her brow in thought. “He’s not exactly going through a great time either.”
In a twenty-four-hour period, where I’ve been nothing but grumpy and irritable, I feel my damp mood give way to lighter feelings, and I internally smile at the messages I recently exchanged with Emmett.
We haven’t seen each other in years, but you wouldn’t know it from the way we slipped back into banter with ease.
When I slide off the swing and head back into the kitchen, pulling the patio door closed behind me, I can already hear Emmett’s deep voice filtering from the living area, along with a chuckle that sounds forced.
“Bill,” Dad immediately says as Emmett finishes typing something on his phone before he locks the screen and centers his attention on me.
It’s not the first time someone has done a double take in my presence, especially over the past couple of months.
My body has changed a lot since I was eighteen—and not just because of the pregnancy.
My hair is fuller and longer and has naturally turned a deeper red that I love.
In my teens, I struggled with recurring acne on my cheeks and chin, but the Texan sun helped to cure my skin complaints and gave me a healthy glow I’d never managed to achieve living in Brooklyn.
All that said, I know the main reason behind people’s surprised reaction is how freaking huge this pregnancy has made me.
I have stretch marks where I never thought skin could stretch, and trying to carry a baby—who I’m told will be well over nine pounds when born—inside my five-foot-four frame is a challenge, to say the least.
I quirk a brow at Emmett just as my dad receives a call, no doubt from the recently appointed overbearing principal at the school where he works.
He begins speaking and slips into the kitchen, closing the door behind him and leaving me and Emmett alone. Hades, my mom’s black cat, sits next to Emmett on the couch.
My gaze tracks from Emmett to the large, glittery purple gift bag set down by his feet.
His cheeks flush a light pink when I point at the bag, lips twisting into an amused smile.
“Is the oversize bag to hide the bottle of wine you brought back from your fancy trip to Italy?”
Emmett sits back on the couch, crossing his left leg over the opposite knee.
Listen, I might be heavily pregnant, and this guy might be more like family, but we all have that one hot uncle who you can’t help snatching a sneaky glance at every once in a while.
Especially when you turned sixteen and boys became more interesting with their shirts off.
Emmett Richards is exactly that “uncle” for me.
The girls in high school would incessantly ramble on about how I should invite him to give a talk during physical education or how I should find a way to palm his tight hockey butt and pass it off as a slip of the hand.
And I have thought about how firm his ass really is, right around the time we went away as a group on a vacation to Miami and he removed his shirt in one easy motion when we spent a day at the beach.
I wet my lips and quickly roll them together, attempting to suppress thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
Ever.
I’m pregnant, and I don’t even know if I’m single.
Not that, if I were single, it would ever be appropriate to think about my dad’s best friend—who just happened to be fourteen years older than me—getting naked.
Let’s not even talk about his square-framed glasses or the way the black frames contrast perfectly with one of the finest male complexions I’ve ever seen.
Emmett Richards is nice to look at, and I’d either need to be blind or not yet born to miss his good looks.
I’m still waiting for his reply when my mind retrieves itself from the gutter, and I pray that he isn’t as good at reading minds as he is at playing hockey.
“I didn’t get you any wine, Bill.” His eyes flick momentarily to the gift bag still set on the floor beside him. “They only had Chardonnay.”
I deadpan and lean forward to catch a glimpse of what’s inside. Matching purple tissue paper blocks my view, and I huff out a frustrated breath.
Why am I acting like a fucking teenager right now?
“You didn’t need to buy me anything.” I meant what I said in my initial message the other day that he didn’t need to stop by, let alone with a gift.
He’s had several birthdays since I last saw him, and I didn’t even send him a card. Although Mom probably scrawled my name on one from them.
“Oh, I didn’t. This?” He motions to the bag. “This is for someone else. I dropped in on your parents on my way over to see her.”
I smirk, my previously bad mood feeling even lighter. Just because I said that he didn’t have to make an effort doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the fact that he has.
“Well, she’s a very lucky girl then,” I retort. “Especially if she likes purple … and lavender bath crystals.”
Emmett smirks at me, and it’s hot as hell.
“How are you doing, Billie?”
His change in tone and subject catches me off guard, and I automatically wrap my arms around my swollen stomach.
Most people can’t tear their eyes away from my huge bump, almost like pregnancy is the sum of who I am.
The looks and stares around campus were difficult to ignore, making it even harder to dismiss the notion that, in the eyes of others, Billie the person ceased to exist the second she became an expectant mom.
Emmett, on the other hand, doesn’t take his eyes from my face as he patiently waits on a response.
“I’m doing fine,” I lie.
Physically, I’m good. The pregnancy is perfectly normal, and I’m still planning to go ahead with a vaginal birth in the local hospital. Mentally? Well, that’s a completely different story and something I’m not ready to talk about. With anyone.
“How are you doing?” I ask the question before he can call me out on my bullshit.
I know Mom and Dad told him all about Tucker because they have always shared everything going on in their lives with Emmett and Maria. Hell, when I got accepted into Austin University, Maria was dropping off a card before I even messaged my school friends.
“I’m doing fine,” he replies, flat tone matching mine.
Walking across to the window seat, where I used to devour my favorite romance novels, I flop into the plump cushions, embracing the comforting feeling as softness wraps around my aching spine.
I need this baby out, stat.
The silence between us feels awkward and heavy, and I question if my recollections of our banter and dynamic were viewed through a rose-tinted lens.
This guy is over a decade older than you, Billie. Of course you were never friends. He’s a good person, simply concerned for his best friend and his irresponsible daughter, who got herself pregnant and screwed up her chances in life, along with her parents’ financial future.
“Sorry about that.” Dad bursts into the room, pocketing his phone. “Another leaking pipe at school for me to fix on Monday morning.” He rolls his eyes. “For now, a bucket will have to do, and let’s just pray we don’t have another rainstorm between now and then.”
Dad looks at me and then at Emmett, just as his friend’s steely-gray eyes leave my face and focus back on Dad.
“Freya is making clam chowder for supper if you want to stay?”
Emmett clears his throat like his mind wasn’t really in the room, briefly fidgeting with his glasses. “Yeah, why not? I was going to grab a bite when I got home, but Freya’s chowder can’t be beat.”
Unable to stop myself, I tip my chin at the purple bag. “I thought you had a gift to deliver?”
Emmett’s eyes narrow just a fraction at me, not enough for it to be obvious to the onlooker, but I see it, and a bubble of laughter pops out of me.
Not saying a word, he stands from the couch and follows Dad toward the kitchen.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I waddle across to the bag, pushing the tissue paper to one side. A jar of salts, fluffy pink socks, and yep … a bottle of expensive-looking Pinot Grigio all sit inside.
I startle when I look up to see Emmett standing in the doorway, one hand braced on the doorjamb above his head. His fitted black T-shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of toned skin, and I fight to keep my eyes on his face.
Pack it in, Billie.
He’s staring straight at me, but not in a heated way. More with a fascination that flushes warmth to my cheeks. Especially when he breaks into a smile, which crinkles around his eyes.
Releasing the doorjamb, he pushes a hand through his light-brown hair and shoots me a serious look. “Happy birthday, Bill. I’ll share a glass with you when, you know … it’s appropriate.”