Chapter 9
[Neve]
The memory rushes over me, sending shockwaves to a part of me long ignored.
Has he forgotten that night? Or does he remember?
My hand on the ceiling, the other on the seatback behind him. My hips rocking, sliding up and down him, taking him into my body.
I squeeze my legs together, which does nothing to quell the sudden rush of desire.
The flood of memories about him filling me as I straddled his lap in the Bronco.
I could have taken him to my house, but we climbed into the back of that freezing truck for round two and huddled under a sleeping bag and two blankets.
A tradition in the area is to rush into the bay in your NYE attire. Those who dared the cold waves were assured of achieving a goal for the new year, but I’d already set my wish.
And the well had failed me.
Running my hand over my belly, I finish the last of my small sample, avoiding Tate’s eyes on me.
“Hey, I see Jackie and Maeve from school. I’m gonna go say hi,” Isolde says.
“Don’t leave me,” I mutter. “You’re my ride.”
“Actually, you’re my ride.” She points at me as she’s already backing up. “But you have some explaining to do.” She points between me and Tate. “I can find a ride home.”
“I’ll take you,” Landon offers, a goofy grin on his face. “Will you show me the otter?”
“Ugh,” Isolde rolls her eyes and does an about-face, giving the table her back as she weaves through the crowd.
I lift one foot, roll my ankle, and set it down, then repeat the action with my other ankle.
“Feet bothering you again?” Tate asks.
Him and his concern for my toes.
“It’s nothing.”
He laughs, glancing toward the ground. “I wouldn’t say it’s nothing. Let’s find you a seat.”
Behind him, Landon is already slipping into conversation with his other cousins. The noise of them leaves a small opening between Tate and me for what I need to say.
“Actually . . .” I start, then stop. Lick my lips. Fist my fingers. Then tell myself not to overthink this, but also that a beer tent isn’t the right place to tell him what I have to say. “How would you feel about a walk?”
His brows lift, that easy smile still present, but there’s a shift in his attention now. His gaze more focused on me.
“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” My voice catches slightly on the last word as I swallow past the nerves in my throat.
His expression softens. “Sure.”
I hate the slight eagerness on his face. Like he thinks I’m about to slip him the deed to Rusty’s Wrecks.
He probably has forgotten all about our night together. The way we kissed and teased. The tickle of his fingers and the plunge of his tongue. The way we easily came together in a variety of positions, ignoring the cold as our bodies heated each other.
“Ready to go?”
I jolt from the X-rated memories and nod, noticing he’s finished his beer as well. He sets his hand on my lower back while I lead us through the crowd. When I’m accidentally jostled, because someone stepped back while I passed too closely behind him, Tate responds.
“Watch it, man.” His voice is firm, tone clear and protective. Be careful.
“It’s nothing,” I state, glancing from Tate to the other man. “Wide load coming through.” I run my palm over my belly to emphasize my comment.
“Sorry, pretty lady,” the man addresses my stomach and then winks at me.
Tate leans against my back. His breath a whisper at my ear. “Don’t make me warn him a second time.”
Caught off guard by the possessive heat of his words and the shiver that ripples down my spine, I sputter. “Easy, Driver. I don’t know too many men attracted to a nine-months pregnant woman.”
In fact, I don’t know any.
I didn’t miss how he slipped his hand through his hair the other day, swiping it clean after holding onto my hand for five seconds.
He helped me stand from the bench near the lighthouse and held on longer than I expected.
His palm was warm, comforting even, and I settled in to hold on.
Then he suddenly released me and dug those fingers into his hair, like he didn’t like touching me.
He huffs and wraps his arm around me, using himself as a shield to work us through the crowd. Once we exit the tent, he slips his arm from my shoulders, but not before running his hand down my back.
It’s nothing, I tell myself. But a crackling blaze tingles down my spine.
The wind whips up around us, sending a small collection of early fallen leaves scattering near our feet. While autumn doesn’t officially begin for a few more weeks, fall is definitely in the air tonight.
Change is coming.
“Should we head toward The Docks?”
“Sure.” I shrug.
Lovewell Landing has only a single main street that flows through our town into others along the coast. But another road runs perpendicular to the byway, named Dock Street, leading to an old fishing town, preserved now with quaint shops and small cafes.
A casual restaurant anchors the river that rushes through the docks and exits into the larger bay, where a marina is set up opposite the original fishing town.
We walk close together, elbows occasionally brushing as we make our way down the slightly inclined walk toward The Docks.
Most boutiques and shops will be closed, but people can still walk down the worn deck lining one side of the river.
Adirondack chairs are placed at the end of the strip for people who wish to watch the boats go in and out of the marina, and we walk in that direction.
Low lights illuminate the long passage. Bobbing buoys ding in the distance. Most private boats will be removed from the marina soon, adding to the sudden quiet of the town before leaf peepers arrive. The vacancy in the boat slips signifies the end of summer.
“Sit?” Tate questions, waving toward one of two chairs positioned at an angle on the point.
I nod and take a seat, awkwardly holding onto the armrests to lower myself into the sloped-back chair.
Tate waits, watching, hovering until I’m seated, then takes the chair next to me. I lick my lips and squint toward the horizon. The sun has already slipped away. A blanket of blue tones fills the sky.
“So, you wanted to talk to me,” he begins.
“Yeah,” I whisper, running my hands up and down my denim-covered thighs. A singular buoy dings, sounding like a death knell. My heart feels like it’s trying to bang itself out of my chest.
“So, remember last New Year’s Eve?”
He chokes on a laugh and stares at the side of my face. “Uhm, of course.”
“Why are you saying it like that?” I whip my head in his direction.
He sets his fist in front of his lips and clears his throat. “Well, it was only one of the best nights of my life.”
“Really?” A breathy sigh accompanies the question, and I clear my throat. “I mean, me too.”
We stare at one another, memories dancing in each of our eyes. What sticks out to him? I know my favorite parts.
But that is not the point of this conversation.
“Anyway.” I swallow thickly and turn my attention back to the marina. I run a hand over my stomach. “You haven’t really asked about me, since returning to Lovewell Landing.” Like he hasn’t sought me out or inquired what I’ve been up to. Then again, it might be obvious. I’m pregnant.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his mouth pop open, but if he interrupts me, I won’t get this out, so I continue, “Other than wanting Rusty’s Wrecks for Bucky Beaver Body Shop.”
He slowly leans forward, elbows on his thighs, but his head is still turned in my direction.
“And on a more personal note, you haven’t asked for more details about my pregnancy.”
I rub faster, stroking harder over my belly, like I’m trying to calm the already sleeping baby within me.
“Neve, it’s not like I don’t want to know. I just figured you’d tell me if—”
“You’re the father.”
He smiles softly, as if I’ve completed his thought. But the longer I stare at him, his expression slowly shifts from compassion to understanding.
I’m not finishing his sentence. I’m making a statement.
“January first—”
He shoves off his chair and stands, facing the water. His hand swipes through his hair.
I stare at the firmness of his back. The dip near his waist despite the flow of his flannel over his backside.
“I’m due October first.”
He spins to face me, sputtering as he asks, “How? Why? What?” He pauses, setting his hands on his hips before he swipes through his hair again. “Just what the fuck, Neve?”
I flinch at the sharpness in his voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t know who you were, remember?”
He nods, his head pinging like a bobblehead. “Yes, but a week ago?” His voice cracks.
A week ago, I still didn’t know who he was, other than a guy looking for Lumi. A man here to take my family business. My heart and soul.
“I thought you’d be gone again.”
His brows dip deep, emphasizing his glare.
“I don’t need anything from you. I just thought you should know.” I’ve been rubbing my belly so hard my hand heats, and I abruptly stop stroking.
“Need any—” He cuts himself off, turning his head to the side and blinking slowly. He takes a rushed step toward me and falls to both knees in front of me.
The suddenness makes me flinch, and I place both hands over my belly again. A protective instinct.
With him between my legs, my knees press into his sides, he grips the armrest, like he’s holding himself back.
“Neve.” My name is a soft plea. He stares at my stomach. A hill in my overalls. “We’re having a baby.”
“I’m having a baby,” I correct.
His gaze snaps to my eyes. “We,” he counters. He points between us, then glances down at my stomach. “May I?”
He chokes, like a man who desperately wants to do something and strains to hold himself back.
It’s the opposite of how I thought he’d react.
Actually, I hadn’t given much thought to how he’d respond.
Other than he’d probably offer me money.
Money that would involve a number with a large set of zeroes, which I wouldn’t take. Then, he’d disappear again.
But this is so much worse. He looks eager, twitchy. Like he wants to be . . . involved.
“Tate.” I swallow hard around his name, and he meets my eyes again. That rich brown melts into creamy liquid, and gold streams become apparent. The emotion in his eyes has me answering quietly. “Okay.”
He sets both hands on my belly. Pulls them off. Sets them on me again. Then he simply holds his palms against my stomach, staring down at the combination. I don’t know what he expects to happen. She isn’t moving like she was the other day.
“She’s sleeping. Quiet time for her is when I’m most active. She’ll be back on her soccer field when I’m ready to sleep later.” That’s been the way of things lately. A full-on tournament in my belly when I’m trying to rest.
He chuckles, soggy and thick, before he leans forward and kisses my stomach, lingering there.
“Tate,” I whisper, a lump forming in my throat, as I fight to keep my emotions in check.
As I struggle with his response to our situation.
The longer he stays in this position, the more awkward the moment grows, until I can’t help myself.
I comb my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and turns his head sideways, laying his ear on my abdomen.
“You got to hear her heartbeat.” He isn’t asking but stating a fact, sounding sad, like he missed out.
“I have,” I admit, licking my lips again. “I want you to know, I never wanted this.”
His head snaps upright. His eyes wide with concern.
“I didn’t wish for this . . . at the well.”
His brows pinch. His mouth tightens.
“But once I found out, I couldn’t give her up.” I shrug to cover the crack in my voice. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I couldn’t let her go.”
“Thank you,” he breathes. He lunges upward on his knees, leaning over me, and cups one side of my face.
“Like I said, I don’t expect anything from you. I’ll figure this out. I’ve got Lumi and Isolde and the—” I stop short before I blurt what I’ll soon no longer have. I’ve already been banned by my doctor from working at the garage, cutting any time I thought I’d have left even shorter.
“You have me,” he states, solid and determined.
I chuckle, bitter almost. “You work for some big city company, states away from here.” New York is not exactly right next door.
“I’ll figure that out.”
I huff, which sets him back to rest on his bent legs. “What? You don’t think I can be dedicated? Devoted?” He nods at my belly. “I’ll have you know, this is everything I’ve ever wanted.”
He sets his hand reverently over my stomach again. “She is what I’ve always wished for.”
“You want to be a father?” I scoff in disbelief, but he continues to keep his eyes on me, the glare in them earnest.
He wants to be a father. A little part of me skips at the thought. I was so close to my dad, and I’d love that for Little Wrench.
But what does that mean for me?
He comes and goes as he pleases? Make promises and then break them because he has to work? At some point, he’ll need to go home because he doesn’t live here.
We don’t have much experience with divorce in Lovewell Landing, and Tate and I aren’t even married. We’d be co-parenting partners, living in two separate states. Not ideal.
“To start, I only thought you should know.”
He stares at me. “Well, I guess I should be grateful.” He sounds terse instead. “But I wish I’d known sooner.”
“Why?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Why?” He snorts. “Because you’ve gotten to do all the fun stuff. Hear her heartbeat for the first time. See her development. You did have an ultrasound, right?”
I choke on sarcastic laughter. “Yeah, fun stuff. I’m as big as a barn. My ankles are three sizes too large. I don’t sleep well. Heartburn is a nice trip, and I’m scared as hell about how this pumpkin is going to push through my vagina.”
Tate stares at me, then he bursts out laughing.
“It’s not friggin’ funny,” I counter.
“You are friggin’ beautiful, Neve.” His laughter settles. “And I missed all the changes for you as well. Morning sickness. Body changes. Swollen ankles.” He waves toward my feet. “I missed out on supporting you.”
As his voice drops lower, my pulse picks up. I’m surprised that he’s upset he missed me puking in a toilet and no longer able to wear my regular clothes, while equally shocked at how genuinely upset he seems about missing these things with me.
“I’ll be here now.” His statement feels more like a warning than a grand gesture. “I’ll be there when you have her. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
That’s what I’m most afraid of. He’ll stay. I’ll grow attached. She’ll grow attached. And then something will happen, and we’ll lose him.
It might be a totally unreasonable thought, and yet it might be totally rational, and I can only blame the what if spiral on pregnancy brain because I don’t know this man. Not really.