Chapter 15
[Tate]
We finish our time at the farm with hot cider, an apple donut, and a photo shoot on a tractor.
“I feel ridiculous,” Neve says when I pick her up by the hips and set her in the seat of a low tractor. The thing is ancient and painted bright blue.
“You look adorable.”
“I’m not a bunny,” she grouses.
“More like a beaver.” I gnash my teeth together, realizing that Neve’s temper runs hot and cold. One minute she’s looking at me like she wants to rip my clothes off, and the next, she’s ripping into me with a jab or quip.
It’s surprisingly endearing.
I set my hand on the back of the tractor seat and hoist myself up behind her. There isn’t much space with her large belly hitting the steering wheel, so I simply balance my thighs on the edge of the seat, surrounding her.
“What are you doing?” she shrieks, clutching the wheel.
“I told you. Photo op.” Then I reach around her, aim the phone screen toward us, and center the image.
We look good together. Her cheeks are rosy from the slight heat of the day. Her hair is windblown. Mine flows backward in the breeze, and our eyes meet in the image.
Click.
The moment is captured for eternity. I’d like a thousand more moments just like this one, and all the other ones today.
“Ready to make a pie,” I say, pulling back my arm but not hopping off the tractor seat yet.
“Ready for a nap.”
Shit. “Are you tired?” We eventually made our way through more lanes of trees, filling up bags too small to collect more than a few Honeycrisps. I carried the bags and the apple picker while Neve lumbered beside me.
While we walked, we talked. Not about Rusty’s Wrecks or the surprise that she intends to work for Bucky Beaver Body Shop. Not about my work either.
Just general things. Little stories about my summer visits and her growing up around here.
There are so many traditions in small towns. So many activities and festivals and celebrations, and I don’t know how I ever missed out on meeting her before that New Year’s Eve party.
Turns out Neve is my neighbor, but I keep that to myself, for now.
“We can make a pie another day,” I suggest half-heartedly, because I’m not ready to let her go. I want to continue our day, but the baby and Neve’s health come first.
With our apples in hand and a few extra donuts to go, we head back to her place. I follow her to her door and then step inside, intending to drop off the apples and treats, then leave.
“You know.” She pauses, chewing at the corner of her lip. “I just need a little power nap. Fifteen minutes tops, and then we could make that pie.”
She glances at the mess still littering her kitchen space. Her place is small. Cozy, like I mentioned, but I don’t know how she’ll have space for a baby.
“Maybe you have phone calls or emails, or whatever you do, to check on.” She waves toward my phone in my back pocket. I do have emails to answer and a contract to check in on, but Neve is my priority.
I was supposed to return home last weekend.
Then my cousins convinced me to stay through the holiday and attend the Chug-Along beer fest. I didn’t want to appear like I hadn’t set up a meeting with Lumi Snowe, who apparently flaked on it last week, so I told the office I needed a few more days to shore up the deal.
But the real reason I’ve stayed is the bomb Neve dropped on me Saturday evening.
And now, I’m not certain what to do.
“Yeah. I could work. Take all the time you need. You and the baby need.”
“Thanks.” She tries to stifle a yawn. She points toward an open door off the kitchen. “My bedroom is in there.”
We both freeze, and her eyes lock on me. “Where I’ll be taking a nap.”
I nod.
“But the bathroom is also in there. Should you need it.”
I nod again, trying not to think about Neve in her bedroom. Taking a nap. On her bed.
We didn’t have sex on such comfort. We had sex in the back of a Bronco, where our bodies kept us warm, and the heater struggled to keep the space only slightly warmer than a cold tin can.
“I’ll be . . .” I hitch my thumb toward her couch.
She nods, and I watch her slip into her room, slowly closing the door and watching me through the crack until we can’t see each other anymore.
While I reach for my phone, I’m too amped up to respond intelligently to emails. Instead, I set about cleaning up her kitchen and checking on ingredients to make a fresh crust.
I don’t consider myself a baker, but I can follow a recipe after years of standing in my grandmother’s kitchen. She’d put my cousins and me to work. Rolling dough. Cutting cookies.
I smile, recalling fond memories I haven’t recalled in years.
After checking on Neve, letting her continue to sleep although it’s been more than fifteen minutes, I pop out the side door near her kitchen.
A low deck runs the short length of the back of the house, and overgrown shrubbery blocks what is definitely a scenic view on the other side.
I can hear the soft clap of the ocean from here.
Stepping through the hedge, I take a worn path leading to the edge of a bluff.
Between this property and the next, a long set of stairs leads down to the beach.
When Fisk told me the old schoolhouse location was Neve’s home, I couldn’t believe that she had been practically under my nose all this time. All these years. And yet, I’d still missed her.
She sat on a nice chunk of property. One that sold for a steal, but I wasn’t thinking about the value of her land right now. I was worried about what she’d said earlier. She hoped to work for Bucky Beaver Body Shop.
I’m so fucked.
And it’s not that I don’t want her to continue working, albeit around dangerous fumes and heavy equipment. It’s just that I hadn’t thought about the other side of this deal. I hadn’t known Neve was involved, which shouldn’t change anything, and yet it changes everything.
Lumi called me yesterday afternoon. She’d told me they’d have an answer for me by Friday.
With a heavy heart, I stand on the edge of that bluff, staring out at the ocean as the wind whips around me.
Closing my eyes, inhaling the salty air does nothing to make me feel better, like it once did when I was a kid.
When I couldn’t wait for summer, and Lovewell Landing, and time spent here, breathing in this air.
Neve is going to hate me when this deal goes through.
By the time an hour has passed, I do need the bathroom, and I return to the house and cautiously open the door to Neve’s bedroom.
She’s on her side, a body pillow tucked between her legs. Her arms wrapped around the soft material like she’s clinging to a lover.
I take a hesitant step forward, like I’m testing the hardwood floor for sound.
As I glance around the tight space which holds nothing more than a queen-size bed, a long, low dresser, and one slim nightstand, my gaze catches on a box propped against the wall.
The size and shape suggest it’s an unassembled crib.
Something inside me cracks. Neve is weeks from having a baby and she doesn’t even have the crib put together.
There’s no evidence of an infant car seat, highchair, or any other baby apparatus she might need, like bottles and formula.
It didn’t take long to go through her cabinets, and it wasn’t like I was snooping.
Her kitchen isn’t large. Her living room is only double the size of the kitchen, and the space is wide open.
With concern filling my chest, I use her bathroom, then curse when the toilet flushes. The noise sounds too loud amid the quiet.
Hesitantly, I exit the bathroom. Neve has rolled on the bed and stares at me.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I didn’t mean to sleep so long.” She pauses. Her eyes sleepy. She looks sweet like this, nap-cozy and rested. “I thought you left.”
“Just stepped outside. How are you feeling?”
“Groggy,” she admits, her rough voice matches the word. “And hungry.” Slowly, she presses herself upright. Her hair is mashed on one side of her head. The pins push it upward on the other side.
She’s adorable, but not like a bunny. Definitely not a beaver either. Just . . . Neve.
“I could make you something. Or we could go out.” I’d be disappointed to let the pie-making pass, but as long as we keep hanging out together, I don’t care what we do.
“My sister brought me baked ziti earlier. I could bake that for us,” she says.
Us. Hell, yes.
“I could eat baked ziti.” I shrug like it isn’t suddenly my favorite food.
She shifts again, scooting to the end of the bed, and I struggle to hold myself back from helping her, from crowding her.
“Is it difficult?” I ask. “Being pregnant?” It’s not like I haven’t known pregnant women, but I definitely have never asked them this question.
“It ain’t easy,” she jokes, attempting to stand from the foot of the bed.
I do move and cup her elbow, helping her to her feet.
“But it hasn’t all been hard.”
“Tell me.” I’m nearly breathless asking. “Tell me everything.”
“You really want to know?”
Standing at the foot of her bed, we stare at one another.
“I really want to know.” I don’t want to point out that I’ve missed out on most of this process.
“Why?”
I shrug again, afraid to share the truth. Afraid to tell her how much I want a wife, a partner, and to experience a pregnancy together. Instead, I tell her a partial truth.
“I was going to be a doctor.”
Her eyes widen.
“A gynecologist.”
“Get the fuck out.” Her Maine accent comes on strong.
“Seriously. I was in medical school, and I already knew my path, but then we watched this labor and delivery video.”
Neve covers her mouth.
“I felt a little sick.”
“The stretching?” Her voice is shaky.
“The blood.”
Neve fake-gags. “I know that one.”
“I rushed out of the lecture room and threw up in a trash can in the hallway.”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah. Dropped out of medical school and went into business instead. Big disappointment for my parents.”
I don’t know why I tack on that end part, and I swipe at my hair, even knowing it will annoy her. Still, I can’t stop myself. And she’s watching me. Not my hair, but my face, my eyes.
“My dad.” I clear my throat. “I told you he’s a doctor, right?”
She nods.
“My older brother is a doctor, too.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” I exhale. “Dad wasn’t happy.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, her words kind. “My dad was never disappointed in me. Not like that, so I’m sorry that happened to you. Parents should love their children for who they are.”
Exactly. But I don’t say the word. Instead, I half-heartedly smile.
“Ziti?” I say, not wanting to discuss this topic any longer.
She continues to look at me for another second before the corner of her mouth ticks upward. “Ziti.”