Chapter 20
[Tate]
“And who is this?” The doctor asks, entering the room like she’s traveling on a gust of wind.
Neve’s OB/GYN is an older woman with ripples of gray hair and wrinkles for miles. She looks like she’s been practicing medicine since it was invented, but her smile is kind.
“This is Tate Love. He’s the father.”
Dr. Julie’s eyes open wide. “Well, welcome to the picture.”
I smile sheepishly, feeling chastised for not being in the picture as the idiom goes. “Happy to finally be in it.”
Dr. Julie looks at Neve, as if silently asking her if she’s happy about my presence.
“He’s growing on me.” Neve shrugs with an easy laugh, hugging that belly that looks like a pumpkin in her lap.
“He’s already done some growing.” Dr. Julie nods at Neve’s belly. “But let’s see how your girl is doing.”
I don’t know what I expected, but when Neve tips backward and the doctor pulls up stirrups, I suddenly wonder if I should be in here.
“You okay, Dad?” Dr. Julie asks, as she sets Neve’s feet in the holsters, then tells Neve to scoot closer to the edge of the table.
“Yep.” I swallow, knowing the doctor isn’t hurting Neve but still feeling on edge. From my position at Neve’s side, I can’t see exactly what the doctor is doing, but I know what she’s looking at.
Neve winces, and I reach for her hand, gripping it tightly with mine.
“Nothing yet,” the doctor says, her voice cheerful. At thirty-seven weeks plus a few days, Neve could go into labor at any time.
“But this is good, right?” I question. Going full term is what we want, although the likelihood of Neve going into labor early is greater because of her age.
“Everything in due time.” Dr. Julie pats Neve’s knee and stands from her stool. Neve drops her heels from the stirrups, and I help her sit up.
“Maybe consider again what I said about orgasms,” Dr. Julie says, keeping her eyes on Neve.
“What?” I snap, turning my head toward the doctor.
The doctor keeps a straight face as she glances at me. She waves toward her own belly as she explains. “Orgasms naturally produce oxytocin, which can trigger contractions. They can be helpful as Neve nears full-term.”
Dr. Julie looks at Neve again. “We need to start working on getting this baby out.” She arches a brow, perhaps knowing that Neve is nervous.
“I told you I’m willing to have a C-section. Just put me under and slice her out of me.”
I wrinkle my nose at Neve’s graphic description.
Dr. Julie laughs. “And I told you, only if necessary. I really think you can do this naturally.”
She winks at me, like I’m a conspirator here when I’m simply a bystander. I’m following Neve’s lead.
When the visit ends, I produce my insurance card. I’ve already called HR and added the baby.
“I can pay for myself,” Neve mutters.
“Yes. But I want to cover the baby.”
Neve has independent insurance, and the coverage isn’t the same as mine with Hessfield Holdings behind me.
Thankfully, Neve doesn’t argue. Instead, she stays quiet as I drive back toward her home. Only I veer off before the turn for her place.
“Where are we going now?” She turns her head toward me as I wind down the long path covered by trees before breaking through to a cedar-shingled home.
“You’re staying here?” She stares at the two-story place in aged gray with white trim.
“I own it.” I stare back at it. “My parents used to own it, but I bought it from them. They never come here.”
“Neither do you,” she mutters.
“Actually, I try to get here at least once a year.” I glance at her beside me in the new SUV, my arms draped over the steering wheel. “It’s one reason I feel sick that I’d never seen you before. How have I missed you? You live right next door.”
Neve glances around me like she can see through the bloom of hydrangeas and over the hill that separates us.
“That schoolhouse was once part of our property, but when my parents sold the place to me, I sold off that sliver of land to cut down on the taxes.”
“I got that house for a steal,” she whispers.
Because I didn’t need the money. I thought the land would go to someone who wanted to build a big house on a slip of property. Instead, I learned the new owner restored the schoolhouse that was once our ‘secret’ fort.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t very neighborly,” I admit, squinting back at the house. “But when I came here, I typically came to escape.”
“Are we escaping now?” she whispers, like she’s conspiring with me.
“Maybe.” I wink as I press open my door and head for hers.
Through the front windows of the house, you can almost see through to the back, and as we enter my place, I try to see it through Neve’s eyes. Typical coastal comfort with nautical motifs and large furniture that’s a little worn from years of use.
“I spent most of my summers at my grandparents’ in town. My parents eventually bought this place with the intention of visiting family more often, but as the years passed, they rarely came here. They mainly rented out this place.”
I watch as Neve takes her time wandering through the open concept space. The living room and kitchen are three times the size of her home. There are four bedrooms upstairs, and I would have taken Neve there next if she hadn’t stopped at the back doors to admire the view.
An unobstructed view of the bay and the ocean in the distance. A large porch runs the length of the house, covered by the overhang of the upper level.
“Can we escape out there?” she whispers, like she’ll disturb the scenery.
“Of course.” When I open the back door, a breeze rushes into the house.
Two classic Adirondack chairs face the water at one end of the porch, but the other end has a swing, gently rocking in the ocean air.
Neve moves toward it, gingerly taking a seat.
“Let me get you something to drink. I’ll be right out,” I say, my throat clogging from the sight of her on that swing.
Her hair blows in the wind. Her eyes close, and she tips up her head as if seeking the sliver of sunshine seeping onto the porch.
She looks like she belongs here.
The perfect picture of someone belonging to me.