Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Harper
“I told you they were divine!”
Grinning, I glance up from the tray I’m plating to see Clara and her friend Becky going to town on my mini quiches.
“So much better than the ones you buy from the grocery store and heat up.”
I giggle.
Clara winks at me.
I slide the tray of bacon-wrapped figs onto the buffet and go to work on the final of the hors d’oeuvres—crostini with herby ricotta cheese, chopped mushrooms, all topped with chives and crispy strings of onions.
The only type of onion I can stomach to date—fried to a delicious golden brown.
And did I consume approximately a metric ton of the salty, crispy fried strips back in my kitchen?
Maaaybe.
The baby needed them.
Did the baby also need the banana and chocolate chips I chased them with?
Yup. She sure did.
My lips curve as Clara is drawn back into conversation and I finish up with the crostini.
There are no mains with this event, just a couple of desserts—parfaits that are already assembled and just need to be topped with freshly whipped cream, a platter of cookies of various varieties (including my least favorite, oatmeal raisin), and chocolate dipped strawberries.
All perfect choices for the Girls’ Night get together.
The women are all in pajamas and robes, slippers on their feet. A stack of face masks and other skin products sit on the table in the family room. There are blankets and pillows, candles, and a romcom playing in the background.
I love this idea.
And I’m totally stealing it to do with the girls.
Hell, I could totally see Smitty rocking a face mask.
I snag the canister of my freshly whipped cream, double check the top is screwed on tight, and start squirting delicate swirls onto the parfaits. I sourced adorable little spoons to go with the containers and I place one jauntily in each of the containers.
Then I’m on to the strawberries and the cookies.
“These look delicious,” Clara says, slipping into the kitchen, her hair pulled up into a messy bun and green stuff smeared all over her face.
“I’m not impartial,” I tease. “But they are.”
She grins then pats my shoulder. “Thanks for doing what you do. I haven’t seen Becky this happy since her husband died.”
My gaze follows hers and I watch her friend smile and laugh, my heart full and my pregnancy hormones out of control as I blink back tears. “I’m glad I could help, at least a little bit.”
“You helped a lot.” She tosses me another wink, and as though sensing I’m hanging on by the ends of my emotional fingertips, adds, “And also fed all of our sweet tooths.”
I chuckle.
She leans closer, her voice dropping. “I know you gave her a discount on the food because she’s on a fixed income. Do you need me to…”
“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”
I think of the bills on my counter, the way I spent years robbing Peter to pay Paul, always derailed by an unexpected expense—a flat tire, an appliance that went out, a job falling through.
I think of bills from culinary school and funeral costs and medical debt that made it nearly impossible to breathe.
And I think about how I’m almost caught up.
Finally.
Maybe I’ll hold my own celebration.
A congrats to me for finally getting out from under crippling debt.
Clara pats me on the shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Now that I don’t want to throw up every second, I feel awesome,” I say. “I know it won’t last as I get further along, but I’m taking advantage of the extra energy while I have it.”
“Smart girl.” Her eyes flick to my left and back up. “And the baby’s father? Is he treating you right?”
I think of all Leo and I have shared over the last few weeks.
I think of the man he’s shown me he is.
“Leo’s great,” I say. “We’re…well, it wasn’t exactly planned, but we’re figuring things out.”
“How far along are you officially?” she asks.
“Twenty weeks. We actually go for our ultrasound tomorrow.”
“Are you going to find out the gender?”
“Yes, neither Leo nor I have it in us for more surprises.”
She grins. “I couldn’t wait either.”
I think of Leo’s and my ongoing “argument” about whether the baby is going to be a boy or girl—me saying girl, him saying boy, with neither of us actually caring about the result—and smile.
It’s fun to be building the inside jokes, the references that only we understand.
To be building us.
With no walls between us, the past not completely eviscerated, but talked about instead of hidden, its power taken away.
We chat a few minutes more, and I finish the dishes and pack up my things.
Just before I get in my car, she passes me an envelope.
“Clara,” I protest.
“It’s nothing crazy,” she says, pressing it back into my hands. “Use it to buy something cute for the baby’s nursery or a ridiculously adorable outfit.”
My eyes well up.
She hugs me then pulls back and cups my face. “I can’t wait to see all the great things you do, sweetheart.”
Then she kisses my cheek and walks back into the house.
Probably for the best.
If she stayed, I’d be bursting into tears for sure.
I climb into my car, take a couple of shaky breaths, then turn on the engine and drive home.
Sighing, I set aside the knotted, lumpy mess that is the baby’s blanket and pick up my phone.
This is a lot more fun.
This being shopping for baby things.
The envelope didn’t contain anything crazy, but I deposited half of it and then used the final payment from Becky’s event to pay off the last of my bills.
And then just took a second to breathe.
I spent nearly a decade paying off those debts.
Now I’m free.
Just in time to support a baby.
Yeah, nope. Not going to think about that right now.
Right now, I have a little money to burn and a nursery theme to come up with. I’m thinking neutrals with a dash of color—I don’t want it to be pure Millennial Gray.
Though—I smooth my hand over my gray couch cushion—I am partial to the color.
I keep scrolling, then pause.
“Wow.” The crib in the picture is beautiful.
The key scrapes in the lock and the door opens, Leo pushing in with a bag from Bella Nonna.
My stomach rumbles and I groan. “You’re killing me.”
“It’s just a slice of that lemon cake,” he says with a smile. “You mentioned you were craving it.”
Butterflies in my stomach. “Thanks.”
He comes over and sinks down onto the couch next me, putting the bag next to my pathetic-looking project. “Not going well?”
I sigh. “I don’t think crocheting is for me.”
“Would you mind if I worked on it for a bit?”
“Really?”
A shrug. “I have a lot of trash TV to catch up on.” He leans over, presses his lips to my temple. “Would it bother you?”
I pause, consider that. “No. I think I need a break from the frustration of it.”
His eyes study mine, as though searching those words for the truth. Then he nods, snagging the mess of yarn and tucking it into his jacket that’s hanging by the front door. “The event go okay?”
“Yup.” I tell him about the theme. “It was so fun I think I’ll have to do it with the girls.”
“That sounds like fun.”
I waggle my brows. “Want to make it a coed thing?”
He shakes his head. Then his lips twitch. “Though, I could see Smitty rocking a face mask.”
“I thought the same thing!” I exclaim, laughter bubbling up in my chest. But then I still, laughter fading…because the look in his eyes—
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he rasps.
My lungs inflate in a rush. “Leo.”
“It’s true. Don’t try to deny it.”
I don’t. Because the way he says those words…I believe him.
“Now,” he says as I’m reveling in that, “what were you so engrossed with when I came in?”
“Engrossed?” I narrow my eyes at him as I surreptitiously tuck my phone behind me.
I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous about it—except that planning a nursery seems…
real. And despite how great things have been, real seems scary still.
“I believe I greeted you the moment you walked through the door.”
“Hmm, likely story.” He reaches forward and snatches my phone.
“Leo!”
“What are you hiding, huh?” His eyes go to the screen and—then flash up to mine, having gone wide. “Cribs?”
I try to play it cool, fail miserably. “I figured I’d turn the office into the baby’s bedroom.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “That’s space is pretty small.”
He’s not wrong. It’s definitely more closet than bedroom. But it’s not like I have a ton of options—
“What about if you moved in with me?”
“Wh-what?”
“I have extra bedrooms, and with the season starting up, I’ll be on the road a lot.
It seems silly for you to be paying rent here while I’m carrying a mortgage on a house I’m barely at.
” He shrugs, but I have the feeling he’s bracing as much as I had been a moment before.
“Plus, our baby would have plenty of room to grow into.”
Our baby.
Our baby.
Not the baby. Not my baby. But our baby.
“Leo,” I whisper.
“What do you think?”
“I’m scared,” I admit. “And…”
“What?” he asks when I don’t finish that thought.
I’m in love with you.
“I guess we could try,” I whisper instead of saying that out loud.
“Awesome.”
I blink. “Awe—?”
But I don’t get to finish because then he’s banding his arms around me and kissing me senseless, only releasing me when it feels as though my lungs are going to burst…and every bone in my body has melted.
He touches my cheek, tucks my hair behind my ear. “Yup,” he murmurs. “Awesome.” Then he picks up my phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I slowly come out of the Kiss Fog.
He taps at my phone screen for a couple of moments before glancing up at me. “Ordering the crib.” A beat. “And the matching rocking chair.”
I freeze.
Then melt.
Because yup.
I’m so totally in love with Leo Richardson.