Chapter 17
CALLIE
Ethan was already in the waiting room when I arrived at my OB-GYN’s office. He sat on the edge of a chair with his elbows braced on his knees. The moment the door closed behind me, he looked up and shot to his feet.
“Callie.”
After checking in, I walked toward him, my heart skittering even though my steps stayed steady. I chose a seat with an inch of air between us—a small boundary, but a necessary one.
He sat again only after I did. “Thank you for letting me come.”
I didn’t trust my voice yet, so I just kept my gaze on the soft beige carpet and hummed, “Mm-hmm.”
When the nurse opened the door and called, “Callie”, I rose quickly. Ethan stood too, but then he hesitated. He didn’t follow me until I gave the smallest nod.
The kind of love I wanted was a verb, not a noun. I needed action, not just apologies. And that seemed to be what Ethan was giving me now.
The hallway was quiet as we walked back. I felt him behind me, not crowding or trying to take over. He was just there.
When the nurse led us into the exam room after my weigh-in, I sat on the table while Ethan took the chair in the corner. He waited quietly while she took my vitals, some of the tension seeping from his shoulders when she said they were all good.
Things in the office must’ve been running more smoothly than usual because Dr. Hennessey entered the room with a friendly smile barely a minute after the nurse left. “Good morning, Callie and Ethan.”
Ethan didn’t move from his corner chair until I glanced toward him. Only then did he step forward, stopping beside me without touching.
The doctor washed her hands. “So, I understand you had a positive home test?”
I nodded, fingers curling in my lap. “Yes, several days ago.”
“Home tests are very accurate, but we can draw blood today to confirm hormone levels and establish a baseline. That will tell us how early the pregnancy is as well.”
“Yes,” I whispered, my throat feeling tight. “Please.”
Ethan’s voice followed mine. “Anything she needs.”
The doctor stepped out again to prepare the lab request. Ethan stared at the floor for a long moment before lifting his gaze to mine.
“I’ll be here for every single appointment, if you let me. Every blood draw.” His throat bobbed. “And you can keep me on speed dial for late-night cravings. I’m here for all of it.”
My hand drifted toward his on the corner of the exam table. He didn’t move a muscle, afraid to break whatever fragile permission I’d given.
The nurse interrupted the moment, returning to take my blood.
The draw was quick, but I still hated every moment.
It was much easier than last time, though.
Ethan stood beside me the entire time. When the nurse tightened the tourniquet, my breath hitched and his hand closed gently around mine.
He kept me steady while the vial filled and the nurse taped a cotton ball to my arm.
A small redo for the appointment he’d missed.
When we walked out of the clinic together, he lingered by the door, as though unsure how close he was allowed to stand. His offer from earlier popped into my head. “You said you’d help with late-night cravings.”
He nodded. “Anything you need.”
“That’ll be easier if I’m at the penthouse,” I murmured, watching the way hope flickered in his expression before he forced it back down.
“It would.”
I reminded myself that this was about logistics when I arrived at the penthouse an hour later.
Ethan reached for my suitcases as soon as I stepped off the elevator. “Let me.”
I exhaled slowly, bracing myself for his reaction. “We’re sleeping in separate rooms.”
He nodded, letting his arms fall to his sides.
“We’re not a couple again,” I continued, forcing the words out before the ache in my chest could silence me. “Not right now.”
He swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“And couples therapy is non-negotiable.”
This time, he put a hand over his heart. “Whatever it takes.”
I tightened my grip on my suitcase handles, grounding myself. Then I stepped past him, pulling them behind me. “I’ve got it.”
It was a small boundary, more symbolic than anything. I wasn’t walking back into his waiting arms, and we both needed to understand the difference.
I rolled my suitcase down the hall, turning toward the larger of the guest rooms. Stepping inside, I froze.
The space looked completely different. A warm glow spilled from a standing lamp in the corner, on the other side of a large writing desk.
It was the exact style I’d once pointed out in a boutique shop downtown.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the opposite wall, mostly empty except for a few volumes arranged neatly on the middle shelf.
My gaze drifted to a cozy reading chair angled toward the window, draped with a knit throw in my favorite shade of forest green. And on the desk, next to a brand-new monitor and a perfectly positioned laptop stand, was my favorite candle.
I reached out and brushed my fingertips over the desk. The wood was smooth and cool under my touch.
Ethan stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets as he watched me take everything in. “I wanted you to have a space that was yours. Something worthy of you.”
My throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice. He’d seen what I needed without me spelling it out for him. And he’d made sure I had it.
I ran my thumb along the edge of the desk, pausing over the grain. “You remembered.”
“It was hard to miss how much you like the desk with how you oohed and ahhed over it.”
“Thank you.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “I guess I can’t sleep in here.”
His lips curved into a small smile. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we have two more guest rooms for you to choose from.”
He didn’t sound happy that I had another option besides sleeping next to him, but I appreciated the effort. “I’ll be in the blue room.”
Where I’d stare at walls that always reminded me of his eyes.
“Whatever makes you comfortable.”
I nodded, even though comfort wasn’t the right word for the storm swirling inside me.
My new home office cracked something in my defenses I wasn’t ready to let crumble.
But I couldn’t stop myself from lingering in the doorway, looking back at the space he’d made with my preferences unmistakably in mind.
Living in the penthouse again felt strangely familiar and completely foreign at the same time. Ethan and I hesitantly moved around each other.
The first morning, I reached past him in the kitchen to grab a mug from the cabinet. For a split second, my chest brushed his arm. Ethan froze. His hand lifted instinctively, settling lightly on my waist as it had done so many times. Then he jerked back like he’d touched fire and apologized.
We kept dancing around each other that way. Him reaching for the coffee spoon just as I stepped toward the fridge, me brushing against his shoulder when we both angled toward the dishwasher. Each small accidental touch sent a tether pulling tight inside me, impossible to ignore.
But the worst moment came tonight. I padded out of the blue guest room around midnight, thirsty and restless. I didn’t think he would be awake, so I didn’t bother changing out of my tiny sleep shorts and the oversized T-shirt that skimmed mid-thigh.
Halfway down the hall, Ethan stepped out of his room at the same time.
He was shirtless and barefoot, a pair of pajama pants hanging low on his hips. And so sexy, it hurt.
We both stopped.
His eyes dragged over me before he snapped them upward with visible effort. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m good.” My voice was too breathless.
For one suspended moment, neither of us moved. The air between us practically crackled with sexual tension. I was so tempted to close the distance, press my cheek to his chest, and breathe him in like I used to.
My body swayed a fraction closer before I caught myself.
I wrapped my arms around my torso as though that could hold me in place. His face fell as I slipped past him toward the kitchen, feeling his gaze on my back—patient where he’d once been careless.
And maybe that was why my heart hurt even more as I filled my glass with water and listened to his footsteps fade down the hall.
Unfortunately, sleep refused to come when I slid back into bed. I twisted under the covers for hours, my body restless and my mind a tangled mess of hormones, memories, and the unsettling comfort of being back in a home that somehow felt more mine than it had before.
Eventually, I gave up trying.
The penthouse was dark as I padded down the hall. I expected the living room to be empty, but it wasn’t.
Ethan was slumped on the couch. His glasses were crooked, sliding down the bridge of his nose. A pregnancy book rested open across his chest, another splayed across his lap. Highlighters and sticky notes surrounded him like he’d been building some kind of color-coded battle plan.
He looked exhausted…but devoted in a way that cracked something tender in my ribs.
His hair was rumpled, and the shadows under his eyes were darker than I’d realized earlier. He’d clearly been reading for hours. The man who refused to read directions for anything had bought an entire library on how to be a father.
Without thinking, I reached for the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. The one I used to curl up with during late-night grading. I unfolded it carefully and draped it over him, smoothing the soft material over his chest so it wouldn’t slide off.
The moment my hand brushed the fabric near his shoulder, his eyes blinked open. “Callie? I’m going to learn everything.” He swallowed, fighting to stay awake. “I won’t fail you again.”
I froze, my breath catching. It would’ve been so easy to touch him. To cup his cheek and sink into the promise he was offering while half-asleep. But trust wasn’t rebuilt in the quiet vulnerability of the middle of the night.
Instead of touching him, I let my fingers trail down the edge of the blanket once before stepping back.
Ethan’s eyes drifted closed again, the blanket rising and falling gently with his breathing. I stood there for a long moment, watching him sleep and feeling something shift inside me. Then I turned and padded back toward the blue guest room, carrying that quiet flicker of hope with me back to bed.