Chapter 12 #2
“Those are all great questions,” she says. She prints several ultrasound photos and hands them to me. “We’ll see you next month, but call if anything worries you in the meantime.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Once she’s gone, Jake offers me his hand to help me sit up. I take it, and together we look down at the glossy black-and-white images in my lap. There are three. In one, the baby’s hand is right up near its face.
“I still can’t believe that’s real,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“Can I…” He hesitates for the first time all morning. “Can I have one of these? If that’s okay?”
Something in my chest cracks. The way he’s looking at the photos, like they’re the most precious thing he’s ever held, makes my defenses wobble. I’ve been telling myself this is just a partnership. Just logistics and doctor’s appointments and figuring out how two strangers raise a baby together.
But Jake’s not looking at these pictures like logistics. He’s looking at them like he’s already in love.
And that terrifies me. Because it would be so easy to let myself believe in this. In him. In the idea that maybe I don’t have to do everything alone.
I can feel my walls trying to slam back into place, that familiar instinct to protect myself from disappointment. But then I look at his face again, at the genuine wonder there, and something in me softens despite my best efforts.
“You want one?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral even though my heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“Yeah.” He gives a small, almost sheepish smile.
“Of course.” I pass him the “waving” one. “Take this one.”
He takes it carefully, then pulls out his wallet. He slides the picture into one of the clear slots, right where a photo ID would go, and holds it up for me to see.
“Perfect,” he says, grinning.
Jake Reyes is standing there with an ultrasound photo tucked into his wallet, looking like someone just handed him the moon, and it’s threatening to make me feel hope.
Which is exactly why I shut that feeling down.
Hope is a liar. Hope is the thing that shows up with confetti and then forgets to stick around when the mess hits. I know better.
“Uh, I’ll give you a minute to change,” he says, clearing his throat and backing toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Okay.”
He steps out, and I peel off the gown, pulling my clothes back on. We check out at the front desk, schedule the next appointment, and Jake walks me to my car.
“Thank you for letting me be here,” he says.
“You’re the father, Jake.” I unlock my car. “Of course you should be here.”
“Still.” He shifts his weight, one hand in his pocket, the other fidgeting with his keys. “I know this isn’t easy. Any of it. But I really appreciate you including me.”
I don’t have a neat, emotionally healthy response for that, so I just nod. We stand there for another beat, the late-afternoon sun warm on my face, the reality of everything sitting between us like a third person.
“I should go,” I say finally. “I have a class to teach at five.”
“Right. Yeah.” He slips his wallet back into his pocket. “Do you need anything? Groceries, more vitamins, anything? I’m happy to help with whatever.”
“I’m okay for now,” I say. “But I’ll let you know.”
“Good.” He nods, like that was the answer he was hoping for. “Text me when you get home tonight?”
“Why?”
He shrugs, a tiny lift of one shoulder. “Just so I know you got there safe.”
It’s such a boyfriend thing to say that my first instinct is to bristle. But there’s nothing possessive in it. Just genuine concern.
“Okay,” I say.
I reach for my car door but before I get there, Jake steps closer. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. Close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne, the smell that makes me think of his hands on my skin three months ago.
He reaches past me to open my door, his arm brushing mine as he pulls the handle.
The contact is brief, barely there, but it sends heat racing up my arm.
I’m suddenly aware of how tall he is, how solid he feels standing this close.
How if I leaned forward just slightly, just a fraction of an inch, I could rest my forehead against his chest.
I look up instead. His eyes are hypnotizing. His lashes are longer than mine, dark against his skin, and I notice again that small scar near his left eyebrow that I have the urge to place my lips on.
For half a second, I let myself wonder what would happen if I closed the distance.
If I pushed up on my toes and pressed my mouth to his.
Would he kiss me back? Would it feel the same as it did in July, all heat and urgency, or would it be different now that there’s something between us besides chemistry?
The thought hits me so hard I have to look away.
“Drive safe,” he says, his voice rougher than it was a second ago.
I slip into the driver’s seat before I can do something stupid. “Thanks.”
He closes the door gently, then steps back, hands sliding into his pockets. Through the window, I can see him watching me, waiting to make sure I’m settled before he walks away.
I start the car and buckle my seatbelt, hyper-aware that he’s still standing there. When I shift into reverse, he lifts a hand in a small wave. I wave back, then pull out of the spot.
In my rearview mirror, I watch him head toward his own car. I force my eyes back to the road, and as I pull out of the parking lot with the ultrasound photos on the passenger seat beside me, I catch myself smiling.