Chapter 14
I should not be turned on by ribbon tying.
Terri
My feet drag as I walk through the resort from my office to the event space where tonight’s anniversary party is happening. I yawn and my jaw cracks with the motion.
I need more sleep, but I’m literally sleeping nine hours every night and napping on the sofa in my office every afternoon for an hour. Any more sleep and people will worry I’ve gone into hibernation.
I enter the event space. I can’t help but smile at the Smuggler’s Hideaway theme. There are mini pirate treasure favor bags, floating candle centerpieces, and custom oyster shell place cards.
I make my way to the buffet. The tiny sailboat dessert toppers are adorable. My brow wrinkles at the seafood tower. I check the time. It shouldn’t be out until thirty minutes before the guests arrive.
Hold on. The party starts in thirty minutes. Where did the time go? Did I fall asleep at my desk again?
If this keeps happening, I’m going to have to tell Hudson I’m pregnant before I’m ready. I place a hand on my stomach. Stay safe, little mermaid. Stay safe.
I inhale a deep breath to calm myself down and end up getting a whiff of warm shrimp. My stomach rebels.
“Hey, boss!” Nadia hollers as she rushes into the room from the kitchen. Her brow wrinkles. “Why are you green?”
I motion to the seafood tower. “Bad shrimp.”
She leans forward and sniffs the tower. “Smells good to me, but there’s only one way to know for sure.” She snags a shrimp and pops it into her mouth. “Yum.”
My stomach gurgles and I slam a hand over my mouth before I spew my lunch all over the buffet. I inch backward. I was okay before the smell of shrimp hit me.
Nadia studies me. “You okay?”
“Yep. Perfectly fine.” I’m just knocked up and apparently can’t stand the smell of one of my favorite foods any longer.
“Are you prepared for the couple’s arrival?”
She checks her clipboard. “The buffet isn’t ready yet. I need to help them in the kitchen. Oh, and the message in a bottle display isn’t done.”
“What? Why not?” The display should have been done hours ago.
“Several of the bottles broke and we needed to have new ones brought over from storage. I can deal with them if you help out in the kitchen.”
Help out in the kitchen? After the smell of shrimp had me gagging? I don’t think so.
“I’ll do the bottles. You do the kitchen.”
I hurry away before she can object. And, also, the smell of shrimp is getting to me again.
I settle at the table for the anniversary display. I nearly groan at the mess. Half of the bottles still need to be filled with sand.
I sigh and get to work.
“Here you are!”
I glance up at Nolan. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t?”
I admit I may have avoided him before. Sneaking out the back door of the resort was not my finest moment. Especially when it set off an alarm and the security guard showed up.
Lucky for me, Hudson understands the need to hide from people. He didn’t ask any questions. But he did give me the code to sneak out the next time.
“I haven’t avoided you since I told you I’m pregnant.”
He grunts. Which I interpret to mean ‘you’re right, Terri’.
“It’s dinner time. I thought you’d be finished working by now.”
I motion to the bottles. “Not yet.”
He sits in a chair across from me. “What are we doing?”
I freeze. “You’re seriously going to help?”
He scowls. “Why do you question me every time I try to care for you?”
Because I’m the caretaker, not him. I’m the one who stayed on the island to care for Dad. Not my siblings.
Because I know better than to believe he’ll stay. No one stays.
“You don’t have to take care of me.”
He growls. “Don’t you dare say you can take care of yourself. I know you can. I’m not questioning whether you can. I’m saying let me help. Let me take a bit of the load off.”
I scowl. “Do you have to be so reasonable?”
He shrugs. “Pressuring you doesn’t work. I learned my lesson there.”
“A man who can learn a lesson. Let me call the Guinness Book of World Records.”
He chuckles. “I’d be a crappy quarterback if I didn’t learn from my mistakes.”
Time for a change of topic. “How was practice today?”
He winces.
“Sorry, you don’t have to tell me about it.”
He waves a hand in dismissal. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He nods to the bottles. “After you explain what this is and how I can help.”
I could continue to fight him, but I’m not an idiot. I need the help.
“This is a message in a bottle anniversary display. The couple met on Smuggler’s Hideaway decades ago. Guests are supposed to write marriage advice or memories on these little notes and roll them up before stuffing them in the bottles.”
I motion to the bottles. “Except the bottles aren’t ready. They should be filled with sand and have ribbons tied around them.”
“I can stuff sand in bottles. I probably have sand in unmentionable places from the last time I was on the beach.”
I grin. “Gotta love the beach in the summer.”
He grabs a bottle and scoops some sand. He tries to pour the sand into the bottle, but most of it ends up on the table.
“The sand is supposed to go into the bottle.”
He frowns. “These bottles are tiny.”
“They’re decorative.”
“Can’t they be decorative and bigger than a roll of athletic tape?”
I giggle. “They wouldn’t be cute then.”
“Wouldn’t want them to be useful instead of cute,” he mutters.
I throw a pinch of sand at him. “It’s supposed to be romantic.”
“Romantic?” He wags one of the bottles. “How do humans fit messages in these?”
“Normal-sized humans manage without any trouble.”
“Are you saying I’m not normal-sized?” He puffs out his chest.
I ignore how my hands itch to touch his chest. To feel how strong his muscles are. “It wasn’t a compliment.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “You seemed to enjoy my size when we were in the closet.”
My nipples pebble and my core tingles at the reminder of our tryst. A tryst that resulted in my pregnancy. A pregnancy I’m not ready to reveal to the world.
“Nolan,” I hiss. “You agreed to keep the pregnancy quiet.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I wasn’t referring to the pregnancy. I was referring to us.”
“What us? There is no us.” And there never will be. I know better than to get involved.
“You’re as stubborn as a linebacker playing through a concussion.”
I sigh. “Nolan. You’re not obligated to be with me just because I’m pregnant with your child.”
“What if I want to be with you?”
I wish I could believe it. I wish he wanted me, but I can’t trust his feelings. He thinks he wants me when what he wants is the baby.
I nod to the bottles. “These aren’t going to fill themselves.”
Hurt flashes in his gorgeous blue eyes – I hope our child gets those eyes – before he blinks and it’s gone.
“I’ve got this.”
He begins filling bottles with sand like it’s a competition.
“Slow down.”
“But I’m winning.”
“There is no winning.”
“Really?” He cocks a brow. “Because this party is starting soon and these bottles aren’t finished yet.”
“Whatever,” I mumble.
He lines up the bottles filled with sand.
“You’re not done. You need to tie the ribbons around the bottles.”
He picks up a red ribbon. “This tiny thing?”
“What’s wrong? Can the big, bad quarterback not handle a little bit of ribbon?”
“I can handle ribbon,” he mutters as he attempts to tie the ribbon. I bite my tongue before I laugh. His hands are twice the size of the bottles, and the string appears tiny in his hands.
I wiggle my fingers. “Give it here. We’ll be here all night at this rate.”
“I’ve got it.” He finishes tying the ribbon.
I snort out a laugh. “What is that supposed to be?”
“It’s a ribbon tied on the smallest bottle in existence.”
“It’s supposed to be tied in a bow.”
“Now you’re messing with me. There’s no way anyone can tie a bow with this tiny piece of ribbon. It’s impossible.”
“Give it here.”
He hands me the bottle. I untie the ribbon and re-tie it into a bow. “See? It’s cute and romantic now.”
“If you’re a sea sprite.”
“I love sea sprites. Mischievous and fairy-like? Life-sustaining but also treacherous and unpredictable?” I sigh. “I want to be a sea sprite.”
He smiles and the dimple on his left cheek appears. The things I would do to see that dimple.
“Okay, sprite. How about I fill the bottles with sand and your tiny sprite fingers tie the ribbons?”
I bristle. “My fingers aren’t tiny.”
“Why do short people always get offended when you call them tiny?”
I gasp. “I’m not short. I’m average.”
He snorts. “For a sea sprite.”
I giggle. I did say I wanted to be a sea sprite.
We work as fast as possible to get the bottles ready for the party. I’ll never admit it out loud, but it’s comfortable. Nolan is sweet.
But is he being sweet for me? Or because I’m carrying his baby?
Until I know for sure, I need to keep my heart encased in steel. Because this man has the power to break my heart with a wink and a smile.