42. Chapter 42
forty-two
Diesel
The waiting room was quieter than usual, but it didn’t make the nerves in my gut any easier.
The faint smell of antiseptic and stale coffee hung in the air, mixing with the soft hum of the ventilation system.
Sadie sat beside me, shoulders tight, fingers fiddling with the rough edge of her jacket like she was trying to hold herself together.
I caught her biting her lower lip — her tell when she was scared or overwhelmed.
It hit me hard, the weight of everything she was carrying—not just the baby, but the history, the doubts she never said out loud.
I reached out, my hand closing gently over hers.
Her skin was warm, slightly clammy, and she didn’t pull away.
Instead, her fingers curled around mine, and I gave a slow squeeze.
She squeezed back, giving me a very nervous version of her smile.
I wanted to tell her it would be okay. But how? Nothing felt guaranteed anymore.
When the nurse called her name, her breath hitched, and she stood up fast, and I caught the flicker of panic in her eyes.
“Hey,” I said low, my voice barely above a whisper, “We’re in this together.
” She gave me a shaky smile, but I saw the fear there—not of the baby—but of everything changing, everything unknown.
Inside the exam room, the sterile white walls and the faint scratch of paper across the exam table made the moment feel surreal.
The doctor adjusted the Doppler wand, and a low rhythmic thumping filled the quiet space.
Sadie’s eyes got wide, shimmering with unshed tears, like she was seeing the whole future in that tiny heartbeat.
I wanted to say something perfect, something that could hold all the hope and quiet terror at once. But I couldn’t. All I could do was reach for her hand again, fingers tightening around hers, holding on like I was anchoring us both.
My throat tightened, and I leaned down, the warmth of her skin pressing against my lips as I kissed her. It was the perfect moment—soft, fragile, and fierce all at once. One that would be burned into my memory forever.
And in that kiss, I made a silent promise—to be her strength when she felt weak, to carry the weight when she couldn’t, never to let her feel like she was too much. Because to me? She was everything.
Sadie
As the weeks went on, exhaustion settled deep into my bones.
My legs ached from hours spent standing behind the counter at The Rolling Scone.
Liv Sanders, Kate’s daughter, was a godsend, working part-time after school and even learning to bake with me when I had the energy for it.
She never needed reminding to clean up; she always took care of things without fuss.
Diesel never made a fuss either. When I came home and collapsed on the couch, feet propped up to ease the swelling in my ankles, he was usually in the kitchen, quietly cleaning up my mess—doing the dishes, tossing in a load of laundry—all without complaint.
No comments about me being too much. No sly hints about needing to do more. Never.
He was right about finding little things that irked me, too—like leaving his socks just outside the bathroom hamper, as if he’d stepped out of them on his way to the shower. I’d pick them up and toss them in, letting it slide.
Many nights, he’d come over and rub my feet and legs while I searched for a movie for us to watch. Other nights, he found other ways to help me relax, though he never said a word about it.
I tried learning to crochet. The blanket I made was lumpy and slanted, but his smile when he saw it made all the frustration worth it. “It’s perfect,” he said, “Made with a helluva lot of love.” Then he kissed me.
A few weeks into this new life, the crib arrived. I watched him like a kid in a candy store, fascinated by the little tools and pieces. Then I watched as frustration crept in—those “stupid instructions” testing his patience. I just smiled and handed him screws when he asked.
When he finally finished, he turned to me with an electric grin that made my heart skip. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“I love you,” I said, the words finally free after holding them close since the day we found out we were pregnant.
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me like never before. My body pressed against his, his warmth filling me with a kind of hope I hadn’t known I needed.
“I love you, Sunshine,” he whispered, his hand resting gently on my belly. “And you.” He leaned down to talk to the baby.
I nearly cried.
But he didn’t stop showing up after I finally gave him those three words.
Every evening, he was there hauling the bakery garbage out back without me asking.
On his lunch breaks from the garage, he’d swing by and shoo me into the back room so I could actually take mine.
He even fumbled his way through learning the cash register.
His big hands tapped the wrong buttons, brows knitted together until Liv came in after school and rescued him.
Then he’d bolt back to the garage like his cover had been blown.
Sundays, though, he was mine. We’d spend the morning in the kitchen together, the air warm with the smell of cinnamon and sugar.
He was surprisingly good at kneading dough, though I suspected it had more to do with stubborn determination than technique.
I even let him name some of the pastries.
His names weren’t quite as good as mine—it takes time to cultivate such a punny palate—but he wore that proud smirk like he’d just reinvented the wheel.
And, God, that made me fall for him even more.
Eventually, I reached the point where I needed more help but hated asking for it.
If I dropped something, my big belly made it impossible to bend over.
Diesel never said a word—just scooped it up and handed it to me like it was nothing.
No sighs. No, “you should be more careful.” Just… there when I needed him.
I finally had to stop picking up his socks, which meant we had to talk about it. But it didn’t turn into some blowout fight. It just led him to pick up his own damn socks.
We still fought sometimes, over little things. Living in close quarters will do that, and I was hormonal enough to start half of them myself.
But then I learned what he did when I was being a brat… and, well, let’s just say that became its own kind of motivation.
One night, after I’d given him a particularly hard time about how he loaded the dishwasher—seriously, he had the mugs facing out—he set the last plate down, shut the door, and turned to me with that slow, dangerous smile.
I barely had time to backpedal before his hands were on my hips, spinning me around to face the counter. His chest pressed into my back, his breath warm against my ear.
“You done?” he asked, voice low enough to make my knees go weak.
“Maybe,” I said, just to test him.
His chuckle was quiet, almost amused, but his hands slid lower, fingers curling in the waistband of my leggings. “Then maybe you’re ready to remember who you’re mouthing off to.”
I gasped when he bent me forward just enough to make my palms hit the counter. The edge dug lightly into my stomach, my breath catching as his hand smoothed over my hip.
“Diesel—”
“Hush, Sunshine,” he murmured, kissing the spot where my neck met my shoulder. “You like pushing my buttons. Fine. But you’re gonna feel what happens when you do.”
The heat that flared low in my belly had nothing to do with being hormonal. And as much as I hated to admit it… I was already planning my next “brat” move before he even finished with this one.
His hands gripped my hips, his mouth brushing my ear in a way that left goosebumps chasing across my skin. The low rumble of his voice, the solid weight of him against me, it was all too much and not nearly enough.
I forgot what we’d been fighting about long before he was done proving his point.
After that, the weeks blurred together in a haze of routine, stolen kisses, and the kind of quiet intimacy that sneaks up on you. The baby grew. We grew.
By the time winter loosened its grip on Copper Ridge, I was more than ready for the next chapter, without realizing just how quickly it was about to come.