Chapter 16 Strategically Misplaced
Strategically Misplaced
Seb
Four months later
I’ve torn apart three drawers, checked under the bed twice, and I’m currently elbow-deep in my sock drawer for the second time.
The ring is gone.
“Looking for something?”
I jump and slam the drawer shut. Tasha’s leaning against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand, wearing my shirt and an amused expression.
“Nope. Just...organizing.”
“You’re organizing your socks. At seven in the morning. On a Saturday.”
“I like organized socks.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. Thank goodness. Because I’ve been hiding the engagement ring for three weeks, moving it every time I think she’s getting close to finding it, and now I have no idea where the hell it is.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she says. “Try not to reorganize the entire apartment while I’m gone.”
The second the bathroom door closes, I’m back to searching. Sock drawer—no. Underwear drawer—no. The box of old baseball cards I swore I’d never open—no.
Where did I put it?
My phone buzzes.
Hunter: Did you propose yet?
Me: Can’t find the ring
Hunter: You LOST the engagement ring?
Me: I didn’t lose it. I hid it too well.
Hunter: That’s the same thing
Hunter: Olivia says check your briefcase
I lunge for my work bag and there it is. Small velvet box tucked into the interior pocket I never use.
Me: Found it. Tell Olivia she’s a genius.
Hunter: She knows
Hunter: So tonight?
Me: Tonight.
I’ve got it all planned. Dinner at The Restaurant. I called in a favor, and Mel is setting up the private room with flowers and candles and everything Tasha deserves. I’ll propose properly, with a ring and a speech, and—
The bathroom door opens.
I shove the ring box into my pocket and try to look casual.
Tasha emerges wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping wet, and she looks ... pale.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” But her voice is tight.
“Tasha…”
“I’m late.”
I blink. “For what?”
“My period. I’m late.”
The world stops.
“How late?”
“Four days.” She sits on the edge of the bed, gripping the towel. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, but Seb, what if…”
I’m across the room in two steps, kneeling in front of her. “Hey. Breathe.”
“I can’t breathe. What if I’m pregnant? What if I am and then I lose it again?
What if …” her voice breaks and I wrap her into my arms, wishing like hell I could make promises I can’t keep.
Like, it will be okay. Like, you’re healthy so there’s no reason why the little one won’t be healthy.
The weight of loving this woman crashes over me in a tidal wave, to the point I need to support her more than I need to fist pump the air with her news.
I’m going to be a father. Natasha Forrest is carrying our baby.
“Then we deal with it. Together.” I take her hands. “Do you have a test?”
She nods toward the bathroom. “Three of them.”
“Okay. Take one. I’ll be right here.”
“Will you...can you come with me?”
“Always.”
We stand in the bathroom staring at three pregnancy tests.
All positive.
“I’m pregnant,” Tasha whispers.
“We’re having a baby.” I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face even though she looks terrified.
“Seb, what if something goes wrong?”
“Last time you were alone and stressed and grieving.” I turn her to face me. “This time you have me. And the best doctors in Sydney. We’re doing this right.”
“The best doctors have waiting lists.”
“Not for me they don’t.” I pull out my phone. “Remember that case I worked on for Dr. Close last year?”
“The malpractice defense?”
“She owes me. Big time.” I’m already dialing. “We’re getting you in today.”
“Seb, it’s Sunday …”
“Tasha.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “Let me take care of you. Please.”
She nods, and I make the call.
Three hours later, we’re sitting in Dr. Close’s pristine office in North Sydney. She’s reviewing Tasha’s history with a frown that makes my chest tight.
“The previous pregnancy ended at eleven weeks?” Dr. Close asks.
“Yes.” Tasha’s voice is small. “My schedule wasn’t regular, so I didn’t think … I didn’t know until it was almost too late.”
“And you didn’t receive any follow-up care?”
“I...no. I was dealing with a breakup and I just...moved on.”
Dr. Close sets down the file. “Tasha, what happened wasn’t your fault. Miscarriages are common, especially in the first trimester. But I want to run some tests to make sure everything looks good this time.”
“What kind of tests?”
“Blood work, ultrasound, full workup. We’ll get a baseline today and monitor closely over the next few weeks.”
Tasha’s hand finds mine. I squeeze tight.
Two hours of tests later, we’re back in Dr. Close’s office.
“Everything looks perfect,” she says, and Tasha sags with relief. “You’re measuring about five weeks. Hormone levels are excellent. I don’t see any reason to suspect complications.”
“Really?” Tasha’s voice breaks.
“Really.” Dr. Close smiles. “You’re healthy, the pregnancy is healthy, and we’re going to monitor you closely to make sure it stays that way. I want to see you again in two weeks.”
We leave the clinic in a daze. In the car, Tasha finally lets herself cry happy tears.
“We’re having a baby,” she says again, like she’s testing the words.
“We’re having a baby,” I love the sound of those words. Plans to travel the world? Shelved. Plans to do anything other than serve my wife while she carries our child? Reprioritized. Nothing is more important than Natasha, other than asking her to change her last name.
“I’m scared.”
“Me too.”
“But happy?”
“So happy.” I kiss her hand. “Now, I know you’ve had a long day, but I made dinner reservations.”
“Seb, I’m exhausted.”
“At The Restaurant.” I could postpone, but I’ve called in too many favors to make tonight perfect. “Gabe Leckie’s cooking. Private room. Just us.” I pause. “Please? I promise it’ll be worth it.”
She ignores the tidbit about Mel’s ex-husband Gabe cooking at The Restaurant he founded and she got in the divorce, instead studying my face. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.”
“Fine. But I’m wearing pajamas.”
“You could wear a garbage bag and you’d still be the most beautiful woman there.”
“Smooth talker.”
“You love it.”
“I love you,” she corrects.
The ring box burns in my pocket. Yes, I found it in the last place I looked. Just in time to make my queen my wife.