Kandy Shepherd - The Pregnancy Pact

“So,” she said, trying for a bright, light note, “what do you do for fun? You’re probably an expert at it, now that the dead weight isn’t around your neck anymore.”

“Jessica, I don’t remember saying that. It must have been one of those mean, in-the-heat-of-the-moment things. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one little bit, as if she had not mulled over those words every single day for a year.

“So if we were going to do something fun today—and I’m not saying that we are—what would you suggest?” Did it sound as if she was forgiving him? Was she forgiving him? “Remember, I have one arm out of commission. Skydiving is out. Ditto for rock climbing. And bull riding.”

“I said that? That you took the fun out of everything?”

“Yes! And then you packed your bag, and you left, and you never looked back.”

“I thought you’d call, Jessica.”

“Why would I call? You were the one who left.” She hesitated. She tried to strip any hurt from her voice. “I thought you’d call.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“Neither did I. I wasn’t going to beg you to come back.”

“Why would you beg me to come back?” he asked wearily. “And I guess that’s why I didn’t call, either. We had reached a complete impasse. We were utterly and exhaustingly miserable. We just seemed to go in endless circles. You wanted a baby. I’d had enough.”

She could see the very real pain in his face. For the first time? Had she really been so wrapped up in herself and what she wanted that she could not see what it was doing to him? She’d accused him of being insensitive to her, but she saw now it had been a two-way street. She felt an odd little shiver of awareness go up her spine.

“So,” Jessica said carefully, trying to navigate the minefield between them without getting blown up, “answer the question. What do you do with a one-armed woman for fun?”

His eyes fastened on her lips.

“Stop it,” she said.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently.

“Looking at me like that. I think that would be quite a challenge one armed.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You know.”

He smiled wickedly. “I think that could be quite a lot of fun.

“I think it would be darn near impossible.”

“I don’t. I like a challenge. I like figuring things out.”

Good grief, she could not stay here for days with this kind of delicious sensual tension in the air between them.

“I could start by offering to help you shower,” he said, his voice a low growl.

She threw the pillow at him. It was a clean miss, but he dodged anyway, managing to save his coffee. He laughed and made a face at her. “So are we agreed? We’ll do something fun today?”

“I suppose, if you promise to be good,” she said warningly, reaching for the other pillow.

“Do I have to? Okay, okay.” And then he backed away from her, closed the door and was gone.

She freshened up in the bathroom and put on the maternity dress. When she saw her reflection in the full-length mirror of his opulent guest bathroom, she felt she had succeeded just a little too well in her goals.

She had wanted to look as if she didn’t care! She was not sure she had wanted to look quite this bad! She looked like a waif abandoned outside an orphanage. Still, defiantly, refusing to give in to the temptation to win his approval in any way, least of all by trying to make herself attractive to him, she stepped out of the bathroom.

The truth was she hadn’t brought anything else anyway. She had thought her stay here was going to be brief. Given the shakiness of her resolve, looking pathetic seemed as if it could only be a good thing.

He was behind the kitchen counter putting croissants—obviously freshly delivered—on a plate.

“Wow. Excuse me while I pluck out my eyes. I’d forgotten the full ugliness of that dress. Or maybe I blocked it. Trauma.”

“It is not that bad.” He still had not put on a shirt. In the “life was unfair” department, this seemed to rate quite high: that he wanted to pluck out his eyes and she wanted to gaze at him endlessly.

“It is. That bad. Believe me. At least its awfulness helps me figure out the agenda for the day. We need to go shopping first.”

“I am not going shopping. I love this dress.” She didn’t actually. She thought it was quite hideous. “I’m sorry you’ll be embarrassed by me, but that’s the way it is.”

“I’m not embarrassed by you. But in the ‘find something to be grateful for’ department—”

She squinted at him suspiciously. He was not a “find something to be grateful for” kind of guy.

“I’m just glad you didn’t bring the camo one. If we end up in the woods today, I don’t want to misplace you.”

“What are the chances we’ll end up in the woods?”

“Anything can happen when you just let the day unfold.”

She should not feel nearly as thrilled by that as she did! But spontaneity had not been part of her world for a long time, and Jessica suddenly felt eager for it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ONE THING THAT Jessica remembered about Kade with complete fondness was that he always seemed open to what the world could bring him.

They had a simple breakfast at his apartment. He had had the still-steaming croissants and preserves delivered, and they sat out on the terrace and ate in the new warmth of the spring light. What was it about spring that brought hope to even the most wounded heart?

He seemed to forget she looked ugly. She seemed to forget he looked gorgeous. The old comfort rose up between them.

They talked as if nothing had ever gone wrong between them. It was like the old days, when spending time with him felt as if she was spending time with her best friend. The conversation flowed easily and naturally, words spilling out of them, as if they were anxious to catch up. They talked about mutual friends, his aunt Helen and her cousin Dave. They talked a bit about their businesses.

And then they left his place and walked downtown. Jessica became self-consciously aware of the ugliness of her dress again as she walked beside him. Kade was dressed casually in a sports shirt and summer khaki pants, and yet she could not help but notice how he got that look from women. Interested. Admiring. Hungry for a taste of that particular delight. They would glance at her, too, and then dismiss her.

When he came around to her good arm and his hand found hers, her own sense of hunger deepened. She was so aware of how much she had missed this, the small intimacies that made a relationship, the feel of his hand, strong, closing possessively around her own, sending that message to all who passed: taken .

She was determined to make a go of it on her own, but that simple thing, him taking her hand, filled her with a longing that felt physical in its intensity, like a shiver going up and down her spine that would not go away.

If she was smart, she would drop his hand and turn and run.

But smart seemed to have abandoned her. She wanted these moments. It felt as if she was stealing them to store away, as a part of her, for when she did not have him anymore. She actually felt thankful that these memories might overlay the old ones. Their history, leading up to the separation, was so filled with bitterness and anger and frustration that it had become as if the dark colors of a new painting had completely obliterated the light of the old painting that existed right underneath it.

They entered the downtown. It was a beautiful day so they avoided the Plus 15 Skywalk and instead strolled the pedestrian mall on Stephen Avenue. Downtown did not have its weekday bustle, the throngs of men and women in business attire, but there was still a colorful conglomeration of shoppers and activities on the streets.