Jenna Mindel - Falling for the Mom-to-Be

“So, what are you up to for the next thirty days of free time?”

He shrugged. He needed to talk to Annie about her roof among other things. “I’m hoping to work on a building project, why?”

“No reason.” She shrugged, too, as if she had something to say. Did she? “It’s nice of you to buy tea for Annie. She’ll enjoy this blend.”

He cocked his head. “Yeah?”

“There’s a little flyer in there with the ingredients and instructions.” She handed him the brown paper bag stamped with The Spice of Life in dark green ink.

“Thanks. I’ll be sure to tell her.” He paid for his purchase and left.

Driving the three blocks from Ginger’s store to Annie’s Craftsman-style bungalow, he rehearsed the argument he’d give her for letting him replace the roof. The past two months had given him lots of time to think. And he’d thought about Annie Marshall practically every day of the sixty spent on his freighter.

He parked, got out and then stood on the walkway. Staring at her front porch, he gripped the paper bag Ginger had given him tighter. Good grief, this was Annie he was coming to see. He’d joked around with her for years, but Jack had always been there, too. Now he wasn’t.

Annie was Jack’s widow now.

He’d called her once in a while in port, but they hadn’t said much. He couldn’t broach the subject of that kiss. A phone call wasn’t the best choice for that awkward conversation. It’d be better to talk to her in person. Like now.

He checked his watch. Ten-thirty was a respectable time to make a morning visit. He knew from what Jack had said that Annie’s weekday dance lessons didn’t start until after lunchtime. Had that changed?

He’d find out soon enough.

He gingerly ascended the wide front porch steps, remembering how he’d helped Jack and Annie move in after they’d bought the place. He’d also helped paint the exterior. She’d picked out the colors and called it sage green . She’d been adamant about pairing it with bright white trim. He and Jack had thought tan would look better.

He smiled, remembering how Annie had managed to get more paint on her than the house. He spotted her small car in the driveway and with a deep breath, knocked on the front door.

Nothing.

So he knocked again before he lost his nerve. Harder.

“Just a minute.” Her voice sounded thin and far away, filtering through the screens of open windows.

It took a few moments before Annie finally opened the door. She wore socks that slouched around her ankles and shorts with a baggy T-shirt. Her thick, dark blond hair looked as though it had been pulled back in a hurry. She had a wet washcloth in her hand. Had she been cleaning?

“Maybe I should have called,” Matthew said.

Her beautiful eyes widened with surprise. “That would have been a good idea.”

He smiled, searched for some smart comment to tease her with and then frowned. She looked pale, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. “Hey, are you okay?”

Her face went white. She grasped the washcloth to her mouth and ran for the bathroom off the kitchen. He could hear her retch from where he stood, still on the porch.

Quietly, he entered and closed the door. “What’s wrong, have you got the flu? I heard it’s going around.” Or was that old news he’d heard before going out on the lakes?

“Must be.”

He could hear the water running as he made his way into the kitchen. He settled the bag of tea from Ginger’s store on the counter and then filled the teakettle with fresh cold water, placed it on the stove and turned up the heat.

He’d never made tea from loose leaves before, but he’d watched Annie do it a thousand times. He fished around the utensil drawer until he found the silver ball he’d seen her use. Then he pulled out the plastic bag of tea and a piece of paper fluttered to the counter.

He glanced at the list of ingredients. Ginger root, spearmint leaf, red raspberry leaf, orange peel, chamomile, peppermint leaf and lemon balm.

What was lemon balm? Might as well be grass clippings.

He opened cupboards and then closed them.

“What are you doing?”

He turned, not liking the wary look in her eyes. “I’m looking for a teapot.”

Her color hadn’t returned. If anything, she looked even paler. And too thin. She’d lost weight. Annie’s hair was wet, like she’d missed when splashing water on her face. She still managed to look beautiful, though. But fragile.

She came forward, her movements lithe and graceful. Annie had a dancer’s body—long and lean even though she wasn’t all that tall. He’d never gone to any of her performances. He wasn’t a ballet kind of guy, but maybe he’d missed something special. She opened a lower cupboard, pulling out a round pink pot, and set it on the counter. Then she grabbed two mugs from an upper cupboard.

He leaned against the sink, out of her way. He would have kept the pot next to the cups considering they got used every day, but then he didn’t have much in the way of dishes at his place so who was he to criticize.

She glanced at him. Wary.

“Thanks.” Okay, yeah. Maybe he was a little afraid of her, too. Of touching her. Look what had happened the last time.

“Thank you for the tea.” She peeked inside the bag and picked up the paper. Her eyes widened and her face flushed.

He reached out and touched her shoulder. Felt her tremble. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine. Yes. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t look fine. She looked upset, like she might even cry. He prayed she wouldn’t cry. That night her sobs had torn him in two.

Annie had lost her husband. The husband they both loved. He’d turn back the clock if he could. Matthew wished a thousand times over that he’d taken Jack’s comment about heartburn after dinner more seriously. If only he’d known. But then they’d eaten hot wings for dinner and nearly everyone on board had heartburn.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let Annie down by not keeping Jack safe. Keeping everyone safe on ship was part of his job. His responsibility. He couldn’t help but feel as if he’d failed when it came to Jack.

The teakettle whistle blew through the silence, shattering his thoughts.

Annie bustled forward and turned off the gas.

Matthew touched her arm again. Why’d he keep touching her? “I’ve got this. Sit down before you fall down.”

She looked at him with a raised chin. Annie didn’t like him telling her what to do. Her soft blue eyes had yellow rings around the pupils. Pretty eyes made even prettier framed with thick, dark lashes. She nodded, crumpled up the paper that came with the tea and sat down.

He felt her watchful eyes burning holes into his back as he stuffed the clippings in the silver ball and tossed it into the pot. No doubt she’d jump in if he did it wrong.

Next, he dumped in hot water and settled the lid in place and then set it on the table in front of her. He slid into the opposite chair and handed Annie a mug.

“You want any?”

“Ah, no.” He was a strong coffee kind of guy and he’d already had his fill this morning. Still, he watched her pour herself a cup of the rust-colored water.

She sniffed it, took a tentative sip and then a deep breath. Waited and then another sip.

“Does it help?”

Her eyes flew open wide. “Help what?”

“Your stomach. You just threw up, remember?”

Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. “Yeah.”

He smiled, at an odd loss for words. He’d never had to try hard to talk to her before. He grabbed the paper ball she’d crumpled and smoothed it back out. The name on the other side smacked hard.

Morning Sickness Tea.