Brenda Novak - Expectations

Blocking out the sadness of their final month together, he shifted his thoughts to better times and settled eagerly on the day they’d first made love. They’d already been dating for two years and knew each other better than Adam had ever known another human being. That day, they’d gone swimming in the ocean, as they often did. But this time Jenna hadn’t stopped him from removing her swimsuit when they left the water and stretched out on the beach.

Giving in to the smile that tempted his lips, Adam closed his eyes and relived the moment of seeing Jenna naked for the first time. She’d been beautiful, with the wind whipping her dark hair about her face, her blue eyes gazing up at him with complete trust, nipples drawn tight and hard with desire.

When he touched her, his hand shook as it did now, just remembering the feel of her silken limbs entwined with his own. He felt again the grit of the sand on his palms, the warmth of the sun on his back, the sound of the sea in his ears—and Jenna beneath him, tight and warm and willing.

After the initial pain she’d experienced, she had matched his eagerness and his passion with an honesty and an intensity that would never fade from his mind. Since then, he had searched for that same responsiveness, those same feelings, but he’d never again achieved what he’d had with Jenna. Maybe he never would, as punishment for pledging her all his tomorrows and then breaking that promise.

As much as he’d wanted her, loved her, some inner devil had urged him to leave Mendocino before he became an innkeeper like his grandparents. He wanted to see the world, challenge himself, and eventually become part of the stiffly competitive legal world in San Francisco.

A year after he left Jenna, he’d winced at the news that she’d married Dennis, but he’d forged ahead. A law degree, a prestigious practice, becoming one of four partners in a firm of sixteen. Two hundred thousand a year, then three hundred, and finally half a million turned his beat-up Chevy truck into a Buick, a Lexus and now his first Mercedes. He drove one of the most expensive cars on the market. He had a big home on the bay, powerful friends, important clients. He’d made it to the big time, hadn’t he? He should be glad of the path he’d chosen.

And he was. He’d had no real doubts until he’d seen Jenna tonight. The sight of her wide sky-blue eyes had pulled him up short. The curves of her body beneath the robe, the body he’d once known so well, had made him wonder what he’d missed—and if it wasn’t better than what he’d had, after all.

At the sound of someone in the bathroom, Adam checked his alarm clock in surprise. He’d feared it was morning and he hadn’t slept at all, but according to the clock it was only two-thirty. Only. He’d be exhausted in the morning.

He went back to the pleasant memories of his days with Jenna, remembering her carefree laugh that time he’d given her a ride on his buddy’s motorcycle. Afterward, she’d insisted on driving, gave it too much gas and popped a wheelie. They’d gone down the street on one wheel, then two, again and again, until she finally crashed and bloodied his knees, as well as hers, and they’d limped home, laughing and pushing the bike before them.

Chuckling, he wondered if she still remembered ruining her new pair of jeans that way. Fortunately holes at the knee became fashionable after that, so he still got to see her in those great-fitting jeans.

And then there was the day she’d baked him a strawberry dessert, which she spilled in her aunt’s car when she tried to bring it over to him. They’d spent the better part of the night trying to clean it up….

Whoever was using the bathroom was sure taking a long time. He could hear his grandfather’s snores throughout the private part of the inn and knew that Pop, at least, was sleeping soundly. It could be Gram or Ryan in there, but after overhearing Dennis’s call, Adam suspected it was Jenna.

Slipping out of bed, he put on the pajama bottoms he usually left in his leather bag and headed out into the hall. A light glimmered beneath the bathroom door, but the occupant seemed to be sick, not merely upset.

He knocked softly.

“I’ll be out in a moment.” Jenna’s voice sounded oddly breathless.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Is there something I can get you?”

A few seconds passed before she answered. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

In the morning? What about now? He paused, wondering what to do. Considering how she must feel about him, he figured she could be seriously ill and still not let him help her. “Do you want me to get Gram?”

Another long pause. “No. Please don’t bother anyone. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Adam smiled to himself. She had kept him awake, but not in the way she thought. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway. Would you please unlock the door so I can see you’re as fine as you say you are?”

“No.” This time her response came quickly and the toilet flushed right afterward. To cover the sound of her retching?

“Jenna? Are you throwing up?”

No answer. He rattled the knob. “Jenna, open this door, or I’m going to wake the whole damn house.”

“Just a minute.”

He heard the tap water turn on and off. After another lengthy silence, she opened the door and flipped the light off at the same time.

“I’m fine, see?”

Blinded by the instant flood of light and then the sudden darkness, Adam couldn’t see anything. He thought he glimpsed a tired and unusually pale face, but her voice sounded better.

“What was wrong in there? Have you started throwing up when you get upset?”

Forced cheer edged her words. “No. Why would I be upset?”

Because your ex-husband just threatened to kill you. Adam nearly blurted it out before he caught himself. He had no right to barge into her personal affairs. No right to hear as much as he had. But damned if he didn’t want to help Jenna in some way, if only to make up for hurting her so long ago.

He changed tactics. “I was about to go down and make myself some tea, thought it might help me sleep. Would you like a cup?”

“No. I’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’d better go back to bed.”

That’s what you said two hours ago, but it doesn’t look like you’ve gotten much sleep.

“Sure.” He moved aside, catching a trace of her perfume as she slipped past. He didn’t recognize it as one of the more expensive brands he’d smelled on some of the women he’d dated, but it was perfect for her: spicy, warm, rather exotic.

“Jenna?”

She turned back when she reached her door.

“I was sorry to hear about you and Dennis.”

She stepped into her room and he wondered if she was going to answer him.

“Divorce is never pretty,” she said at last. Then, with a decisive click, she closed the door.

JENNA BROKE OUT in a cold sweat as Adam’s steps receded. She couldn’t even move. She stood in the middle of the floor, hugging her body, rocking back and forth.

She’d felt nauseated, she’d thrown up, she’d felt better—just the same as last night. But that cycle was exactly what worried her. The flu struck for at least a day. With food poisoning, you threw up until your system cleansed itself. Her nausea hit about the same time each night and always occurred on an empty stomach.

Just like it had when she was pregnant with Ryan.

Dropping her head into her hands, Jenna began to knead her temples. Oh, God, please, I can’t be pregnant.

After Ryan, she and Dennis had tried and tried to have another baby. When she hadn’t conceived after four years, they visited a doctor, who told them Dennis’s sperm count was too low. They were given the name of a fertility specialist, whom they’d never called, partly because Dennis seemed to lose interest—he had his boy and was satisfied—and partly because he’d started drinking.