She caught his face in her hands when his forehead dropped to hers. He took another stuttering breath before he was able to open his eyes. Then he drank in the sight of her. Of her tipped smile, hooded eyes, her hair aflame on the white pillowcase behind her head.
Your baby growing in her belly.
Time froze. What he wanted—what he thought he didn’t want—solidified in that moment. He didn’t want to compartmentalize Kimber as he had every other woman in his life. Didn’t want to fit her into his schedule here and there or when it suited him. He wanted to fold her in so seamlessly that she couldn’t tell where he began and she ended.
They were supposed to talk when she exited that bathroom. Talk about the baby. About the future. About them. But now that he’d made love to her, now that his very foundation had splintered, he was afraid to say a word.
Or three words.
That would be extra bad.
He kissed her lips, holding them between his. As if he could keep the conversation from happening. He pulled away, knowing the words that came next weren’t likely what she wanted to hear.
“I have to get back to work,” he blurted. Desperately.
So fucking desperately.
He couldn’t stay. Not while she looked at him with that open vulnerability in her eyes. Not while his brain cells were writing sonnets and lifting boom boxes into the air. He kissed her again, hoping she didn’t hate him for running out on her.
“Feel free to stay,” he added as a caveat. Like that would be enough. He considered making a promise that he wouldn’t be long, that he’d bring dinner when he got home. But he could tell by the look on her face as she pulled the sheet over her breasts that she wouldn’t be here when he came back.
And he didn’t know what to say about that, either.
He climbed out of bed, gathered his clothes, and turned back for one last kiss. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips and gave him the smallest smile, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. Their bodies had said it all in the minutes they were entwined together.
Naked, he walked to his bedroom. They could pick this up later. Later, after he’d been at work for a few hours and could figure out what to say. The right thing to say, not the unhinged emotional vomit working its way up his esophagus.
As he saw it, they’d already sorted out the two most important things. Kimber was pregnant and she was keeping the baby.
The rest would work itself out.
* * *
The road trip to Ohio had started first thing the next morning. Kimber had made excellent time, pulling into the driveway of her mother’s immaculate condominium around two thirty.
Not too shabby.
She closed the creaky door on her charcoal gray Cavalier, kissed her fingers, and pressed them to the hood. Thank God the car made another road trip. Bless all of its two hundred thousand miles.
“There she is!” Her mom was dressed in a striped top and black capris, her toenails and fingernails matching blood red, her hair a coppery chin-length coif. Kimber had rarely, if ever, seen Grace Reynolds looking anything less than put together.
“Hi, Mom.”
“To what do I owe the honor of you visiting me on a workday?”
“You don’t owe me anything. I, however, owe Neil and Mick raises and Ginny a one-hundred-dollar shopping spree for Hobo Chic.”
Grace wrinkled her nose. “You had to bribe them?”
“It’s worth it.”
“Come in, tell me why you’re here.” She held the front door open. Kimber had sent her a text to let her know she was going to visit, but hadn’t told her any more than that.
She followed her mother inside. “Just wanted to see you.” And make you a grandmother. The kitchen was a sophisticated black and white with red rugs and curtains to accent. Understated was another thing her mother had never been.
Grace waved a hand. “Yeah, right. You drove here from Chicago ‘just to see’ me.” She retrieved the coffee canister from a cabinet and spared her a Mom-knows-better glance. “You may as well tell me what’s on your mind sooner than later.”
“After coffee,” Kimber promised. She ran to the bathroom, dumped her bag in her mother’s spare room—purple walls, white curtains, and a black wrought iron bed frame piled high with purple and white bedding. She faced herself in the mirror on the vanity in the corner and took a steeling breath. Here went nothing.
In the kitchen, her mom poured a cup of coffee for each of them. “Oh,” Kimber muttered. “I don’t think I should have caffeine.”
“Anxiety?”