Beaufort, South Carolina
March 7
Twitch needed to get a hold of herself. She’d mentioned her anxiety to her doctor, who calmed her frayed nerves explaining pregnancy elicited all sorts of apprehension in mothers-to-be. Nevertheless, as Twitch slipped the key into the deadbolt, her hand stilled. She glanced over her shoulder at the quiet lane dotted with Victorian street lamps and trees dripping with Spanish moss.
Not a sound.
Still, she checked the street, her eyes pausing at each large tree. Muttering a halfhearted reassurance, she hurried into the house.
After deactivating the alarm, Twitch crossed to the kitchen. After stepping to the glass-paned door to inspect the backyard and deck, she closed the blinds. Setting the kettle on the burner, Twitch allowed herself a rare moment of self-pity. She missed Finn. The rational knowledge that he would never be a permanent part of her life, that they would never build on their brief but consuming love, warred with her unshakable belief that Finn was hers, that she was his.
Glum and on edge, Twitch sat on her cheery couch and sipped herbal tea from a mug that read Gone Phishing. It seemed all the symptoms of early pregnancy that had been notably absent during her first trimester had come charging in for the second. She was tired and nauseous; the smell of chicken and tuna made her sick. She was barely showing, and yet her back ached, and her feet felt tight in her shoes. And then there was that ever-present anxiety, the unsettling feeling that she was being watched.
A jiggle of the front doorknob had Twitch jumping up. She grabbed the only weapon within reach, a small porcelain lamp, and yanked the plug from the wall. The door opened, and Maggie Bishop, Nathan’s aunt and the Bishop Security den mother, pulled her key from the deadbolt and poked her head inside.
Maggie gaped at Twitch’s attack posture. “I come in peace.”
Twitch blew out a breath and returned the lamp to the side table. “Hi, Maggie. Come on in.”
Arms full, Maggie backed into the living room holding a foil-covered dish, an enticing aroma followed. Over one wrist dangled a white gift bag stamped with the bassinet logo of a baby boutique Twitch had window-shopped daily.
At Twitch’s narrowed gaze, Maggie held up a hand cradling the serving dish in the nook of her elbow. She gave Twitch a quick up and down. “You may fool the boys, but any woman with half a brain can see that you’re pregnant.”
Twitch considered Maggie’s words, her mind going to Calliope—how the frustration of trying to conceive was wearing on her. Reading her thoughts, Maggie continued. “I imagine Calliope is more hurt that you’re not confiding in her than she is envious of your condition.”
Twitch nodded and bit at a hangnail.
“I remember when Emily realized she was pregnant with the twins.” Maggie set the dish she held on the coffee table and removed her coat. “I figured it out before she did. I told her what I told sweet Calliope and what I will tell you: babies come when they’re meant to come.”
Twitch sighed. “I know you’re right, Maggie, but I feel awful telling Calliope. ‘Like, hey, I know you’ve been trying to get pregnant for a while, but I had a one-night stand with my—” She paused mid-sentence, not knowing what to call Finn. He wasn’t her boyfriend; hell, he wasn’t even a friend friend. He wasn’t her lover. She settled on the one thing he absolutely was. “—a one-night stand with a man, and I’m knocked up.”
“If you’re happy, your friend will be happy for you.” Maggie patted her shoulder, crossed to the open kitchen, and set the dish on the island, chatting away as she fetched a bowl from the cupboard and a fork from the drawer. “My neighbor got pregnant at forty-nine. That was quite a shock, I can tell you. She has a grandchild older than her daughter. Anyway, she was sick for two months. Nothing worked. They had to hospitalize her for a week.”
Twitch’s mouth watered as she watched Maggie heap a large serving of cheesy pasta into the bowl.
“Have you ever seen those old cartoons, where a smell wafts into a character’s nose, and they float to the food?” Maggie tore a paper towel from the roll and folded it into a napkin.
Twitch laughed and shook her head.
“Well,” Maggie waved a hand in a no-matter gesture, “I’m sure you can imagine it. Anyway, that’s what happened with my friend. I was making this for Charlie for dinner when she appeared at the door. She hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks, and she devoured two bowls of this.”
Twitch stabbed at the corkscrew pasta with her fork. “I am happy, Maggie. About the baby.”
“And Finn?” Maggie asked. “I’m assuming he’s the father.”
“He’ll never be part of our lives. I’ve accepted that.”
“Still. He needs to know.” Maggie chided.
“I would never hide this from him, but the man’s a spy. If he doesn’t want to be found…” Twitch finished with a shrug.
Maggie gave Twitch’s knee a supportive squeeze.
Twitch took a bite of the meal and nearly slid off the couch. “Oh my God, Maggie, this is the best thing ever. What’s in this?”
Maggie sat back in the armchair and crossed her legs. “I pull the meat from crockpot short ribs and mix mozzarella and parm into the buttered noodles. There’s nothing to it, really.”
Twitch picked up the bowl and scooped food into her mouth. “I think I could eat the entire thing.”