A Moment for Us

by Corinne Michaels

  Chapter 18

  Joshua

  This feels too right.

  Too perfect.

  Too easy.

  And I’ve learned that there is nothing in life that stays that way.

  I brush her hair back as she lets out a deep snore. That shouldn’t make me smile, but it does. Moving in with her was a risk, but there was no way in hell I was going to let another woman be hurt if I could do something about it.

  I will protect Delia.

  I’ll do everything for her because, while I will never allow myself to love her, I won’t lose her either.

  She shifts a little, and I pull the blanket up higher. I should wake her and put her to bed, but I don’t. Instead, I pull her over a little so I can slide myself behind her, spooning her and holding her against my chest.

  I tell myself that I’m not going to stay like this, but then my hand moves around her and rests on her stomach.

  There’s a child in there—our child. Something that was made because of us, and I’m still unsure of how to process it. If there is any woman in the world I would want to have a child with, it’s her.

  Delia has always been my weakness.

  “You have no idea how much I hate that I’m not a better man,” I whisper to her, knowing she’s sound asleep and can’t hear me. “I would give anything to go back in time and change things so that I was a better man who could not be so damaged. I just can’t. I can’t risk it, and you, Jesus, you would be the end of me.” I may have lost someone I loved before, which was horrific and changed me irrevocably, but Delia is another stratosphere of feelings. “I worry just as much as you do,” I confess. “Touching you, holding you, being with you is so effortless that I know I’ll let my guard down.”

  She moves a little, sighing as she snuggles into my chest more. “Josh,” she says, but her eyes don’t flutter.

  “And I’m undeserving of the reverence in your voice.”

  Her breathing is soft, and as much as I want to stay like this, I am smart enough to know it would be a mistake. I’ve made a lot of them, and I won’t do anything else that will hurt her.

  I push myself up, kiss her lips, and climb over her carefully. Once I’m in front of her, I pull her into my arms and carry her to bed. She mumbles something as I put her down and then tuck her in.

  Using every ounce of restraint I have, I go into my room and stare at the ceiling, hating myself.

  There is no sleep for me. All night, I thought of all the thousands of tiny decisions that brought me to this point. So many mistakes. So many things I should’ve done differently. In the end, none of it matters. I’ve decided the only way to make this situation work is to find a way for our friendship to survive. I get out of bed and get to work on phase one of our new living arrangements—breakfast.

  The RV gave me zero chance to really cook. It was mostly heating up things and going to Jennie’s when I was done with cereal or instant oatmeal.

  Today, we’re having the works. Eggs, bacon, waffles, and hash browns. Of course, I already went out and got her coffee, which should make her slightly more agreeable.

  “What the—” Delia’s voice causes me to turn. “Oh, God, you’re one of those?”

  “One of what?”

  “People who like the morning and breakfast.”

  “Who doesn’t like breakfast?” I ask, wondering because everyone likes breakfast.

  “Umm, normal people.”

  “I think you have that backward,” I tell her and then return to making the waffles.

  “There’s bacon, hash browns, and eggs over there.”

  Delia makes a noise, and I twist in time to see her hand fly to cover her mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  She shudders and swallows a few times, getting only one word out. “Eggs.”

  “Yes, these are eggs,” I say, mid-egg crack.

  Her shoulders jerk a little and then she rushes from the room. “Crap,” I mutter and then rush after her.

  The bathroom door slams, and I hear her get sick. I didn’t think about morning sickness.

  I quickly clean up the kitchen, hiding any evidence of the eggs.

  After another minute, the sink runs and then she opens the door.

  Her coloring is pale, and she sighs deeply. “I can’t look at eggs.”

  “Noted.”

  “That was embarrassing.”

  “You’re pregnant, and I’m pretty sure food aversions are normal,” I tell her, hoping to ease her anxiety.

  She shrugs. “They are. I don’t like mornings, and I like food in the morning even less.”

  “Then what do you like?”

  “Coffee,” Delia answers without pause.

  I grin. “Well, that I have.”

  I lead her into the living room and away from the food or possible egg sightings before heading back into the kitchen to grab the coffee. She curls up against the arm of the couch, her legs beneath her as she sips from her cup.

  “Thank you,” Delia says as she seems to settle in.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Sorry about your failed breakfast.”

  “I’ll eat, don’t worry.”

  She laughs. “Well, I appreciate it. I only used to eat breakfast when I worked nights because it was more like dinner.”

  “I see.”

  “I usually wake up with just enough time to get in the shower and get to work. So, yeah, mornings aren’t my thing.”

  “Maybe you haven’t had a reason to wake up before . . .”

  “Oh, and are you that reason now?” she asks with her brow raised.

  I lean in a little, unable to resist the allure of Delia. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe is an elusive answer.”

  I want to tell her the words she desires. To promise her that I could be more, give her more, but broken promises are all I can guarantee.

  I go to open my mouth, when a knock on the door breaks the spell.

  She blinks and then looks toward the front. “Who the hell?”

  I shrug. “There’s one way to find out . . .” I get up, going to the door. When I open it, a cake is thrust toward me.

  “Oh, it’s true!” A four-foot-eleven inches Mrs. Garner says. “I told you, Marivett! I said I heard that Joshua Parkerson moved in right next door, and you didn’t believe me. But look, he’s right here.”

  Mrs. Villafane, who stands a whole foot taller than her friend, smiles. “I heard you, Kristy, but I wasn’t going to just take your word.”

  “Because I’m ever wrong?”

  “Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” she says with exasperation.

  “Well, I was right this time. Look at you, you’re all grown up and so big and strong. Isn’t he big and strong, Delia?” Mrs. Garner asks, looking over my shoulder.

  “Yes, he sure is,” Delia replies with a laugh.

  God help me. Mrs. Garner and Mrs. Villafane are complete opposites in every way. From their personalities to their looks and the sounds of their voices. Mrs. Villafane is tall, skinny, and has darker features. Her voice is raspier, and her sarcasm can never be missed. And Mrs. Garner is tiny with a light complexion and an almost musical voice.

  The two of them push their way into the house, and I honestly have no idea how it happened. “Come on in,” I say even though they are already in the living room.

  Mrs. Garner laughs softly. “That’s so sweet of you. So, are you two a couple now? Bill says that you’ve been together quite a bit lately. I’m just taking a guess since you moved in here that there’s something he’s right about.”

  “Oh, please, Kristy,” Mrs. Villafane breaks in. “We know better than to listen to that old goat.” She turns to me. “But are you?”

  “Uhh.”

  She continues. “I’d like to relay the correct information. Straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

  I turn to Delia, hoping she’ll offer some help, but she just grins. “We’re friends,” I offer an explanation that r
eally doesn’t give any information.

  “And what kind of friends exactly? See, I was best friends with my husband.”

  “Before he became best friends with her neighbor,” Mrs. Garner adds.

  Mrs. Villafane slaps her arm. “You hush. Joshua would never do that to our Delia.”

  “No, of course not. He’s nothing like his philandering father. We were so sorry to hear about your parents, but you see, we know that you’re not like Mitchell. He always had wandering hands, but you boys, you’re all good men.” Mrs. Garner nods like the words are gospel.

  I’m not sure what part of that to respond to. “Thanks, I think—”

  “You’re welcome, honey. Now, tell us. Are you a couple?”

  “We’re friends,” I repeat, and I hear Delia snort. I turn to her, eyes wide, pleading for help, but she just shakes her head and shrugs.

  The two older ladies share a look and then turn to me. “That tells me a lot.”

  “Me too,” Delia agrees and then sips her coffee.

  “So, you don’t know what you are either?” Mrs. Garner asks Delia.

  “Oh, no, we’re friends.”

  Mrs. Villafane turns to me. “We’ll just have to spend some time here today and help you guys figure it out. We’re very good at problem solving. You know, just the other day, we were at Jennie’s, and that Christopher Palmer boy was struggling with what to do about his feelings for Myra Prince. You know her?” I blink a few times, having no clue who she’s talking about. “Anyway, he likes her and . . . are you listening, Joshua?”

  “Of course.”

  Her lips purse. “Well, as I was saying we helped him out. Took a whole two hours to get him to finally see what we said in the beginning was right.”

  Delia grins. “That is so wonderful of you both. I’m sure that Christopher was so appreciative of that advice. And as much as I would just love to sit and chat with you, I have an appointment, and you’d just be doing me the biggest favor if you could help Josh out today.”

  “Help?” they both question in unison.

  “Yes, help?” I ask.

  Delia nods. “I was going to sit with him and talk about all the things that have been going on around here, you know, with the possible break-ins just down the road, but I have to go. Since you both are so knowledgeable about the situation, I was hoping you could help eat this beautiful breakfast that Joshua made and fill him in,” Delia says, her voice rising with excitement. I’m in so much fucking trouble. “Come to think of it, he would probably love to listen to the scanner and learn all the gossip so he can protect us a bit better. Joshua is all about the protecting, and of course, if you happen to give him some advice, he could probably use that too,” she adds on conspiratorially.

  Oh, she’s going to pay for this. So much.

  “That’s not really necessary,” I say, not wanting to offend the two older women. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  Mrs. Garner rests her hand on my arm. “Nonsense. Delia is right, we should get you back into the thick of things, right, Marivett?”

  “Oh, definitely. You’ve been away for a long time.”

  “I’m sure nothing has changed,” I try to deflect.

  “So much has!” Mrs. Garner says.

  Delia creeps back toward the front door, and I give her a look that says we will be talking about her fictitious appointment at great length when she returns. Hopefully, by then, I haven’t thrown myself off the cliff.

  I clear my throat. “Delia, I think your appointment was cancelled.”

  She shakes her head. “Nope, it wasn’t. I just got the reminder text. I have to get going or I’ll be late.”

  Mrs. Villafane waves her hand. “You go on, darling, we’ll handle this.”

  The smile on Delia’s lips is all mischief. “Deals . . .”

  She clutches her hands to her chest. “I’m so, so sorry I can’t stick around, but I appreciate you ladies helping our protector out here. He was extremely worried when he heard about the uptick in crime. So much so that he wanted to live here to make sure all of us were safe. He’s the best friend anyone can ask for.” I purse my lips and glare at her, but she doesn’t seem phased. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Bye!”

  They wave to her as she exits—still wearing her freaking pajamas. When I finally drag my eyes from the closed door, both women’s smiles tell me this is going to be a very, very long day.

  Chapter 19

  Delia

  “I don’t know whether to laugh or slap you upside your head,” Ronyelle says as we’re walking out to my car.

  It seems that Mrs. Garner and Villafane have spread the gossip far and wide that the eldest Parkerson is living with me.

  “I vote for laughing.”

  “You would.”

  I sigh deeply. “It honestly wasn’t a choice. Things are really complicated, and . . . not that this uncomplicates anything, but it will at least give us a few months to get things right.”

  “What the hell do you need a few months . . .” Her brown eyes go wide. “No! No! Delia!”

  I hush her, pulling her to the back of the parking lot. “Will you keep it down!”

  “You’re pregnant,” she whispers, but she might as well have yelled.

  “Yes.”

  “I have no words, and I always have words. Lots of words. Words that come out in run-on sentences that no one wants to hear, but you—” She points her finger toward me. “You have rendered me speechless.”

  I would like to point out that her little tirade was filled with words, but I know better than to launch her into another tangent.

  “I’m not full of words myself.”

  “Did you never hear of a condom? Or birth control? I swear, this town and the girls who find themselves pregnant . . . it’s like no one paid attention in sex ed.”

  I let out a soft giggle. “It failed.”

  “The class? Yeah. I see that.”

  I huff. “No, the birth control and the condom. Trust me, we used both, and I’m here, a full-on statistic.”

  She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “So, what are you going to do? Other than let your baby daddy live with you.”

  “Can we never call him that again?”

  She raises her dark brows. “What would you prefer? Stud? Stallion? Meat man?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Well . . .”

  “I don’t know what we’re doing other than having a baby. The appointment for my ultrasound is tomorrow, and then we’ll go from there. We haven’t told anyone, so please keep this quiet.”

  “You know I don’t gossip.”

  I nod. I think her iron clad rules about confidence and ethics is what makes her one of the best bosses at the factory.

  “Stella is the only other person who knows.”

  Ronyelle leans against the car. “I don’t know how you got yourself into this mess, but I can’t say I’m shocked. You and Josh were bound to find a way to entangle yourselves together.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  She laughs once. “No? What do you call it? You’re now tied to this man for the rest of your damn life. Birthdays? He’ll be there. Christmas? Every year, sweetheart. That man may not want a family, but he’s been bred to love the one he has. He will never turn that child away, and he’ll want to be involved. Whatever man you decide to date, he’ll be dating Joshua Parkerson too.”

  “Thanks for that stunning forecast of my life.”

  “You’re welcome. On a serious note, are you okay?”

  “I am,” I assure her. “He took it really well, which was good. I thought he was going to freak out, but . . .”

  “He may not want what he’s about to get, but Josh has never run from responsibility.”

  “No,” I agree. “I still wish it wasn’t this way.”

  She sighs deeply, her head shaking at the same time. “Wishes are for fools.”

  I know that’s true because I’m most definitely a fool considering h
ow many times I wished for Josh.

  “And I’m the biggest one.”

  She raises one brow. “You’re something, my friend. Still, you know that whatever you need, we’re all here for you.”

  “I appreciate that. I think it’ll be okay. We’ve decided to go back to just being friends, so no more sex or kissing or cuddling.”

  Ronyelle’s head jerks back. “Because you want to, what? Avoid pregnancy.”

  “Heartache,” I reply immediately.

  “I warned you about that after the first time.”

  She did, but I didn’t listen. “I’m being smarter now.”

  “And you think that you’re going to resist Mr. Sexy, who you can’t seem to resist touching you, while he’s living with you? Please. You’re going to cave, and we both know it.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m being smart so that I don’t end up hating him at the end of this.”

  Her arms cross over her chest, and she just looks at me. “I have my popcorn and the I-told-you-so poster ready.”

  “And I have mine because I’m not going there.”

  She nods with a grin. “We’ll see.”

  “We will, and you’ll eat your words.”

  My leg won’t stop bouncing.

  Around me, there are various women in different stages of their pregnancy. One is about to pop, her hands resting on her swollen belly, the other is maybe a few months along, just having the slightest bulge, and then there’s the new mom, who looks . . . tired.

  Josh grabs my hand, lacing his fingers with mine and placing it on my knee.

  I turn to him, giving him a soft smile. “Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

  “That she’ll tell us you’re pregnant?”

  “Yes,” I say with a laugh. “It’s just going to be weird. She said we’ll hear the heartbeat and get the exact due date this time.”

  “It’ll be fine, Delia,” Josh reassures me.

  I don’t know that it will be. Everything feels so up in the air and confusing. I’m pregnant, and instead of Josh flipping his lid and calling me a whore, he’s been really great. Other than the whole moving in with me thing, that is.