by Wendy Owens
“What?” He’s shocked. “No, this changes everything. This kid needs both of us.”
“And you’re welcome to visitations,” I repeat, remaining strong.
“Marry me,” he blurts out, and I feel sick.
“No! I’m not going to marry you.”
“Doesn’t this baby deserve a family?”
“Yeah, I’m her family.”
“Her?”
“I don’t know what it is. I just don’t like saying it.”
“I bet it’s a boy,” he exclaims.
“Stop it, Jack. You don’t get to be a part of this.”
“A part of my kid’s life?”
“Your child isn’t born yet; this part is my life. I don’t want to share it with you. I can call you when she’s born.”
“Anna!” His eyes grow wide. “You can’t just make all these decisions.”
“I can, and I have,” I confirm, my heart racing.
His nostrils flare, and he grabs my arm and pulls me close. “Do you know who my family is? We could take your baby if we wanted. I don’t want to do that to you, though; can’t you see that?”
I pull away sharply and scream, “Don’t touch me.” The sudden attention from passers-by has Jack backing down. I turn to walk away, to be as far away from him as I can be in this moment.
“We’re not done, Anna. Not even close!” he shouts after me. I don’t turn my head. I walk straight for the train and to Kenzie’s parents’ place.
I shove the clothes haphazardly into my bag, searching for my favorite pair of maternity jeans. Kenzie is rambling, but I’m not listening. All I can hear are Jack’s words repeating in my mind. ’Do you know who my family is? We could take your baby if we wanted.’ I check the washing machine and groan. The jeans are there. I shove them into the dryer, returning to Kezie’s room to pack the last of my belongings.
She grabs my wrists and jolts me to a harsh stop.
“You have to talk to me,” she demands.
I stop, take a deep breath, and hold her hands tightly in mine. I try to explain the situation again with a little more clarity. “Jack was the buyer on the condo.”
“Okay, and why does that mean you have to leave again?”
“He knows about the baby. He said he’s going to take her from me.” My voice cracks.
“Wait, he can’t just do that.”
“Kenz, he’s a lawyer, his family’s rich, and I barely have anything left. I can’t fight them.”
“You can’t just leave.” There is a pain in her eyes, and I know it’s the sting of abandonment.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “You’re right. We can’t let him do this. I’ll take you to the airport.”
“Are you serious?”
“I miss you, and I want you home, but I love you. If he took this baby, I know it would kill you.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“I know. Are you going to Greece?”
“Yeah—oh shit,” I say, collapsing onto the bed. My head fills with despair.
“What’s wrong?”
I feel my heart drop down to the floor in an instant. “I told him about Greece. He’ll find us.”
Kenzie doesn’t hesitate in her response, “Does he know about Holden?”
I look up at her.
“I—I can’t ...”
“Does he know about him?” she asks again.
I shake my head.
“You can’t do this alone. You need friends. Holden cares about you.”
“He has to hate me after what I did,” I argue.
“Are you kidding me? You’re writing a book about him. There is no way that guy could hate you.”
“Wait, The Luckiest isn’t about him,” I insist.
“Sure it’s not. Now let’s get your ticket booked,” Kenzie replies, pulling out her iPhone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I have two weeks left to fly before airlines ground me. If Holden turns me away, I’ll be forced to travel home and have the baby in Chicago or in Florida with my parents. Jack will easily be able to find me in either place. The entire flight I’ve found myself asking what next? Even if Holden is willing to take me in until the baby is born, I can’t stay in England forever. I’m not a citizen. I’ll have to go home, and when I do, Jack will be waiting, even more furious than now.
I begin to recognize the countryside. A familiar tree where I had taken refuge in a storm, a field where Holden and I enjoyed a festival. “It’s right up here on the left,” I alert the cab driver who doesn’t seem to be slowing down.
He brakes and takes a sharp turn onto the gravel road. Fall is shifting into winter, and I notice how much has changed. Until we pull up in front of The Three Horseshoes. Except for the window boxes, it looks exactly the same. The flowers that had once overflowed from them are now withered and faded away.
I hand the money to the driver who leaps from his seat to retrieve my bags. When I reach for the door handle I see him. Holden is standing there, looking at me. He doesn’t move. I don’t move. We’re trapped in this moment.
Once I open this door, everything is going to change. He’s going to know my secret. And there is a good chance he will turn his back on me and walk away. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My ears pop as I swallow, and I exit the vehicle, my tummy poking out between the flaps of my coat. I stand and stare at him.
The cab driver carries my bags and sets them next to Holden, but neither of us moves. Still just standing and staring. The nice gentleman says his farewells, and I take a slight step forward as the car pulls away. We’re alone.
I lift my shoulders and, in a trembling voice, say, “I got a little lost.” I wince as a sharp breeze cuts through me. This causes Holden to move at last. He approaches and without a word, places an arm around me, ushering me into the inn, leaving my bags in the parking lot.
Abner sees me, his mouth falls open, and I think it might be the first time the man has been left speechless. “Can you get her bags?” Holden instructs.
He doesn’t pause; he moves me straight into the kitchen where Bea is busy kneading a lump of dough. “We need the kitchen, Bea.” His voice is direct. She looks at me before exiting. I’m so ashamed, I want to curl up and hide from her prying eyes. Her justified glare of contempt. I’d done to Holden exactly what I promised her I wouldn’t.
We’re alone. I want to say so many things, to beg for his forgiveness, but I remain silent. “What are you doing here, Belle?” he asks at last.
My nickname. I want to collapse into his strong arms and weep. To be vulnerable with him. “You said I could use a room to write if I wanted.”
“You know what I mean,” he presses. It’s clear he isn’t going to let me off that easily. “You left me a note for Christ’s sake.”
“I couldn’t tell you—not to your face.” Any explanation seems to fall short in the moment.
“Do you think I’m a monster? That I’d somehow hate you for ...” He hangs his head. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“I can leave if you want,” I offer, then hold my breath as I wait for his response.
“I didn’t want you to leave in the first place.” His voice cracks, but he still doesn’t look at me.
“What was I supposed to do?”
He lifts his eyes to mine now. “Talk to me,” he says, frustrated.
“I’d only known you for six weeks, Holden. I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t.”
“Then why come back?” His question is so pointed it cuts.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
He begins to pace, his hands behind his back. “Where have you been?”
“I went to Greece, and I rented a room. I started writing and then—”
He stops, moves in closer. “You’re writing?”
I nod. “I’m almost done with one book and started working on a second. It’s slow ... I’m writing on paper, but I’m writing
.”
I can see he wants to say something, then decides not to.
“What about the father?”
“That’s why I’m here. I went home and, when he found out, he threatened to take the baby from me. This is the only place he can’t find me.” I can only be honest and place myself at his mercy.
“So you’re using me to hide?” There is no anger in his voice; he is more hurt than anything.
“Yes.” I’m almost whispering now.
He reaches out, and his hand touches the flesh of my arm for a brief second before he drops it back to his side. “The room is yours as long as you need.”
“Wait, that’s not all. Do you know anyone who is hiring?” He stares at me, but doesn’t answer.
Nervously, I begin to ramble. “I’ve gone through most of my cash, and I didn’t clear as much on the condo as I thought I would, and I need to—”
“You can work here.”
“What? No, that’s not what I meant. I—”
“I always hire seasonal help in the winter. It’s a high tourist time for us. You can help Bea with whatever she needs. She can go over how it all works.” He turns to walk away. I want to throw my arms around him. He could have sent me away—made me grovel.
“Holden,” I yelp before he is gone. He whirls around to face me. I take a deep breath and say, “Thank you.”
He nods and leaves me standing there, alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tucking the blanket under the corner of the mattress, I stand to marvel at my handiwork. With Holden in one room and me in the other, this still leaves two rooms for guests. I can understand why Holden needed an extra hand during this season. Since the night I arrived the extra rooms have been booked.
Bea has been an incredible teacher. I love to cook, but most other domestic chores don’t come natural to me. I hate doing laundry; so much in fact, I tend to re-wear clothes multiple times rather than deal with it. Dirty dishes left in the sink was a regular fight when Jack and I were together. And rather than clean our bathroom, I had the incredibly sweet woman who lived below us give it a tidy once a week for a small fee.
Yet here I am. In only a week I’ve become an expert. A true domestic goddess. Unfortunately it takes me ten times longer than Bea. She loves taking every opportunity to remind me of this. When I suggested I take on kitchen duties, she laughed and explained that guests expect to get their food fast and warm. I’m determined to win her over once again.
“When you’re done with this, can you make a post run for me?” Holden asks, standing in the open doorway.
I jump, wondering how long he’s been standing there. I’ve been back for a week, and this is about the extent of our relationship. I hear the scraping of his shoes as he’s turning, already starting to walk away from me before I can even answer. The awkwardness is suffocating.
“Yeah, I can go,” I say, as the top stair creaks from his weight. “Wait, Holden,” I gasp. I can’t continue to let things be broken between us. I think of Marissa’s words. I need to believe I’m powerful enough to push for the good things in my life and close off the things that can hurt me.
“Do you need something?” he asks, leaning his head in through the door.
“Do you have minute?”
“For what?” “Can you come in and talk to me?” I ask, motioning toward the open room with a hand.
“Uh ...” he hesitates. “I should probably get back. It’s pretty busy down there.”
“Please, it won’t take long,” I plead. He steps into the room, glances over his shoulder, and presses the door closed behind him. He looks uncomfortable. I make him uncomfortable. Do I make him uncomfortable because he hates me or because he still loves me? I tell myself to quit thinking about these thoughts. I need to focus on making this right between us.
“I’m sorry,” I decide to lead with another apology. “There’s nothing to—”
“Don’t. Let me say what I have to say.”
“Fine,” he concedes.
“What I did was wrong. I was scared. You are this amazing guy, and I was starting to believe that somehow, out of the most messed up situation in my life, I’d stumbled upon my soul mate.” I bite my lip. I can’t believe I just said that. Don’t let him think about what you said; just say something else. “I was confused, and scared, and hurting. I didn’t want to hurt you, too. I thought leaving was the best for everyone.”
“I’m not angry,” he says, trying to avoid eye contact.
“Well, you’re something.” I huff.
“I’m trying. That’s what I am. I wake up Belle, and I try. It’s what I’ve been doing since you left. I’m not sure what you want from me.”
“What do you mean? You try?”
“You made me feel again, and when that was gone, I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to chase you down, but I had no clue where you’d gone. And now, you’re just back. I have to try not to kiss you. I have to try with everything in me to respect your wishes and not pull you into my arms and never let you go. Damn it, Belle, I don’t want your apologies ... I want you.”
This isn’t happening. He can’t possibly be saying these words to me. I wanted to fix our friendship, not reopen old wounds.
“I’ll hurt you,” I insist, stumbling back, leaning against the desk, his words making me tremble.
“I’m already hurting. Why can’t you just let me love you?” Holden rushes forward. He’s breathing heavy, as his hand slips behind my neck and tilts back my head. Our lips press together. I close my eyes, and release myself into the moment. It takes everything in me, but I place my hands squarely on his chest and push him away.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m pregnant.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can kinda see that.”
I’m shaking my head, because I want so badly to kiss him. Every fiber of my being wants to kiss him. But we’re weak with one another. If I let this happen, we’ll make decisions with our hearts rather than our heads. How much will he resent me when he looks into my child’s eyes and sees Jack? I hear my heart beating. I think I can hear his beating as well. In unison. We want the same thing. Each other. I don’t have the courage to take that risk. Not with Holden’s future, and not with my unborn child’s.
He licks his lips, looking into my eyes. God I wish he would look away. Look anywhere but directly into my soul. But he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and grips my hands. I don’t pull away. Why don’t I pull away?
“I should leave—go back to the States.” My words are barely audible.
“That’s the last thing you should do.” He sounds so confident, so strong. The new, powerful me wants to relinquish control of all my decisions, but I can’t. I try to stare at my feet, but he won’t let me. He uses a single finger to lift my chin, shifting my gaze to his. “I’ll wait.”
I shake my head, confusion washing over me. “Wait for what?”
“For you. I’ll wait for you to be ready.”
“I might never be,” I answer with the truth.
“Then I guess I’ll be waiting for a long time,” he says, then presses his lips to my forehead, turns to open the door, and walks out of the room. I crumple to the floor, resting on my knees, warmth surrounding me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Watching Bea in the kitchen is like watching a ninja silently and gracefully on a mission. She shifts with confidence and ease, a dance unfolding before my eyes. A dash of spice in a sizzling pan, a brief check on the shepherd’s pie that is baking in the oven, before swirling around to drop a batch of fish and chips into the deep fryer.
“Do you think you have it?” she asks without shifting her focus.
It’s been a week since Holden and I were alone in that bedroom. Since he kissed me. Since he told me he’d wait. We haven’t spoken of it again, but he’s laughing at my jokes once more. Occasionally, I catch him watching me. Though I know he wants more from me than I can give, it’s calming to feel like I have our friendship back.
&n
bsp; Bea wants me as far away from the kitchen as possible, which, of course, means that’s the only job I want. It’s only taken me dropping the hint to Holden a few times for him to tell Bea to give me a chance at the dinner rush. I’ve been excited, but now, watching the action of it all, I’m beginning to question the desire to own this task.
I nod, but I’m not sure I have it at all.
“Tickets are hung in the window here,” Bea continues, pointing to the row of clips. “When an order is up, place it in the window and ring this bell. Got it?”
“Got it,” I reply, glancing around at all the stations one last time.
“Perfect, I’ll leave you to it then.” At that, she walks toward the door.
“Wait!” I panic. “Where are you going?”
“You wanted kitchen duty, you’ve got,” Bea chimes, almost laughing.
My heartbeat quickens. I can hear it in my ears. The adrenaline is pumping, and I’m ready to prove myself. I hear a beeping. What is that beeping? It’s such an annoying sound; I clench my fists, frantically searching for the source. I see a light on a machine to my left. Rushing over, I realize it’s the timer on the fish and chips. I’m pulling them from the fryer and dumping them into draining pan, when I hear a shout from the window, and a new ticket appears. I’ll get it in a minute, I decide, plating the tourist special.
I place it in the window and grab the next ticket. I recognize Bea’s scribbles: baked chicken and a vegetarian special. Running to the fridge, I pull out the ingredients I need and immediately begin chopping. I search for a pan and, once it’s located, I begin heating the oil. She thought this would get the better of me, but it’s clear I can handle anything she—
“Oh hell!” I exclaim, a cloud of smoke enveloping me.
A burnt char smell entangles itself around me. Dropping the chopped veggies into the oil, I throw open the door to the oven, a blackness swallowing me. My eyes are burning, and I can’t see a thing. Without thinking, I reach in to grab what used to be shepherd’s pie. I immediately regret this as soon as I realize I do not have a barrier between the dish and my hand.
