Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I don’t have confirmation of that yet since I haven’t taken a test, but ever since Donovan helped me realize that there’s a possibility I may be pregnant, I’ve sensed that it’s true.
“I’ll name you Grace if you’re a girl,” I whisper into the darkened room. “If you’re a boy, I’ll name you…”
My voice trails as my gaze drops to the front of my denim dress. “Your dad will have some ideas for names I think.”
My baby’s dad.
Donovan Hunt.
The distant sound of a chime interrupts the silence that almost always inhabits my home. It’s the third time my phone has sounded a notification in the past few minutes.
Even though I want to stay in my baby’s future nursery with my thoughts, I know I can’t ignore my phone forever. I push up to my feet and sprint toward the sound.
I dropped my phone and my tote bag on the foyer table when I got home, so I’m not surprised when I round the corner and hear the phone chime yet again. I scoop it up just as there’s a loud knock at the door.
I ignore it in favor of a quick scroll through my recent text messages.
I pass by the flood of marketing ones to focus on one my brother sent less than thirty minutes ago.
Matthew: Hey, Delia! I’m headed over with the best spaghetti you’ve never had…yet. I’m on call at the clinic, so if I don’t show up, you’ll know why.
I respond by swinging open the door to my home to find my brother standing there dressed in blue scrubs.
“Did you get my message?” he asks as he brushes past me with a take-out bag in his hand. “I got spaghetti from Calvetti’s and a cheesecake for dessert.”
Panic shoots through me. I turn to look at my tote bag, but not one of the pregnancy tests is in view.
“You brought dinner,” I point out the obvious. “I already ate.”
“You have to try this,” he says even though I’ve had the spaghetti from Calvetti’s dozens of times.
The restaurant serves the best pasta the city has to offer.
“Before you ask, I can’t join you in glass of wine,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads toward my kitchen. “But you go ahead.”
“I can’t,” I blurt out because I have no intention of drinking if I’m pregnant.
He stops to face me. “Why not?”
“It would be cruel of me to indulge when you can’t.” That falls from my lips without any planning on my part.
He laughs. “Since when?”
“Since now,” I answer simply and add something to it I haven’t said to him nearly enough recently, “I love you, Matthew.”
His gaze searches my face as a slow smile creeps over his lips. “I love you too, Delia. I love you a lot.”
I hold back tears as I rush past him to get to the kitchen. “I’ll grab some plates.”
“I really surprised you by showing up here, didn’t I?” he asks from behind me. “It’s been too long since one of us surprised the hell out of the other.”
If those six pregnancy tests show the results I think they will, I’ll be the one surprising the hell out of him because I can’t keep the fact that I’m having a baby with his boss a secret forever.
CHAPTER FORTY
Donovan
My phone rings again for the third time since Delia left. The answering service won’t let up, but that’s not on the operator. It’s on Leroy’s owner.
I pick it up to glance at the screen. I’m surprised when I see Matt is calling. I answer immediately because chances are he’s calling to ask if I’ll take care of the Leroy situation.
“Hey, Matt,” I say as calmly as I can.
There’s a possibility he may be my child’s uncle. What started as a hell of a lot of fun on a cruise ship has turned into something more. Something that I’ve wanted for years, but haven’t had the courage to wish for until now.
“Donovan, my good man.” He chuckles.
I am a good man. I’ll be the man that Delia needs to me to be, and the man she deserves regardless if she’s pregnant or not.
“Let me guess,” I steer the conversation in the direction I want it to go. “You want me to take care of the Leroy situation.”
“Handled.” That one word takes a small slice of stress off my plate tonight.
“You handled it?”
“Finally.” He laughs louder. “I’ll see the old guy and his owner tomorrow morning at nine a.m. sharp. Don’t be surprised if he moves from your roster over to mine.”
“I can only hope.” I laugh, too, but it’s muted. “Did you call to give me that good news?”
“That and more.” The sound of traffic filters through the call.
“You’re on the move,” I note. “Are you on your way to the clinic? What’s happening?”
“I’m on my way to meet my fiancée.” His voice softens. “She’s been studying up a storm so I’m going to surprise her at the library with some flowers.”