Using every ounce of my willpower, I held in a gasp. I leveled a hard gaze on him, though my insides trembled as panic tore through me. But my thoughts caught on one word and I seized my chance for deflection. “So where is she now—your ex?”

He blinked at me. “In Kitchener, I suppose. Why?”

“You suppose—?”

Brooke’s voice from behind cut me off. “Carly, are you okay?”

I spun around, trying for a casual air as she observed me with a furrowed brow.

“Ian said you looked nauseous. I was worried,” she added.

I shook my head briskly. “I’m fine now.”

Her gaze shifted between Mitch and me, as she took in the strain that must have been evident in both our faces. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to go back to the party.” I mustered a smile and pivoted away from Mitch.

“We’re not done,” he said quietly at my shoulder as I headed back to the living room behind Brooke.

“We are done,” I replied through gritted teeth, hanging back so she wouldn’t hear me. “Just leave me alone tonight. We can talk in a couple of days.”

---

I slipped away from the party a short time later and headed back to Mom’s. Her car wasn’t in the driveway and only a single lamp glowed in the living room window. Relieved to be alone, I tramped up the stairs to the guest room that used to be my bedroom, where I tumbled onto the bed, overcome with exhaustion, my coat unbuttoned and my purse still looped over my shoulder. For several minutes I stared into the dark corner where Mom kept her sewing machine, letting the evening’s events tumble and sift through my thoughts.

Mitch had some nerve making presumptions. Even if he was right. The man was both astute and amazingly dense. If my condition was so obvious to him, why couldn’t he figure out that I’d caught on to his lies? I couldn’t relax; my body vibrated with pent-up frustration, anger, hurt...and longing for something that seemed within my reach but remained just beyond my grasp.

Heating up in my warm winter coat, eventually I sat up and shrugged it off my shoulders. Suddenly I remembered the gift Ava had given me, and cringed, fearing I might have broken it when my purse hit the bed. I opened my purse and pulled out the heavy object, shaking it carefully. Nothing inside the wrapping shifted—a good sign. Though I’d promised her I wouldn’t open it until morning, I decided to take a peek and make sure.

Pulling at the tape, I gingerly tore the wrapping open. Inside I found a little clay snowman, fragile but still thankfully intact. A smile rose to my lips as I studied its twig arms, pipe cleaner scarf, and big crooked grin carved into the face. As crude and lumpy as the candy dish, yet utterly adorable.

My conversation with Mitch the night before Thanksgiving drifted into my thoughts.

…things I knew as a kid but forgot. Like those little moments of pure joy that can be found in the simplest things.

Simple things like making a gift for your parents with your own hands, your imagination guiding you. I remembered how I’d felt making those ornaments for my mother—proud and so excited to see her reaction. Someday I’d have my own collection of handmade gifts like those, and like this one sitting in my hand. Gifts made by my very own child.

My child.

Something new stirred in my heart, stopping my breath for a moment. I smoothed my hand over my flat abdomen, allowing myself a glimmer of optimism. Motherhood wouldn’t be easy for me, but these little moments would bring joy to my life that I’d never known, and could only now imagine. I might be a terribly flawed parent. But I would love this baby as deeply as my mother, or Faith or Mari or anyone had ever loved her own.

The clack of the door downstairs alerted me that Mom was home. I was moving to stand up when my phone chimed. I took it from my purse and checked the screen before answering the call.

“Hi, Brooke.”

“Carly, I’m glad you answered. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Her tone turned tentative. “It’s just that I sensed some tension between you and Mitch. I thought there had to be more to it than what happened when you were teenagers. If you don’t want me butting in, just—“

“Brooke, I slept with him the night before Thanksgiving,” I blurted. Relief washed through me and I dragged in a long breath. “Then I found out he’s married.”

A gasp reached my ear, before a short pause. “Mitch was married. He’s divorced.”

“Not according to his grandmother.” I flopped back miserably onto the bed, making the mattress squeal and rock, all the warm feelings of the previous minutes draining from me.

“Who told you that?”

“Some old lady at your bakery. A friend of his grandmother.”

Brooke made a derisive noise. “Betty Abercrombie, I’m guessing.”

“I didn’t catch her name.”

“She moved here from Helmsburg about six years ago and wasted no time becoming Eastport’s resident busybody. But she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Carly, listen to me. I had a long conversation with Mitch’s mother when she came into the bakery last month. She told me Mitch has been divorced for over a year. She went on about how she wishes he’d meet someone new.”

I rolled onto my side, my heart stuttering. “But there was a birthday card…signed by both of them,” I mumbled.

“You were talking to him in my hallway tonight. Didn’t he explain?”

“I didn’t give him the chance.”

“Carly!” my mother bellowed from downstairs.

I sat up abruptly.

“Was this something more than a one-night fling?” Brooke asked. “You sound so hurt.”

“It was something more. I thought…”

“Carly, come down please!” my mother called again, her voice rising.

“My mom wants me. Brooke, thank you for calling. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Ending the call, I climbed off the bed and straightened my clothes. I headed downstairs with everything Brooke had told me whirling through my mind. Mom stood waiting for me at the staircase landing, her hand on the newel post.

I stopped on the third last step, my breath catching.

Mitch stood at the front door, his eyes trained on me.

I couldn’t speak around my heart pulsing in my throat.

Mom’s gaze darted between us. “Mitch, please come in. I was about to make tea. Would you like a cup?”

“No thank you, Mrs. Nolan. I won’t stay long. I just need to have a word with Carly.”

“Sure. I’ll just…get the kettle on for me and Carly,” she said, before retreating to the kitchen.

I descended the last two steps slowly, gripping the handrail, my heart yearning to Mitch, but resisting every instinct to throw myself against him.

Instead I took his hand and drew him into the living room.

Turning to him, I drew a quick breath. “Mitch, tell me the truth. Are you still married?”

A deep frown creased his forehead. “No, I’m not. Is that what you thought? Why?”

“Betty Abercrombie told me you were.”

Mitch stared at me with a baffled expression.

“Your grandmother showed her some birthday card from you and Tanya,” I explained. “She seemed so certain about it.”

“Ah.” His face softened as understanding trickled in. He gripped my fingers tighter and urged me toward the couch. “Let’s sit down. I need to explain something.”

Settling beside him, I waited for him to speak, my stomach a mess of knots. Mitch unzipped his coat and slid it off. He paused, exhaled, and scrubbed a hand down his cheek.

“This is my fault,” he began. “Nan was very sick. Her kidneys were shutting down. A year ago the doctors gave her a few months to live but she hung on until just three weeks ago when she passed away.”

“But your family spent Thanksgiving at your grandmother’s house,” I said, confused. “She was deathly ill?”

“That’s my other grandmother—my mom’s mother, Elsie Fitzpatrick. Nan—

Rose Logan—was my dad’s mother. I just didn’t have the heart to tell her Tanya and I divorced. She was very old-fashioned and I knew she’d be crushed. And what would be the point? So I sent her a card and signed both our names on it. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

He rested his gaze on mine, waiting. I needed that moment to let the reality I’d come to accept shift, first in my mind and then in my heart. Brooke had been right, and I’d been horribly wrong. My vision blurred as my eyes filled with tears.

I threw my arms around him, shaking, letting the tears spill down my cheeks and wet his sweater. He held me against him while I composed myself.

“I’m so sorry,” I choked out. “I should have asked you about it instead of running away. But I have a bad habit of fleeing from feelings I can’t deal with. And the feelings I had for you, after just one night, were so strong that I suppose I was terrified.”

Mitch stroked my hair with a gentle caress, while he dropped several soft kisses on my forehead. “I can’t blame you for not trusting me, considering our history.”

I sat back and dragged the back of my hand across the moisture on my cheeks. “It’s not really about you, Mitch. It’s about me sabotaging myself the way I always do. I was ready to believe you were a creep because it gave me an excuse to end things myself before you ended up hurting me.”

He shook his head, frowning. “I would never hurt you again, Carly. How can I prove that to you?”

“You can’t. But you don’t have to. I do trust you. And I have to be honest now.” I blew out a shuddery sigh. “You were right, Mitch. I am pregnant. With your child.”