Wilma calls me into her office as I’m shutting down my computer and sorting through some mail.
“Don’t do it, Olive. It’s a trap,” Ken hisses at me from his office.
I smile in his direction and scoot back my chair to stand before making my way to Wilma’s door. As I knock, I hear Ken whisper-shout, “Abort mission! I repeat abort mission!”
“You know I can hear you, yes?” Wilma says with a curl of her lip.
I cover my mouth with a hand, trying to keep from outright laughing.
“Of course, dear wife. Being the devil’s minion and all, I’m quite aware of the fact that you can hear everything.”
She hums. “Remember that next time you think I’m asleep and you whip your you-know-what and phone out.”
Holy shit. TMI. I can’t help it, though. The laughter escapes, which has Wilma smiling at me before narrowing that intense gaze on my face.
“Shut the door, dear. And sit down.”
Uh, okay. Maybe Ken was onto something this time. In all the years I’ve been working for them, I don’t think she’s ever requested such a thing. Am I getting fired? Maybe they’re actually getting a divorce, and I’m about to get the boot. Despite the nerves setting my gut on fire, I do as she says and take a seat on the plush leather armchair opposite her mahogany wood desk. But what she says next has my gut burning for a whole different reason.
She shuffles some papers on her desk “Were you going to tell me about Zeke?”
I sit stunned for a minute before clearing my throat. “I, ah. Yes. What about him exactly?” I fidget with my hands in my lap as my face starts to flame.
“Well, about the breakup, of course. Word has it he’s been staying at Beau’s apartment after you two apparently had a nasty split.” She finishes with a raised brow in my direction. Papers now long forgotten.
Shit.
Small towns and their fucking gossip mills.
Trying to rustle up some confidence with the mantra—I have nothing to be ashamed of—on repeat in my head, I meet her gaze and just simply nod.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard old Herbie Rutherford dishing out the details to anyone within a hundred-foot radius in the checkout line yesterday afternoon. A bunch of gossiping misfits, the lot of them. But never mind. Why didn’t you tell me? And more importantly, what the hell happened?” She leans forward on her elbows, waiting for a response. Okay. I thought I had more time. But with the three-month checkup now been and gone, I’m really just procrastinating. My favorite game to play lately.
I take a deep breath. “It’s true. We broke up, and um, well … it’s because I’m pregnant. We, of course, didn’t plan for this to happen. He’s always been clear about not wanting children, so I guess he couldn’t deal and has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want any part of it.” I try to catch a breath after spewing that out as fast as humanly possible then try not to cringe while I await Wilma’s response.
“Pregnant? He left you because you’re fucking pregnant?” she practically screeches.
Oh, shit. Bickering Wilma is one thing. Angry Wilma is a whole other demon that I, fortunately, have only witnessed on very rare occasions.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. That boy loves you like you hung the moon. All dopey-eyed and whatnot whenever he looks at you.”
I don’t bother answering. I wouldn’t lie about this. And she knows it if the shake of her head and deep sigh are any indication.
“What a fucking coward,” she almost shouts before catching herself. “You poor thing. Jesus, how far along are you?”
Thankful for the subject shift away from Zeke, I answer with, “About four months.”
She rubs her temples for a moment. “Your grandmother would’ve tracked him down and strung him up in the town square by the balls. Unbelievable.” And back we go again.
I laugh at that, though, because Grandma Rose would’ve done exactly that. Or grabbed Grandpa’s old megaphone and organized a town riot in my honor. I miss her every day. But never more than these past few months.
“I tried to talk to him, Wilma. I really did. But he’s shut me down every time. It’s like this pregnancy has turned him into a different person. Someone I don’t even recognize.”
She eyes me with what I suspect is pity, which I really don’t want. “I’m okay. It’s been …” I swallow. “It’s been a bit rough at times, but Millie’s been great. I’m done trying to make sense of it. Right now, I just want to focus on getting through this pregnancy.”
She sighs. “All right. But really, Olive, why didn’t you tell me?” A smile suddenly lights up her face. “You’re having a baby! I think congratulations are in order. You know, I never wanted to bother with children. Stinky, whiny, money pits that they are. I think you’ll make a fantastic mother, though. You’ve got that whole nurturing thing going on, as well as a bit of sass. Can’t have that noisy thing walking all over you now, can you?” She waves her finger around in my direction. “And you should already know this, but anything you need. Anything. Make sure you open that pretty little mouth of yours and just ask,” she states firmly.
I smile in return and thank her. A warm feeling fills my chest at the show of support.
“Who needs a man, anyway?” She scoffs and then waves in the direction of Ken’s office. “Lord knows I should’ve gotten rid of that years ago.”
I hear a noise from outside the door accompanied by a, “Love you too, dear!” which has me laughing again.
Wilma smiles. “Speaking of …” She trails off before opening a side drawer in her desk and passing me an envelope. “An invitation to our 30th anniversary of surviving one another that’s coming up in two weeks time. I hope you can make it.” Which is Wilma code for ‘I expect you there.’
“Thank you. For everything. I really do appreciate it. And you know I’ll be there.” I go to stand, realizing the time. I have dinner in the slow cooker at home.
“Nonsense. Go home and put your feet up. We’ll see you tomorrow, dear.”
I open the door after saying goodbye and then call out goodbye to Ken as I grab my bag. Swinging it over my shoulder, I make my way to the door. Outside on the street, the air is hot and sticky, but I let it soak into my skin willingly, enjoying the warmth after the conversation we just had. I really should’ve had it weeks ago, but at least, it’s done now. Feeling warm from the sun and thankful for my amazing—if a bit crazy—employers, I pause when I reach the path in front of my house. A house I inherited from my grandparents. A house that holds so many memories of my childhood. But also of Zeke …
Zeke falls back into the bed beside me. We’re both panting as he reaches over to grab my hand and entwine his fingers through mine. He tugs them toward his mouth and says against them, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough,” before placing a swift kiss against my knuckles.
I look over at him. My limbs loose and my eyes droopy after the orgasm he just gifted me with. “Then move in,” I blurt out. Despite my sated state, my heart stops then picks up speed while I stare at our hands, now on his chest, and wait for his answer.
He takes a deep breath. Never a good sign after asking someone to move in with you. Shit. Is it too soon? No. I don’t think so. We’ve been together for almost four years now. We’re both done with college, employed, and always together in our spare time.
“Olive.” Uh-oh. The use of my full name yet another bad sign. “You know that marriage, kids; the whole thing freaks me the hell out. As much as I love you, which is in crazy, stupid amounts, I don’t know if I’m really ready…” he trails off softly in his deep voice.
I look at the ceiling fan then the window that’s glowing with the late afternoon sunshine. Anywhere but him. Until his finger gently grasps my chin and turns it his way. Damn it. Why can’t he ever let me sulk in peace?
“Liv?” He darts his hazel eyes back and forth between mine.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I just thought … you’re here all the time. We’re lucky if we spend one or two nights apart a week. You know?” I shrug.
He smirks, rolling back on top of me. “Well, I wouldn’t call that lucky,” he rasps against my lips before gently sliding his lips from side to side against mine. This man. This crazy, sexy, controlling man. He knows exactly how to play me.
But I won’t be deterred. Not yet. Pulling away, I ask, “When are you going to finally tell me the reason behind all these hang-ups of yours?” Some days, I find them worrisome and slightly ridiculous. Today is one of the former.
His head rears back a bit, “There’s nothing to tell, Liv.” The slightly defensive tone doesn’t escape me, but I remain quiet for a minute before saying, “There clearly is, and I just want to understand.”
He rolls back over, and I turn on my side to face him. Sighing, he pulls a hand through those slightly too long sandy locks of his. “You know what it was like for me growing up. The fighting. The dejected looks on both of my parents’ faces. A couple who I remember was, at one stage, happy and in love. But at some point, it all turned so fucking sour. It was as if they’d walk around in some zombified state, not accepting that that was their life. That was it for them, and they were simply biding their time. And all for what? So they could divorce after my dad skips town months shy of my high school graduation? As if he’d ‘done his time’ and got the hell out of dodge for a crime he wouldn’t commit if he could go back in time?” He sighs again. “It all seems so pointless. So risky. Everyone can fall in love, but it doesn’t mean you’ll stay happy. I don’t want that for us, Liv. I’m sorry. I just … I can’t do that to something so important, to someone I love so much that I can hardly breathe when I look at them. Am I being unreasonable or fucking dumb? Maybe. And maybe I’ll feel differently one day.” He finally looks at me, and I see so much regret and hope in that one gaze. I did know that. Well, some of it. I just still feel kind of cheated. It’s hard to know where to direct this crushing disappointment that’s filling my chest with every inhale. His parents, him, or me—for thinking he’d at least take this next step with me without protest.
“Shit, Liv.” He reaches over wipes a tear from under my eye. When did I start crying?
“Don’t cry. Come here.” He pulls me to him until my body is half draped over his, and my face is stuffed in his neck. I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. I either need to get over this and accept him the way he is—hang-ups and all—and find a way to be okay with what he’s willing to give. Or I need to end this and save myself from undoubtedly more heartache in the future. But how do you leave part of your heart behind, someone who lights up your soul with happiness, and just move forward? I can’t. I won’t. Just thinking about it has my heart skipping beats painfully. Zeke rubs his hand up and down my arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. I inhale the familiar smell of him, and it seems to calm my racing mind. “I’m sorry, Z.” I sniff. “I know how you feel about all that. I shouldn’t have asked. I just didn’t think this would be a big deal for you, that’s all. Can we maybe just forget I said anything?”
He doesn’t speak for a while. I hear him swallow from where my face is still resting.
“Please don’t apologize. Not when it comes to me and my shit, Liv. I wish …” He pauses. “I wish I could let it go. Fuck knows you deserve everything you want in a man. It pisses me off that I might not be giving you something you need, something you want.”
I immediately shush him then rise up to lean over him and study that masculine face I love so much. With my finger on his lips, I trace them. “Everything I want is right here in front of me.” I smile softly. “You have no idea, Z. There aren’t many things I wouldn’t do for you.”
He gently nips my finger with those perfectly straight teeth before kissing it. Then he just simply stares at me. I don’t know how long we stay like that before I’m suddenly aligned perfectly for him, and his thick length is once again filling me. Driving me insane in the best possible way until we fall asleep in a pile of happily sated, tangled limbs.
I open my eyes to thin streaks of sunlight finding their way in through the gauzy curtains covering my bedroom window. I yawn and feel the heavy weight of Zeke’s arm draped over my belly. His warm breath stirs my hair.
“One would think that becoming roomies with their girlfriend would mean they’d get breakfast in bed whenever they want it. Am I right?”
What the …? I’m stunned stupid for a minute. When I still don’t answer, he shakes me gently with the arm wrapped around me. I sputter out, “What …? I mean are you saying? I mean … yes. Yes. Right. Breakfast.” I throw the blankets off me, getting ready to swing my legs over the side of the bed and hustle to the kitchen. Is this seriously happening? Oh, my God.
“Whoa, whooaa!” Zeke laughs. Rolling on top of me, he pins me in place with his weight and grins so wide that I swear I start swooning like fourteen-year-old Olive did when she saw him for the first time. He moves down my body and spreads my thighs wide open. “I didn’t mean that kind of breakfast …” Then he’s burying his face between my legs.
I can’t help but smile at the memory as I check the mail. His snap decision about moving in with me is one that shocked me for weeks. Until he told me to stop acting weird and said he wasn’t going anywhere. And he didn’t. It was a magical two years for our relationship. A step I don’t think he ever regretted taking. Well, until recent events anyway. I blow out a shaky sigh then haul my ever-growing butt inside. The smell of my dinner in the slow cooker invades my senses as I check on it in the kitchen. I need a bath, book, and a hot beverage. Even if it is decaf.