The Anchor (30 page)

“I guess it’s not really an office, but I don’t know what else to call it,” she begins. “I’m going to teach music lessons.” I look back at her and grin.

“That’s great,” I beam and continue setting up.

“And I’m going to be a pageant coach. This area doesn’t have a lot of clientele, but I’m going to offer online coaching as well.”

My brows rise and I turn to face her. “Nikki . . . that’s great.” Her gaze lowers and she swallows. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I used my trust fund money to set it up,” she admits and I close my eyes. She feels bad because she thinks it will piss me off.

I drop everything and go to her, kneeling down in front of her. “It’s your money, Nikki. I’m sorry I acted like . . . such a dumb ass about it. Pride makes me an idiot sometimes.”

She licks her lips. “My grandfather was pretty generous. I’m going to take the remainder of the money and set up a college fund and trust fund for the baby.”

I nod. “I think that’s a great idea.”

We share another long stare and I wonder if she wants to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss her. But when her stomach growls, I snap to and stand. “Somebody is waiting on me to cook some bad-ass chicken.”

“Two somebodies,” she corrects as she pats her belly. The act stuns me. She’s smiling as she looks at her small hand rubbing her little bump. My heart swells at the sight. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look happy about the baby and I pray it’s real. I pray that maybe she’s starting to come around.

We make small talk about my first day at the office. I tell her about some of the other lawyers and their quirks and we laugh. Over dinner, she describes her office layout and asks if I’ll go with her to Raleigh so she can pick out a piano. Of course I agree.

After dinner, we do the dishes together and even though I fucking hate it, I say good night.

She stares at my chest as we stand by the door. “Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.”

“I’ll cook for you tomorrow night, if you’re not busy.”

“I should cook for you,” she states.

I snort. “Can you cook?”

She smacks my chest. “Why’d you snort? Is it that hard to believe?”

I just stare at her blankly and she smacks my chest again. “Okay. Fine. I suck at cooking. Maybe you should teach me so our child doesn’t starve to death, Mr. Hayes.”

My nostrils flare as desire surges through me. Her eyes quickly dart to mine and away again. She knows she just pulled a trigger using that name. Sucking in a deep breath, I collect my thoughts.

“Luckily, you’ll both have me so neither of you will starve,” I chuckle, attempting to break the tension, but it quickly fades as she stares up at me, her gaze sad.

“Will we?” she asks, her voice timid and full of uncertainty. Unable to stop myself, I reach for her face and push a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. God, I want to kiss her. I want to show her how much she means to me. But Edie is right. Nikki needs to find herself, believe in herself before she can let me in, and let me love her the way she deserves.

“No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for both of you.” While the promise is sincere and I meant on a whole different level, I know she was hoping for more, at least I hope she was. Her mouth quirks slightly and she nods.

“Oh,” she says, suddenly. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.”

“You do?”

She rushes off and disappears down the hall, returning a moment later with a small wrapped package in her hand. “It’s for your desk.”

After she hands it to me, I tear it open and can’t help smiling. It’s a framed photo of one of the ultrasound pictures that hung on the fridge in her old apartment. “Damn, Nik . . . I love it,” I tell her, and before I realize what I’m doing, I bend down and kiss her softly. When I pull away, I murmur a ‘thank you’ and say good night again. As I walk to my car, I clutch the photo tightly to my chest. Maybe she hasn’t given up on me . . . on us, either.

What day and what time is your appointment this week?

I quickly text Parker back.

Thursday at five. I tried to get it as late as possible so you could be there. Do you think they’ll let you off?

I’ll be there.

Smiling, I toss my phone on the desk, well . . . on the folding table I’m currently using as a desk. I managed to steal the space in the strip mall next to Pearl’s shop. I’m hoping I can drum up business from her clients that use her for dressmaking.

I’m busy looking up web designers on my laptop when my former dressmaker waddles in. “So we’re neighbors now, eh?” she bellows joyously as she walks up to the table.

Smiling brightly, I stand and round the table. “I was going to swing by and say hi to you today.” We hug tightly and when she pulls away from me, her eyes immediately move to my stomach. She felt my bump.

“So this is why you haven’t returned to have that dress altered.”

I sigh and place a hand on my bump. “This would be the reason,” I admit. “My pageant days are over, I’m afraid.” And I’m not as upset about that anymore. Over the last few days, since Parker and I had our argument, every day I’ve come more and more to terms with what will be and I’m finding myself happy; content with it.

“Says who?” Pearl asks and I dart my eyes to her questioning gaze. “Because you’re having a baby you think you can’t compete anymore?”

I widen my eyes and take a deep breath. “If I don’t end up being one giant stretch mark, maybe,” I counter. “But competing takes a lot of time and work and I’m not sure how much time I’ll have once the baby gets here.”

“If you want it bad enough, you’ll make it work,” she argues simply, discounting my concerns. “There are plenty of women out there that are busy with careers and ambitions and still find the time to be excellent mothers. If you want to compete, you won’t make excuses. You’ll make it happen. And a child that sees their mother work for her dreams will most likely work just as hard for their own.” She turns and waddles back to the door and as she opens it she calls, “I’ll hold on to that dress. Maybe your ass will get a little bigger and you’ll actually fill it out. You look like a stick with boobs.”

“Gee, thanks, Pearl,” I laugh as the door closes. Looking down, I twist my mouth as I run my hands down my sides and hips.

“I have curves,” I assure myself with a huff. “Okay, little dude or dudette inside of me,” I tell my belly as I pat it. “I sure would appreciate it if when you vacate my body you’d leave it looking somewhat close to the way it did when you entered.” Spinning around, I head back to my makeshift desk and get back to work, excited to get my business going.

It’s mid-November and the evenings are coming quicker now that daylight saving time has hit. But I make an effort to get out and at least have a brisk walk every day. The doctor said I can run, but . . . running sucks when it feels like you’re carrying an overfilled water balloon in your lower abdomen.

As I walk, my mind drifts to Parker. I’m unsure of where we stand, but he did kiss me last night and I pray that’s a good sign. Although, he did look like he regretted it when he pulled away, and it broke my heart. I have no idea what to think. I want to tell him I’m a changed woman, beg him to forgive me, but I know this time it’s different. I need to show him. I just hope he’s watching and doesn’t find someone else to fill his time or his bed
while
he’s watching.

I end up at the stables and find Joey about to climb in his truck. “I was just heading your way,” he says, when he catches sight of me.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, you’re cooking dinner for everyone tonight, right?”       

My brows touch my hairline. “I am?”

He pulls out his phone from his weathered pants pocket and thumbs at it for a second before turning the screen to me so I can see. It’s a group text from Parker that he sent to Edie, John, and Joey.

Nikki wants to cook dinner for everyone. Be there by seven.

That son of a bit—

“It surprised me, too,” Joey interrupts my thoughts. When I look up at him, he’s pressing his lips together as if he’s trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I snap and smack his arm.

“The look on your face,” he snickers, throwing one arm over my shoulders and leading me to the truck. “Don’t worry, Nik,” he says. “I ate a big lunch.”

I give his side a hard pinch and hold my belly as I beeline for the truck.

“Damn,” he groans in pain.

“You can’t pinch a pregnant lady,” I yell as I pull the truck door open and start climbing in.

“I’m keeping count!” he warns. “Once that baby’s out, it’s game on!”

When I walk in the house carrying a few bags of groceries, Joey is seated in the living room, beer in hand, staring at the television. He doesn’t even notice me. Nikki is rummaging through the fridge, cursing to herself. She doesn’t hear me come in, obviously, as she’s threatening my life to our unborn child.