She knows, Sable thought, her heart suddenly hammering. How does she know? Did he tell her? Surely not.
Then Janie was off, heading into the kitchen. To Mercy. And soon the two of them were chatting and laughing like old friends.
Leaving Sable and Rafe. Alone in the entrance. Starlight poured through the gaps in the overhanging trees beyond, darkness and muffled laughter at Sable’s back.
“Hi,” she said, her hammering heart now at full gallop. Then she said it again, and felt instantly foolish.
Until Rafe’s hard-hewn face broke into a charged smile. Then she felt giddy, and fizzy, and seventeen years old, all over again.
Funny that she’d gone nearly ten years without seeing him, now a couple of days apart felt like an eternity. At least she hadn’t said I missed you, the words that she now held tight behind her lips.
Rafe leaned in, placed a hand on Sable’s lower back and murmured, “Can we find a minute tonight? Alone?”
“Everything okay?” she said, her voice more than a little husky, hoping his visit to the doctor had gone well. What if it hadn’t? What if he had issues too?
“Mmm-hmm,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”
She leaned back to catch his eye, and his hand turned with her till it rested on her waist. His thumb traced circles over the bone. His little finger slid up and down her hip.
“Fine,” she said, her voice a little croaky as she found herself all caught up in his dark eyes, his beautiful face, the way he looked at her as if he could keep doing so till the end of time. “There’s that word again.”
He laughed, a deep, sexy chuckle.
And she thought back to her conversation with her mother in the kitchen and wondered how she’d ever managed to convince herself that what she’d had with The Chef was in any way enough. When, on the other side of the world, once upon a time, she’d had this.
“Rafe!” Janie called.
And Sable jumped. Reminded herself that they were not what they were. What they were, what they would be, was to be affirmed. And that was what Rafe no doubt wanted to hash out tonight. In private.
Sable turned to find Janie holding a jar of pickles that looked as if they were a hundred years old, the younger girl all smiles as she took in how close her brother stood by Sable.
“I need your muscles, bro.”
“Later, okay?” Rafe said, his breath catching on her hair, and it was all she could do to stay upright. His hand slowly trailing over her stomach, leaving spot fires in its wake before he sauntered away.
Breathing out hard, Sable looked over to find her mother watching. A silhouette at the end of the hall. Her expression fierce. The knife gripped in her hand once more.
This was going to be a long night.
Sable sat diagonally across from Rafe at the dinner table, watching him over her glass of wine, while trying not to look as if she was watching him. Unable to keep her gaze from swinging his way.
Bear, seated beside her, said, “Hey.”
Sable flinched, her knee hitting the underside of the table. “Mmm?”
“Did Janie and your mother do all the cooking?”
Sable managed a nod.
“Then none of us are getting out of here alive.”
Sable lifted her glass in salute, and he clinked it with his, then turned to talk to Fred on the other side.
Leaving Sable to not look at Rafe. Her leg jiggling so hard under the table she worried it might jiggle right off.
For her mind had been spinning in circles ever since he’d walked in the door. Ever since she’d allowed herself to admit she’d missed him. Ever since she’d let herself acknowledge what she’d had with him, back then, was irreplaceable.
How had she possibly been strong enough to come back to him, put herself out there, open up, exposing her most vulnerable self, if not for the surety that a single moment of Rafe’s unbroken attention had always been worth more to her than an entire city of lights?
For she’d never loved anyone—anyone—the way she’d loved this man.
Loved. Past tense.
This, this feeling swarming over her right now, it was gratitude. Anticipation. With a healthy dash of lust. Not the other thing.
“Best dinner I’ve had in as long as I can remember,” Stan professed, his plate squeaky clean while the others were barely touched.
“You eat at mine three times a week,” Bear protested.
Stan shrugged, then sent a moony glance towards Mercy. “You’re a fine hostess.”
Mercy waved a hand his way. “It’s inedible. But thank you.”
“So, what are they going to call you when the bairn arrives? Nanna? Grandma?”
Leading Sable to spit a mouthful of wine fair across the table.
Carleen gasped, her white top covered in splatters of pink. The boys leapt up, fussing over her. Bear turned to Sable, his eyes near bugging out of his head. While Stan sank down into his seat.
How the heck did Stan know? Sable glanced around the table; Janie looked at her lap, while Ed looked chagrined. Did they all know? And how?
No. Not all. For Mercy glared at her like a thing possessed.
“You’re pregnant?” Mercy managed. “To him?” A long bony finger pointed towards Rafe, her tone acidic enough to burn through metal.
“No!” said Sable. And Mercy exhaled so hard she seemed to shrink. “I wouldn’t be on my second glass of wine if I was.” Or was it her third? “But—”
“But? There’s a but?”
Sable glanced at Rafe, who, frustratingly, sat back, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Having gone full self-preservation mode.
Well, it was out now. And from her extensive experience with deeply uncomfortable conversations, Sable had learned it was always better to be honest, and just push through it.
“But that is our plan. We’ve found some excellent doctors who think there’s a good chance they can help make it happen, so hopefully, soon, yes, I’ll be pregnant with Rafe’s baby.”
“What the heck do they need doctors for?” That was Ed.
Janie shrugged. “Beats me.”
The faces
