“I think that boat has sailed, peanut.”
“I’m sorry, Knox. I wish I had any advice, but I don’t.”
He’d left shortly after that, making me feel like the worst sister in the world.
A few days later, after convincing my mother that I wouldn’t be coming over the next day, no matter how many of my favorite foods she promised to make, I went into the kitchen to make a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies.
When a knock at the door startled me, I dropped the glass bowl I’d taken out of the cupboard. Thankfully, it was heavy enough that it didn’t break, although it looked like there were a couple of chips along the edge.
“Hey, Sloane? It’s me,” I heard Tackle say, knocking a second time.
I set the bowl on the counter, glanced at the mirror to make sure my oversized sweatshirt hid the baby bump that had recently appeared but seemed to be growing daily, and slowly walked toward the front entrance. I looked around the living room to see if there were pregnancy or baby books visible. When I didn’t see any, I opened the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to come by and see if you needed anything.”
“Nope. I’m good.” I stood in the doorway, letting him know I had no intention of inviting him in.
“Sloane, I haven’t seen you in weeks. Can I please come in?”
Those damn green eyes did me in every time. “For a few minutes,” I said after stepping aside.
“What did I interrupt?” he asked, eyeing the things I’d gotten out to make the cookies.
“Girl’s night in.”
“Oh. Is someone else here?”
“No. Just me. I meant I was staying in. Cookies and a movie.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked with an overly concerned edge to his voice.
“Fine. Why?”
“I haven’t talked to you in so long. Did you figure out what was wrong over the holidays?”
“It was nothing,” I said, putting the butter in the microwave to soften.
“I’m glad.” He looked around. “I like what you’ve done to the place.”
“Most of it was Knox’s doing, but thanks. I never expected to like living on my own as much as I do.”
“You don’t get lonely?”
“Not really, and if I did, my mother would be more than happy to keep me entertained.”
He laughed, but then his expression changed. I followed his line of sight to where today’s mail sat on the counter. There, right on top, sat the Mama & Baby magazine I’d recently subscribed to. Before I could get to it, Tackle picked it up and turned it over, most likely to confirm I was the subscriber.
When he set it back down, I hated the way his eyes trailed down my body.
“You need to leave.”
He made no move to. In fact, he pulled a chair away from the dining room table, turned it around, and sat down so he was facing me. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“No,” I said, turning my back to him. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d spent endless hours concocting the story I’d tell Tackle when the day came he found out I was pregnant. With him sitting a few feet from me, I couldn’t remember any of it.
“Sloane,” he whispered, walking over and resting his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“It isn’t yours,” I said as tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Tell me the truth,” he said without raising his voice. Before I could respond, he spun me around and pulled me into his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You don’t want kids,” I said so softly I wasn’t sure he could even hear me.
He pulled back and looked into my tear-filled eyes. “This is why you called Knox in Italy and asked him to come home.” He cradled my head, still looking into my eyes. “He doesn’t know I’m the father.”
“No.”
Tackle took a step back and pulled me with him over to the sofa. He cuddled me close to him when we both sat.
“I want you to know I don’t expect—”
“Shh.” He put his fingertip on my lips. “Give me a minute. Okay?” Those damn green eyes stared into mine, imploring again.
“Okay.”
“Your brother went to New York City to see Tara.”
“I know.”
“That’s why I came over.”
“I figured that’s why.”
“Do your parents know?”
I shook my head. “I can’t keep it from them much longer.”
Tackle grasped my chin with his hand and brought his lips to mine. He kissed me, gently at first, then demanding, then gently again. “Every minute of every day since I last saw you, I’ve thought about how much I wanted to kiss you.”
I shook free of his grasp and turned my head away from him.
“I need to tell you something, and for me to do that, I need you to look at me.”
“No,” I cried.
“Sloane, please.” He slid off the sofa and knelt in front of me. “Please,” he repeated. “I want this baby. I want you. I need you to tell me you understand what I’m saying.”
I looked into his eyes. “I don’t.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll tell your parents and mine. We’ll go to them together. Tell them we’re getting married—”
“Have you lost your mind?” I shrieked, wrenching away from him. I stood and stalked into the kitchen. “No! God! I’m not marrying you, Tackle.”
“But—”
When he stood in front of me, I shoved him away. “Get out! Just leave.”
He came right back and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not leaving. We have a lot to talk about.”
“You’re wrong. We have nothing to talk about.” I stalked down the hall and into the bedroom, closing the door and locking it behind me. It wouldn’t make him leave, but he also wouldn’t break the door down.
I lay on the bed and waited, knowing that at any second, he’d beg me to let him in, telling me we needed to talk. Instead, I heard the front door close. After a few minutes of silence, I crept from the bedroom and out to the living room. It
