Page 114 of Always Knew It Was You

As much as I’m enjoying our relationship so far, I’m also waiting for the other shoe to drop. This isn’t forever. In a lot of ways, this is Micah hiding from his family, and taking a vacation from his life. It’s why he feels so free here, why he doesn’t care what anyone thinks in Laketown. Because to him, Laketown probably isn’t a part of his real life. It’s simply a stop on his journey to wherever he’s going.

But eventually, whenever his business with Declan is over and whenever he gets sick of this small town, he’ll have to return to his grandfather who hates me, and to his father who wants him to be something he’s not with, and to the rest of the high society where there are women way more suitable for him.

And then it will be just me alone again.

No, not alone, I remind myself.

I have Mrs. Peach and Emma and Yule, and Grandpa Crane. I can even add Poppy and Tate Moon to that list now. I have a solid circle of friends who have become like family to me. I’ll be all alright with or without Micah. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. My heart will be shattered when he leaves of course. I already know that. A part of me that’s in love with him and enjoys the comfort and excitement his presence brings will be devastated to see him go.

But at the end of the day, I’ll be fine. I’ll make it.

At least that’s what I tell myself now.

With a bittersweet ache in my chest, I reach out to caress his cheek, and he doesn’t stir except to lightly angle into my touch. He doesn’t want a kid. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that Micah isn’t the type that wants children, which is a shame because he would make a good father. He’s the perfect mix of playful and caring that kids usually love. He’s also surprisingly mature and responsible. Well, maybe not entirely responsible seeing as how he was still participating in bar fights but at the very least, he was hardworking and seemed to like taking care of people.

Should I tell him?

Telling him would inevitably face the possibility of losing him. Because if he tells me to get rid of the child, even though I’m 85% sure that’s what I think I’m going to do, it’ll break my heart. And if I decide not to go through with the abortion, it’ll undoubtedly be a huge problem between us.

As I lay there, thinking, Micah’s eyes finally flutter open. He blinks the sleepiness out of them and stares at me. That crooked smile I love so much twists his lips as he says, “Hey you. Feeling better now?

I don’t answer. I shift forward and kiss him.

The kiss is soft, exploratory on my part, questioning on his.

He’s not sure where it’s coming from or what I intend with it. And I’m not sure myself. Because the only thing I’m sure about is that I want to feel good for now, and forget about everything that came before. I want to feel his comfort, his love... even if it’s not real.

I reach out and grab his shirt, tugging him closer. His body smoothly moves above mine and sinks into me with all that comforting weight.

The scent of his cologne surrounds me, the scent I’ve come to closely associate with home. He then nudges my thighs open. I welcome him, his hardness, his length as he starts gently grinding against my pussy.

I gasp as the pleasure unfurls and spikes like a wave that grows and grows. He swallows the sound into his mouth, still kissing me slowly, gently, and passionately. Our tongues tangle again and again until I twist my head to catch my breath.

But I can’t. The breath remains trapped in my throat as the pleasure climbs to the point where I start shaking with it, shifting desperately against him, my toes curling with the need to explode.

And then he wraps a hand loosely around my throat and nips my earlobe. “Come for me,” he says, and that’s all it takes to fling me off the edge into a shuddering orgasm.

As I gasp in breaths, coming down from my high, he presses soft kisses all over my face, on my forehead, over my eye, on my cheeks, my pulse.

When I reach for his pants, he shakes his head and kisses my forehead again.

“You’re not in the mood for that right now,” he says.

“But you are,” I can feel his hardness nudging against my thigh.

He smirks. “Hon, I’m always like that when I’m around you. Doesn’t mean I want to necessarily do anything about it.”

I shake my head. “But–”

“But nothing. What we just did, was just for you. And for me too because I wanted to do it. But that’s it. We don’t need to do anything else tonight. Alright?”

I stare into his beseeching, sparkling green eyes.

And then I start crying all over again.

“You want me to meet with your grandfather?” I ask, gaping at him the next day at dinner. I spent much of my day today, setting up doctor’s appointments and checking on my test, which I passed with flying colors. The earliest the OB-GYN could get me in was three days from now, but they told me I could go to urgent care immediately and meet a PCP. Which is where I was this afternoon. The doctor confirmed that I was pregnant, and the man must have noted my dismay because he very kindly and gently explained my options, as well as the timeline for everything. The meeting was a blur to be honest, but he gave me some pamphlets and scheduled a follow-up in case I couldn’t get in with the OB-GYN early enough.

I come to the hotel in a daze, expecting to process all this tonight.

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