Page 19 of Friar
“It’s pretty,” I said, reluctantly letting the fabric slip from my fingers.
In the next aisle, stuffed animals stared at us with stitched eyes and smiles.A small rabbit with floppy ears caught my attention -- cream-colored with a pale blue ribbon around its neck.It was simple and classic, the kind of toy that could be treasured for years.I picked it up, rubbing one velvety ear between my thumb and forefinger.
“Should we get it?”Friar asked, nodding at the rabbit.
I shook my head and set it back on the shelf.“Just looking.”
We continued through the store, past rows of tiny clothes on tiny hangers.I found myself drawn to the simpler items -- onesies in soft greens and yellows, little pants with elastic waistbands, cotton caps to keep a newborn’s head warm.Nothing pink or blue, nothing with cutesy sayings.Just practical, simple pieces that any baby could wear.
I was so focused on a display of swaddling blankets that I didn’t notice what Friar was doing until I turned to find him.The cart, which had been empty when we started, now contained the elephant bedding set, the floppy-eared rabbit, and several of the gender-neutral onesies I’d been admiring.
“What are you doing?”I asked, my voice sharper than I’d intended.
Friar looked up from where he was examining a package of newborn diapers.“Getting stuff for the baby,” he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I can’t afford any of this,” I said, heat rising to my cheeks.“And I don’t even know where I’ll be living in two weeks.I can’t --”
“I can,” he interrupted, dropping the diapers into the cart.“And the baby needs stuff regardless of what happens.I told you before we left the house that I would buy whatever we get today.”
“Friar, I can’t let you --”
“You’re not letting me do anything,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.“I’m choosing to do this.The baby might be mine.Even if it’s not, you showed up at the clubhouse looking for help, and I’m in a position to give it.”
I stared at him, torn between pride and practicality.He was right -- the baby would need these things eventually.And my bank account held barely enough for a week’s worth of fast food, let alone a nursery’s worth of supplies.
“Think of it as a loan if that makes you feel better,” Friar added, seeing my hesitation.“You can pay me back someday if you want.But right now, let’s just focus on getting what the baby needs.”
The kindness in his voice undid me.Tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to hold them back.I’d cried enough in the past few days.I didn’t want to break down in the middle of Baby Barn, surrounded by happy expectant couples and grandmothers cooing over tiny booties.
“Okay,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.“Thank you.”
Friar nodded, satisfied.
After our talk, the shopping became easier.I still felt uncomfortable about the growing pile in our cart, but I pushed the feeling aside and focused on selecting practical items the baby would need regardless of what happened with Beast’s two-week deadline.Friar added everything without comment.
By the time we reached the checkout, our cart was overflowing -- the floppy-eared rabbit sitting on top like a guardian overseeing it all.The total made me wince, but Friar handed over his credit card without hesitation.
Loading everything into the truck took several minutes, and I insisted on helping despite Friar’s protests that I shouldn’t be lifting things.The back seat and truck bed were filled with bags and boxes by the time we finished, evidence of a future that was both terrifying and increasingly real.
As we drove back toward Friar’s house, I stared out the window, my emotions as tangled as the skeins of yarn we’d passed in the craft section of the store.Gratitude for Friar’s generosity.Anxiety about my uncertain future.Fear about becoming a mother.And something else, something warm and dangerous that fluttered in my chest whenever Friar’s fingers brushed mine or his gaze met mine across a display of baby blankets.
I snuck a glance at him now, his profile strong against the backdrop of passing scenery.This man had taken me in when I had nowhere to go.Had bought a small fortune in baby supplies without blinking.Had treated me with more kindness in a handful of days than Uncle Pete had shown in three years.
And in less than two weeks, he might decide I wasn’t his responsibility after all.
The thought chilled me, making me wrap my arms around myself despite the warmth inside the truck.I couldn’t afford to develop feelings for Friar -- couldn’t afford to see this temporary arrangement as anything more than what it was.The yellow and gray elephant bedding, the tiny green onesies, the floppy-eared rabbit -- they might end up in someone else’s nursery if Nugget or Nigel claimed the baby instead.Or worse, in a donation bin somewhere if none of them wanted anything to do with us.
Yet as Friar’s hand moved to adjust the air conditioning and then briefly squeezed my knee in a gesture that seemed almost unconscious, I couldn’t stop the treacherous thought: What if there could be more?What if, by some miracle, this strange situation led to something real and lasting?
Hope was a luxury I couldn’t afford.But as we drove back to Friar’s house with a truck full of baby supplies, I found myself clinging to it anyway, like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea.
Chapter Seven
Friar
Dr.Parkes’s office smelled like antiseptic and fake lemon, that unmistakable medical scent that always made my skin crawl.The waiting room was empty when we arrived -- probably by design since I’d mentioned our situation on the phone.Dr.Parkes understood the need for discretion in a town where rumors spread faster than wildfire.I sat stiffly in a plastic chair while Cheri filled out paperwork, her handwriting small and neat, her shoulders hunched forward as if trying to hide the forms from invisible onlookers.
The nurse called us back quickly, leading us down a hallway lined with anatomical charts and pamphlets about prenatal vitamins.Cheri walked slightly ahead of me, her steps measured and careful, like she was walking into an execution instead of a routine checkup.When we reached the examination room, she hesitated in the doorway, her gaze fixed on the padded table with its paper cover.
