Page 9 of Save Me
He spreads his tail feathers as if in answer.
“Yeah, you’re definitely gonna shit on my car again,” I mutter, dismissing him as I make my way past the fenced-off garden. A set of gloves rests next to a pitchfork and a pile of weeds. A basket nearby is filled with lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and radishes. It looks like someone gave up harvesting halfway through.
I take a moment to absorb the entire idyllic view. Even though the hotel is right next door, you’d never know it from this spot. It’s a kitschy little oasis of brambly trees and colorful buildings, personality in every corner you look. And Henry wants to pave over this. Tear it down and turn it into a road. It’s wrong on every level.
I climb the quaint little teal-blue beach house’s porch steps, hit with a flash of the last time I was here, armed with my laptop and good intentions. I can’t believe how quickly things between me and Sloane got out of control. I wouldn’t change a thing about that day, though.
Scratch that—I would change one thing: I would have made sure it lasted a hell of a lot longer.
The glass pane rattles under my knock, and then I wait.
And wait.
I knock again, stealing a glance through the window. Movement catches my eye. It’s not inside the house, but through the back doors. A figure in a hot pink string bikini strolls up the beach, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, her wet hair pushed back off her forehead.
My pulse races at the sight of Sloane, even as I chastise myself for not thinking through this impulsive visit. What am I supposed to say to her, now that there’s this giant secret hanging in the air, these plans that are going to upend her entire life that I know about. That I can’t tell her about without risking my career and her wrath.
Sloane veers to her left.
I take quick steps down the porch and to the far side of the house, following the stone path around to meet her.
4.Sloane
The towel is unnecessary in this heat, but I wrap it around my shoulders anyway as I stroll toward my house. I needed that swim. Something about the warm gulf water and the lapping waves and the endless blue sky above always calms me. But it didn’t assuage the disbelief that still grips my every thought.
I nearly took a third test when I got home from the Sea Witch after an afternoon of bumbling through paperwork, but distracted myself with the garden instead. That led to sweating under the hot sun, which led to the need to cool down.
But none of these diversions change the fact that I’m as pregnant now as I was this morning.
What do I do?
Do I keep it?
That’s not a question I ever thought I’d be asking myself, but I always pictured reaching this milestone when I was happily married or at least in love, not accidentally and by a guy I barely know.
I need to talk to Gigi is what I need to do. She’s the least judgmental person in my life. She’ll have good advice. I’ll go tomorrow morning. I was planning to anyway.
Right now, though, I need to rinse the briny seawater and clinging sand off before I attempt to make a salad for dinner.
I follow the path to the outdoor shower at the side of the house.
And jump as I come face-to-face with Ronan.
“Hey.” His voice is deep as his gaze drifts over my bikini-clad body. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” I swallow against my suddenly racing pulse, fresh memories of what we did on the tiki cruise yesterday—what I allowed to happen out in public—hitting me like a forceful gulf wave. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d stop in to see you since you didn’t respond to my text.” The corner of his mouth kicks up with amusement.
He’s direct, I’ll give him that. And with everything else going on, I forgot to call Ryan.Shit. I’m a terrible business owner. “I’m glad to hear Katie’s ankle isn’t broken.”
“Yeah. Flying home tomorrow might be a challenge, but she’s got crutches and help.” His pace slows until he stops next to the outdoor shower stall, his polished shoes sending loose gravel skipping. He must have come from work, but his dress shirt is unbuttoned to reveal the delicious ridges of his collarbone and his thick, columnar neck.
I wasn’t sure how I would feel when I ran into Ronan again, given the present circumstance. But now that he’s standing here, he’s as jaw-droppingly attractive as before. And I’m still feeling that physical pull toward him, the urge to be close, that keeps getting me into trouble. In fact, it might be stronger now, this connection I feel. Because we are truly connected, in a way he has no clue about.
What would Ronan do if he knew I was pregnant with his child? Surely he would not be looking at me the way he is—like he’s deciding which string to pull on this bikini. No, he’d likely hightail it out of here as if I were a ticking bomb. And I guess I am. Or rather, this cluster of cells growing inside me is—a bomb that will blow up Ronan’s life as he knows it.
I couldn’t really blame him if he ran—this is not what either of us was aiming for—and yet the thought disappoints me far more than it should.
