Chapter 22: The Ultrasound

I woke on the back-room couch with a man's arm across my waist and a leaf stuck to my shoulder.

It was a ranunculus petal, and Carl picked it off me with great ceremony.

"Good morning, Ms. Garrard."

"Good morning, Mr. Creedon."

"You snore."

"I do not."

"A little. It's nice."

I hit him with a cushion.

He caught it and laughed, and I lay there for a moment and listened to the shop, which smelled of coffee and wet stems and, faintly, of him.

I had expected to feel guilty about how happy I was.

I didn't.

The bell on the front door rang at eight.

"I come bearing donuts," Darby called. "And I'm not coming in if there's any nudity in the display."

"We're dressed!" Carl shouted.

"Define dressed!"

I was pulling my sweater over my head, red to the ears, when I heard her voice change.

"Geneva. Come out here."

Nigel stood on the sidewalk, outside the glass.

He wore the same navy coat, and he held a manila envelope against his chest with both hands.

Darby had planted herself in the doorway, one hip against the frame.

Carl came up beside me and stayed there.

"I'm not coming in," Nigel said through the open door. "I know your rule."

"Then say what you came to say from the sidewalk."

"I will."

A woman walking a dog slowed down, and Nigel glanced at her and kept going.

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Traded Our Baby to Save His First Love from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.