Chances Are by Barbara Bretton Page B

where you ended and he began—there was no way she could ever give that up. “Three minutes,” she whispered against the familiar warmth of his mouth. “I wish—”
    Suddenly she was afraid she was going to cry, and she pressed her face against his chest.
    “Kel?” He placed a hand under her chin, but she refused to look up at him. “What’s wrong?”
    That was all it took. She couldn’t control either her tears or the words that spilled out with them.
    “How late are you?” he asked when she finally managed to pull herself together long enough to breathe. He looked shaken, but his embrace never faltered.
    “Two days,” she said, pulling a paper napkin from his glove box to wipe her eyes.
    He balanced between hope and certainty. “You’ve been late before. Last year you were two weeks late because of the SATs.”
    “Last year we weren’t sleeping together.”
    “It’s not like we haven’t been careful.”
    “Nothing’s foolproof,” she reminded him. “Things happen.” She fixed him with a look. “I spent the morning throwing up.”
    “It was all that ice cream on an empty stomach.”
    “I only had two spoonfuls.”
    “You said you’ve been dieting.”
    “Dieting doesn’t make you—”
    “It’s a false alarm,” he said, pulling her close. “Everything will work out. Just wait and see.”
    “You really think so?”
    He hesitated just a half-beat too long, and in that hesitation she heard the sound of her future rushing toward her, and it wasn’t the future she had planned.
     
BILLY JR. WAS waiting for Claire at the edge of the soccer field with his best friend Ryan and Ryan’s father.
    “Sorry I’m late,” Claire said while Billy gathered up his gear. “I stopped at Wawa for a gallon of milk and realized I didn’t have any money, so I had to race over to the ATM and—”
    Don’t worry about it, Claire.” David Fenelli’s dark brown eyes were warm behind his glasses. “Been there, done it myself.”
    Could a man be too nice? David radiated so much kindness and understanding that it was all Claire could do to keep from hitting him in the head with a soccer ball.
    “Good practice?” she asked while Billy and Ryan snorted with laughter a few feet away.
    “Billy had a great practice,” David said with a nod toward her youngest. “Ryan had a little trouble, but he’s making progress.”
    Ryan looked like he would rather be in the orthodontist’s chair than standing there while two adults talked about him, and Claire’s maternal heart went out to him.
    “I’ve kept you long enough,” Claire said, gesturing for Billy to get into the car. “Thanks for waiting.”
    David brushed her gratitude aside. “Listen,” he said, watching as Billy fastened his seat belt, “we’re planning to pick up pizza tonight. Why don’t you join us?”
    She hadn’t seen it coming. The last time he asked her to go bowling with them her early warning system had noted the faint beads of sweat that popped out on his brow before he spoke, which gave her just long enough to make up a believable excuse.
    “Pizza sounds great,” she said, aware of the intense scrutiny coming from Billy and Ryan, “but—”
    “I know,” David said. “Mondays are tough. Maybe another time.”
    He really was too nice. No wonder his wife left him. Didn’t he know nice guys ended up alone?
    “I’d like that,” she said. She hadn’t meant to say that. She definitely hadn’t expected to mean it.
    David held her gaze a moment longer than usual, and she felt her cheeks flood with heat. “I’m going to hold you to it, Claire.”
    She mumbled something incoherent in response, feeling more like a clumsy fourteen-year-old than a woman of forty.
    “Your face is red,” Billy observed as she slid behind the wheel. “Are you mad at Ryan’s dad?”
    “I’m not mad at anyone.” She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Red didn’t begin to describe it. She looked like she was about to spontaneously