Merry Christmas, Baby by Jill Shalvis Page B

softening. “And what about you?”
    “I haven’t had any labor pains, false or otherwise,” he deadpanned.
    That got a laugh out of her.
    He smiled but it faded quickly. “You know you can text or email me, and that I’ll call when I can,” he said. “And if anything happens—anything at all, Chloe—I can be back here in two hours.”
    “Anything?” she asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood, using a voice that once upon a time would’ve made him kick off his shoes and strip and crawl back into bed with her, the hell with obligation and responsibility.
    “I’ll be here.” He met her gaze, his own serious. “ Always .”
    An alarm on his watch beeped. He turned it off without taking his eyes from her.
    She blew out a breath. “You’ve gotta go.”
    He touched her face. “Chloe—”
    She closed her eyes and turned her jaw into his touch. “I know,” she said. “And it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”
    She just hoped that was true.
      
    That night Chloe dreamed about how she’d told Sawyer she was pregnant. She’d planned a seduction to ease him into the news, but nerves had gotten the best of her and she’d blurted it out. She couldn’t help it; they’d both barely survived their growing-up years, and as a result they’d never even discussed having kids. And yet here they were, having a baby. Terrifying, and potentially devastating to their relationship…
    “I’m pregnant.”
    Sawyer stared at her.
    “I don’t know how or why—” She broke off and rolled her eyes. “Okay, so I know how,” she said, and let out a nervous laugh.
    He remained silent. Stoic. Absolutely unreadable.
    “It’d be really great if you could say something,” she finally said.
    That mobilized him. He came to the couch where she was perched but didn’t sit. “What are you going to do?”
    “What am I going to do?” she repeated, staring up at him towering over her. “Don’t you mean what are we going to do?”
    “Your body, your decision,” he said.
    She gaped at him. “Well,” she said through gritted teeth, “I suppose I’m going to have a baby.”
    He relaxed slightly at this, and she stared at him. “What did you think I was going to do?”
    Shaking his head, he sat on the coffee table facing her. Taking her hand in his, he looked at her with those warm brown eyes. “What do you need from me?” he asked quietly.
    “I have no idea.” She let out a breath and dropped her forehead to his chest. “Whatever you’ve got.”
    He gathered her into his strong arms. “Everything,” he said, and brushed his mouth along her temple. “You’ve got everything I’ve got and everything I am.”
      
    The next morning Chloe awoke and knew she was once again alone in the bed. But this time she wouldn’t open her eyes to the sight of her sexy-as-sin husband packing his bag.
    Because he was already gone.
    Every snippy, bitchy, unhappy comment she’d made to Sawyer over the past few months as she got bigger and more and more anxious about the baby had haunted her all night long.
    She wanted to take back each and every one of them, but she couldn’t. Her heart trembled as she forced herself to roll out of bed. Quite the feat with the Bean like a basketball out in front of her.
    She headed to the bathroom—where she seemed to live these days—and paused by Sawyer’s dresser, eyeing the two picture frames he kept there. Sentiment was mostly wasted on the man, but sometimes he surprised her. Like he had with these, which he’d picked by himself.
    The first had been taken back when she’d still been flirting with screwing up her entire life. She’d been pulled over on her Vespa by none other than Sheriff Sawyer Thompson himself. It wasn’t a flattering pic of her. She was sunburned and windblown and looking a little bedraggled.
    Not Sawyer. He looked big and badass, and like maybe he wouldn’t recognize a smile if it bit him on the ass. Someone had snapped the pic with the two of them