“Cracked pepper?” Louis asks, elbowing between them with a three-foot pepper mill that looks like a gigantic bong. Or a dildo.
Tessie can’t be sure which is more appropriate for the situation, because she and Solomon, they’re both getting fucked here. How did they get here? When did they veer away from pleasant conversation and dive headfirst into glowering silence?
Still eyeing Tessie, Solomon grits out, “No.” His hands, resting on the table, are pulled to fists, the knuckles white.
Tension cuts the air like a knife.
Rolling his shoulders, Solomon tries again after the server leaves them be. “What if. . .every summer—”
She gasps and palms her stomach. “I am not giving up my child every summer.”
“Our child,” Solomon corrects her quietly.
Shamed, Tessie blinks back hot tears, worry curdling her stomach. Her lower lip trembles. “But. He’ll be small for a long time. He just can’t be without me.” Her hands tighten on her belly, and she drops her gaze to the picked-over crab cake on her plate. Panic steals her breath, has her weak in the knees. The thought of losing Bear. Of ever being apart from him.
“I don’t want him to be without you, Tessie. I want—fuck.” The harsh blast of Solomon’s curse has her looking up. He rips a hand through his black hair again, his go-to reaction when he’s frustrated, she supposes, and clenches that steel jaw. Expression chagrined and angry, he asks, “How the hell do people do this?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. But we will, okay?” Leaning in, she puts her hands out. “No lawyers. Please? We’ll figure something out.”
Lawyers mean they fight. They mean Bear’s dragged through a nasty custody battle. They mean someone’s trying to take him from her.
The thought churns her stomach.
This is her son. She can’t understand the love she feels for Bear. Maybe because it’s innate. Unconditional. Hers. He is hers. She can do better than her father. She will. No one will take him away from her. And she sure as hell will never leave.
A grunt of affirmation from Solomon has her exhaling a long breath.
Slowly, she sips her mocktail, taking the time to analyze his facial expression. She can’t read him. And why would she? She barely knows the man.
“Are you mad?” she asks after a moment, quickly setting her drink down. “You look mad. Your face. . .it looks like it’s. . .melting.”
He shakes his head, a muscle twitching in his stern jaw. “I’m not mad, Tessie. I’m frustrated.”
A scoff pops out of her. “Well, me too.”
Solomon doesn’t respond. He’s silent. Studying her face. But before he can say anything, her phone goes off.
She jumps, startled by the loud vibration of an incoming text.
Peeking at the phone where it sits next to her plate, Tessie swears. She asked Atlas to give her the evening before she finished her mood board, but apparently, he couldn’t even do that.
Warmth behind her eyes.
Suddenly, she’s not hungry anymore. Dividing up her child like he’s an appetizer has left her with a sour ache in her stomach.
Gathering her napkin, she tosses it on the table and stands. Truce. No more. Not tonight. Between her boss’s demands and Solomon’s, she’s done. She’ll take a hard pass on crabby men cramping her island vibes. She wants to leave. She wants her compression socks and her record player and eight-hours of uninterrupted sleep.
“I’m going back to the room.”
She turns, tears spilling down her cheeks.
But suddenly, Solomon’s standing. Electricity snaps as he runs a broad, callused hand down her bare arm to snag her wrist. He stops her, turning her into him. “Tessie.”
She sniffles. Tips her chin so she can see him. “What?”
His dark blue gaze scours her face, lingering on her tears. Swallowing, his throat bobs with unsaid words, a conflicted look on his rugged face. “Your food.”
She forces a smile and wills the tears away. “Box it up for me, okay? I’ll eat it later.”
After giving her one last, long once-over, Solomon lets go of her wrist, and Tessie turns. Phone in her hand, she starts across the beach, not even bothering to try and keep her tears at bay.
They talked, they tried, but what if it’s hopeless?
What if they’re nothing more than perfect strangers who hate each other?
Something warm and raw simmers in Solomon’s chest as Tessie hurries away from him.
She doesn’t want him around.
But who can blame her? He made her cry. He made a pregnant woman cry. Christ. He’s an asshole.
Yes, he snapped at her, and the conversation got tense. He’d ground his teeth the entire time. Not fuming over Tessie, but over the way they couldn’t make one damn decision, because nothing about their situation is normal.
And he saw it on her face too.
It’s pretty damn clear Tessie Truelove wants nothing to do with him.
To her, he’s an interruption. A threat. A grumpy bastard.
Worse, she thinks he’ll take the baby away from her.
The thought has him feeling like an asshole of the highest variety.
Not for one damn second would he entertain the notion of taking that baby away. She’s strong as hell and determined to raise the baby alone. He respects her for it. But he wants to be in his son’s life. How does he reconcile that? How does he merge his easygoing life in Alaska with Tessie’s rat race in Los Angeles? None of this is easy, but there’s no question about it; they have to figure this out.
He’s got two days left.
He feels even worse as the server slips past him to deliver their meals. At the sight of the fresh fish, Tessie’s uneaten meal, Solomon frowns. She should have eaten more. All of a sudden, he aches to be back in Chinook, in his own damn kitchen, cooking her something healthy and delicious, instead of that shitty, anemic-looking salad on her plate.
In the distance, Tessie pauses near a palm tree to slip off her heels. He can make out her form, her long blond hair, the bright blue dress hugging the small bud of her stomach. Even in the dim moonlight, she shines gold like that night they first met. Beautiful.
Solomon smears a hand down his face and groans, half-tempted to go after her. He doesn’t like her wandering around in the dark. It’s too close to that night. That damn night that spun his world off its axis.
It’s a resort, Sol. It’s safe. No snow. No ice. No cars.
Still, he can’t help it. It’s nature to follow. Cursing himself, his overprotectiveness, he trails down the boardwalk after her, feeling like a creeper in the shadows. His body automatically drawn to her; his racing heart unable to rest until she gets to her destination safely. He keeps his pace smooth and efficient, keeping tabs on her while giving her distance.
A stab of regret knocks the wind out of him. He wishes he had asked her more about herself. Wishes he had grunted less. That he hadn’t chased her away. Christ, could he have come off as more of a grump? He wants to know the girl he’s raising his kid with. What puts that sad smile on her face. And who the fuck is blowing up her phone.
She’s not glowing. Aren’t pregnant women supposed to glow?
Solomon stops next to a gazebo when Tessie reaches their villa. Her phone practically glued to her hand, she takes the flight of steps gracefully, and then when he’s sure she’s disappeared safely inside, he turns and doubles back to the beach.
Guilt eats at his insides. Why the fuck did he let her walk away? He had stopped her. Almost. Felt the fast hammer of her pulse in her wrist as he ran his palm over her slender arm. He had found himself wanting to hug her. Touch her. Make her feel safe.
Kiss her.
Fuck.
No.
That’s the last thing he wants. His son’s his focus, and nothing and no one else. Even if her earlier question rings through his skull like a bell.
So there’s. . .no one?
No one except you, he had wanted to say.
A goddamn idiotic notion. He barely knows her. Even if she’s occupied space in his head for the last six months.
His ass is vibrating.