She’ll put on her most expensive dress, find Solomon, and then go to the most extravagant restaurant, eat three lobsters—because it’s all-inclusive or bust, baby—and then walk and walk along the beach until evening comes and she can see her stars.
Scrambling up, Tessie rushes into the bedroom to change. She kicks out of the hotel slippers like she’s doing the can-can and grabs up her dress, an expensive bodycon dress that she saved a month’s paycheck for, a dress that makes her feel sexy as hell.
She steps into it.
Pulls it up. And—
Gasps.
She can’t get it up past her bump.
Can’t breathe. Can’t move.
She’s stuck.
“Shit,” she swears, tugging at the dress that’s now suction-cupped to her stomach like a pumped-up blood pressure cuff. She jerks her arms. Flails. But it’s useless. “Oh. God. Oh no, no, no, no.”
A hot and panicky feeling overwhelms her. As she squirms to escape the fabric’s constricting clutch, she catches her reflection in the floor-length mirror. A fumbling woman in unflattering hotel light, a stuffed sausage in a dress. Wild eyes, limp hair hanging across her shoulders.
The growl of her stomach snaps her out of her daze. Has her dropping her chin in dismay.
If she’s hungry, her baby’s starving.
Oh God.
She’s starving him.
Already, she’s traded work for her son. The rabid little beast inside her needs a meal, and she’s forgotten all about him.
Hot tears spring to her eyes. She hasn’t even fed her baby yet.
What kind of mother is she?
Despair and doubt well inside her like a flood. Months and months of fears and anxieties that she’s stomped down deep with the toe of her high-heeled shoe claw their way up from the pit in her stomach.
She’s terrible. Terrible Tess. And she’s going to be a terrible mother.
How will she do this alone?
She can’t even change her dress without getting stuck in it. She doesn’t even have Solomon’s number to call him for help. Because she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have people who stick around. She doesn’t even have sex anymore, and she’s so, so horny, even driving down an old dirt road could get her off.
What if she lived truly in the moment like Solomon? What if she loved like Ash? What if she let life be and participated instead of going through the motions? What if she never finds her stars?
The crying hits her like a flood. Hot tears stream down her cheeks as she spirals into a Five-Mile Island meltdown.
She tries to sit on the edge of the bed, but her dress is so tight she can’t even have that little dignity.
Instead, Tessie collapses to the ground in a pile of fabric and lets out a wail. All she wants to do is cry. She doesn’t feel glowy; she doesn’t feel ready for this baby; and she certainly doesn’t feel sexy.
She wants to climb off the terrace, run to the beach, hitch a ride on a buoy, and take it out to sea. Sail away.
Far, far away.
Pineapple man mocktail in his hand, Solomon opens the door to the suite and steps inside, only to be hit by the most terrifying sound in the world.
Crying.
Tessie’s crying.
A broken wail comes from the bedroom. The sound has Solomon’s pulse spiking.
“Tessie?” he shouts, barely having time to set the pineapple man down haphazardly before lunging into the bedroom.
He finds her slumped on the floor like a wilted Cinderella, draped in a mess of black fabric.
“Tess?” He kneels at her feet, his hands held out because he doesn’t know where to put them. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Go away, Solomon.” Keeping her head down, still sniffling, she lifts a hand, shooing him.
“You’re crying,” he says, idiotically stating the obvious.
“So?” She wipes her wet eyes, still refusing to look at him. “I always cry. I love crying.”
His focus goes to her stomach, cradled in her arms as silent sobs rack her shoulders. A rock builds in his throat, and he can barely get the words, words that threaten to strangle him, out. “Is something wrong with the baby?”
Fear fills him, unhinging him at the notion of anything terrible ever happening to his son.
“No,” she says with a shake of her blond head. “It’s me. I’m wrong. I’m a mess.”
He frowns. “That’s the exact opposite of what you are.”
“How do you know? You don’t even know me.” She lifts her face. Her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. “All I do is push people away. I don’t know how to let anyone in.” She hugs her belly. “What if I push Bear away? What if I do everything wrong? What if he hates me?”
“No one could hate you.”
“You hate me.”
His jaw drops. Jesus. Like a knife to his chest. “I don’t hate you.” Chancing it, he tucks a lock of her long blond hair behind her ear. Then he lowers himself to sit beside her. “Sure, we’re still figuring things out, but. . .I could never hate you.”
“All I’ve done today is work,” she says. “I haven’t even seen the beach. My feet hurt.” In a smaller voice, “I can’t get out of my dress. I’m stuck. I feel like a hippo.”
He tries not to smile. “You are very much not a hippo.”
“I am. I’m like a. . .wobbly babushka doll.” A despondent look crosses her face. “I’m pregnant and alone, Solomon. No one wants me. No one wants to touch me.”
His heart breaks at the honest anguish in her voice. How can she think she’s anything other than beautiful? Any man would be lucky to be in her orbit.
“I’m trying to be okay, but I’m by myself every night and every morning, and it just. . .it feels so sad.” Her voice snags on the word. “It’s so lonely.”
The doubt in her voice, the fear, the raw vulnerability, hits him like a sledgehammer. She’s single. Doing this pregnancy thing alone. Christ, how long has it been since she’s been touched? Since she’s been complimented? Except for Ash, no one’s been around to help her. Hell if that wouldn’t take a toll on a person.
Scooting close, he nudges her chin up with a massive finger until she’s forced to meet his gaze. “You are beautiful, Tessie. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Her brown eyes widen. “I am?”
“You are. And you can do this.”
Tears sparkle on her long lashes. “But what if I can’t?” She sniffles. “I work too much. I can’t even keep an air plant alive.”
He stays quiet, letting her get it out.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I pretend to all the time. I pretend to be brave. I’m not really like that. I just. . .” She drops her head into her hands. “I’m scared. I’m scared to give birth. I’m scared of what type of mother I’ll be. I’m scared to lose Bear. Or leave him. What if”—a sob tears out of her and her face crumples—“I’m just scared.”
There’s so much he wants to unpack, but right now, it’s not about him. Solomon gathers her into his arms, and she doesn’t resist. She sags against him, the warmth of her petite frame a comfort he didn’t know he needed.
“Listen to me,” he rasps.
She peers up at him, her big, beautiful brown eyes filled with tears.
“It’s okay to be scared. But the one thing I know is that you’re going to be a goddamn great mother.”
She smiles wanly. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve spent two days with you, and already, I see it.” He palms her face, making sure she hears him. “I see it in all the ways you care for Bear. Hell, he’s not even in the real world yet, and already, you’re there for him.”
Her body goes soft against him, relaxing. So he keeps talking.
“And I’ll tell you another thing too.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not alone. I’m right here with you. I know you think I’m leaving, but I’m not. I’m going to be a father to my son and help you with whatever you need.” He pulls her closer, smoothing her hair. “Tell me what you need, Tess, and I’ll do it. I’ll give you anything.”
He’s lost all control. Anything she asks, he’ll be at her beck and call. He thinks of the pineapple man melting on the counter and knows he’ll do all kinds of stupid shit to make her happy.
She considers him, then whispers, “I need to get out of this dress.”
He nods. “I’m good at getting women out of dresses.”