Not if she can help it.
She wants to get back to that conversation. Solomon had been about to tell her something important. She saw it in his eyes. The hard bob of his throat. Her big, tough mountain man was nervous, and she wants to get to the bottom of it. Because maybe it’s what she hopes it is. Maybe he feels the same way she does.
“You want drinks?” she asks the table. “We’ll get drinks,” she offers, snagging Solomon by the bicep and dragging him over to the small bar.
“We can go,” he grunts after they place their orders. His glare could fry the sun.
Ash’s comment about her getting out of the room resonates in Tessie’s mind. She didn’t get dressed up only to be ambushed by two perfectly annoying strangers. This is what vacation is for. Meeting others. Expanding one’s worldly horizons. Although, after a second glance at Rick and Roni Zebrowski, she’s beginning to understand why Solomon stayed on his mountain.
“Ten minutes,” she says. “Then we can bolt if it gets painful.” She presses into Solomon. “Besides, admit it, you’re mildly intrigued. They’re wearing neon suspenders; how do you not want to know more?”
“Fine,” he says with a flat chuckle. He leans in to press a kiss to her lips.
Tessie stiffens, a pleased shiver curling down her spine. Oh God. They’re kissing now.
Spontaneous random kisses out in public.
Kissing like a couple.
She’s suddenly breathless, her heart pumping hard, this gooey teenage feeling heating her up inside. And she knows—with every cynical love-adverse bone in her vibrating body—she’s falling.
Too hard. Too soon. Too fast.
Wilding out for Solomon Wilder.
Internally, she groans. Ugh. Heart and mind align; same page, please.
She has to stick to her guns. No attachment.
Even if saying goodbye will hurt like hell.
“Code word,” Tessie says, snapping out of her inane thoughts, “bananas.” She flips her hair and snatches up two drinks, watching the amused smile tug at Solomon’s lips. “I bet you the first diaper change you say it first.”
Rick and Roni are deep in conversation when they get back to the table. Solomon hands a drink to Rick, takes a sip of his whiskey, and rests his large elbows on the table.
Rick raises his beer in a toast. “To new friends.”
Roni gestures at Tessie’s cocktail glass, her face puckering. “I didn’t know you could have alcohol.”
Tessie’s body is a cringe. Here they go. Unsolicited advice. A never-ending part of her pregnancy.
“It’s a mocktail,” she says evenly, then takes a long sip.
“A what?”
“A mocktail. It’s non-alcoholic,” Solomon says, his voice as lethal as an injection.
Roni fans herself. “The fancy things they have these days. . .” she drawls, instantly launching into a menu of what she could and could not eat when she was pregnant with her firstborn.
As Tess tries not to zone out, she shifts on her heels. Wearing them was a mistake. Her feet feel like they’re in a vise. But before she can turn to hunt for a chair, Solomon’s placing a light hand on the small of her back and asking, “You need to sit?”
“Yes,” she breathes, looking up at him. How he can read her, how he’s so attuned to her needs, has her blood warming. He stalks over to the bar and brings back a barstool for her. With one hand in hers and the other on her waist, he helps her onto the high-back chair.
When she’s settled, Tessie shares a warm smile with Solomon. Beneath the table, she searches for his hand. His big fingers pull her hand into his. Offering comfort. Solidarity.
With a narrowed, sniper-like gaze, Roni asks, “Now, when did you say you’re due again?”
“I didn’t,” Tessie breathes out, already tired of the inquisition. Already wanting to get back to their room. She hates that being pregnant is like open season for interrogation, perfect strangers dying to share their hot takes on her body, offering shitty criticisms, and asking personal questions that are none of their business.
When Roni waits for her reply, lips pursed in anticipation, Tessie sighs and gives in. “December twenty-third.”
“Ooh, a holiday baby,” Roni titters.
“Our oldest was born on Halloween,” Rick adds with a goofy laugh. “Never seen so many zombies in the delivery room, and I’m not just talking about the pregnant women.”
Roni squeals like he’s just told the best joke in the world.
Pained, Solomon sets his whiskey down and rubs a palm over his bearded jaw.
Roni sucks on the lime from her margarita glass, says to Tessie, “You look small for twenty-nine weeks. Are you sure—”
“She’s sure,” Solomon snaps.
Tessie squeaks and squeezes his muscular thigh under the table. A warning to keep it together. “So what do you think of the resort?” she asks Roni, desperate for a change in topic.
“Oh, it’s beautiful. It’d be even better without all those birds squawking every morning.” She waves a hand. “Don’t get me wrong; I love nature, just not when it interrupts my vacation.”
A strangled noise comes out of Solomon’s throat.
Tessie leans in. “Say it,” she whispers so low only he can hear. “Code word.”
“Never,” he grits out, stone faced. Every part of him a tense, rippling muscle. He’s white knuckling his frosted whiskey glass.
“It’s so good you two are doing this.” Roni downs her margarita, leaving hot pink lipstick smeared on one side of her face. She swivels her finger between Tessie and Solomon. “Go to all the shows and concerts and vacations you can before the baby is born, because you’ll never get a chance again.”
A tremor of unease twists Tessie’s stomach. With Roni’s rambling, all her insecurities and fears and anxieties about giving birth have come clawing to the surface.
“Have you been to the spa yet?” Tessie asks, hoping to take the spotlight off her stomach. She adjusts herself in the chair, steeling her spine. “It’s rated one of the best in the world. Their massages are supposed to be epic.” She chuckles and looks at Solomon. “I should schedule a foot massage.”
A small smile ghosts his lips. “Should stop wearing heels.”
Gasping, she swats at him with her clutch. “I will wear heels, Solomon, and you will adore me every step of the way.”
Eagled eyed, Roni chimes in. “Honestly, Tessie, I really can’t believe you’re still wearing heels. No wonder you’re tired, wearing shoes like that.” Her lips pucker. “I heard they can cause miscarriages, you know.”
Tessie jerks back like she’s been slapped. The words her worst fear served up on a platter—so cruel, so paralyzing that her eyes flood with tears.
She’ll leave the baby.
The baby will leave her.
Rick closes his eyes. “Shit. Roni.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Solomon growls, his hand balling into a fist. “What is wrong with you?”
The couple take a step back from the table, their faces pale.
Solomon looks at her, the bones of his handsome face rigid with rage. The hard line of his jaw moving over and over. “You want to go?”
Tears spill down her cheeks. She bobblehead nods.
She can’t handle this with grace. Not anymore.
“Yes,” she says. She’s shaking, absolutely a tremor. Her heart beats so hard in her chest it could punch through the walls of her ribs at any moment.
Holding tight to her hand, Solomon helps her off the chair. Then he tucks her against his side as he thunders out of the pavilion, walking so fast that she has to hurry to keep up.
The sky’s dusted with stars when they step outside.
Solomon turns to her, worry etched on his handsome face. “Tess. . .”
But she doesn’t listen.
She can’t.
Instead, she runs.
All she wants to do is get away. From the advice. From her fears. From worries that have followed her all her life. That this sad kind of lonely will never leave her.
“Tessie, wait!”