Moonlight spilled over the sand, highlighting the tracks of seaweed and shells, stones, and the ever relentless pull of the tide as it eroded everything. Foam crisscrossed the larger rippling fingers of lapping water thanks to the stone pier and the battering ram of high tide.
She followed the moonlit path to that pier. Lonely and solitary, it made a focal point to attain.
He called her name again, gaining on her. Those damn long legs.
She couldn’t ask for him to leave her alone again. She had to tell him. It wasn’t right to keep the information inside her.
You don’t have to tell Deacon if you don’t want to.
Tears blurred her vision as she climbed the rocky pier. Sharp stones cut at her feet, her palms, her knee as she stumbled. Then his hands were there. His arms hauling her up onto the flat part of the pier where pedestrians walked.
He dragged her into his arms and the tears she’d been choking down rolled out in a torrent. She hooked her arms under his and held onto his shoulders as her nose found his chest. He smelled of ocean tinged cedar. The ever present heat of his core body temperature combating the sea spray kicking up around them, soaking her maxi dress.
He crouched down to her, pressing his nose into her shoulder, and just held her. As usual Deacon knew what she needed. Always seemed to know just what to do.
She never knew how to handle stuff. He was the problem solver. Even when he didn’t know all the answers, he knew what to do.
He crushed her harder to his chest the more she sobbed.
Hormones? This wasn’t the end of the world. This could be a wonderful thing, couldn’t it?
Then why did it feel like such a big thing?
Why did it feel like the end of…something. Something she couldn’t quite define.
She moved her arms to wrap around his neck, to press her face into the warmth that was Deacon, to find his mouth with hers. Their lips tasted of salt spray and desperation. She tasted baffled man and uncertain passion.
She tore her mouth away and rested her forehead against his. He was practically bent in half to reach down to her and the darkness put him in silhouette.
But she didn’t need visuals. Earnest and bewildered Deacon would be staring down at her. But maybe it was better that the darkness cloaked them.
She wasn’t sure she could take the look on his face.
Would it be wonder and excitement or would it be confused chaos?
She understood the chaos. It had been churning inside of her since that afternoon.
He cupped her face, breaking the stranglehold she had on his shoulders and arms. “Harper, you are scaring the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m not doing this right.”
“Can we go back to the cottage and talk? You’re shivering.”
“I’m okay. I need to tell you something.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”
He swiped his thumbs over her cheeks, and more tears tumbled with each pass. She took a deep breath.
Say it, Harper Lee.
Stop being such a fucking drama queen.
Say it.
Say it.
“Harper, please.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“What?” His hands fell away from her face and cupped her shoulders. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Deacon. I swear, I don’t even know how it happened.”
The silhouette of his shoulders heaved once and his grip tightened on her shoulders. “A baby?” His hand dropped to the curve of her waist and across the front of her belly.
She covered his hand with hers. “I don’t know what to do,” she said on a whisper that barely rose above the crash of the waves behind him. “We’re so not ready for this.”
“This is what has you so…today. What made you so distant?”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand flat to her middle. “I was lying there with you this morning and all I could think about was how crazy the last few days had been.”
His fingertips widened as he splayed his entire hand along the slight indent of her belly.
“Food has tasted off for days. I just thought it was me. Strawberries were out of season. That’s why they tasted like…nothing. No taste at all. Then we went and had all that greasy food. You know I love smothered fries. How many times have we gone to the diner near the new house?”
He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t stop her mouth from motoring on.
“The sex. I mean, God, we love sex. Obviously, we love the love part of all of this. But I’ve been a complete maniac. We’re on our honeymoon. It’s supposed to be hot sex all the time. That’s not supposed to be anything different, right?”
“Except that you were so…mindless. We’re usually different. Connected.”
She stepped closer to him, until their joined hands were pressed between his belt and her belly. “Not the whole time. I love making love to you. Every moment of our honeymoon has been amazing.”
His voice was raspy. “And you just assumed pregnant?”
“No. I had a strong feeling. I looked at my…at the app I have to keep track of my period. We’re so busy, so many different things going on between the band, the house, and my job.”
“So this app just says—boom, pregnant?”
“No.” She stood on her tiptoes, but he didn’t lean down to her.