“Brooke,” Ryan said, and she moved her line of sight, noticing that he was standing right next to her car.
She froze, her fingers curling around the bumpy metal edges of her keys. “What are you doing here?” Her pulse began to race. She could tell that he had come straight from a job site—his Carhartt jacket was dusted with a white, powdery substance, likely Sheetrock or cement. His hair and olive-toned skin were dusted with it, too, giving him a ghostly appearance—making him look significantly older than he was.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, taking a couple of steps toward her so he was only a few feet away. If she wanted, she could reach out and pull him into an embrace.
“I told you we’re done talking,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
“No, you said you’re done talking.”
“I’m not interested in—”
“Brooke,” he said. “Let me finish.” He shoved his hands into his coat’s pockets. “I know I can’t make you end the pregnancy, whether or not I agree with your decision. That much is clear. I’m sorry our relationship is over. But that doesn’t mean I’m the kind of man to just walk away from my responsibilities. I’ve always taken care of my boys, and I will help take care of this baby, too.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Brooke said, steeling herself against the urge she felt to weep. She imagined standing over their child together, Ryan’s arm around her waist. She pictured him changing their baby’s diaper, feeding it a bottle, but then forced those images down, knowing that that wasn’t what he meant. He meant he would help financially. That he would treat their child as a monthly bill to pay.
“I know you’re not,” Ryan said. “It’s not about that. It’s about the right thing to do.”
Brooke stared at him a moment, then pushed past him, toward her car. “I have to go,” she said. She felt his eyes on her as she started the engine, and she spent the drive to her sister’s house shoving down the temptation she felt to take Ryan up on his offer. But she’d told him she could do this on her own, and she would. She didn’t need him.
Exactly three minutes before seven, Brooke pulled up to the address Natalie had texted, relieved that her brief interaction with Ryan hadn’t caused her to be late. As she looked up the short walkway that led to a beautiful gray Craftsman-style house, her hands gripped the steering wheel in an attempt to steady the nervous tremors that shimmied through her body. She loved how the windows were trimmed in bright white paint and both the porch and chimney were built out of round river stones, giving the substantially sized home a more welcoming, cozy cottage look. The yard was full of well-manicured evergreens, and the long driveway leading up to the garage was littered with the signs of construction: piles of two-by-fours covered by a blue plastic tarp and a truck marked ELITE REMODELS along its side.
This is crazy, Brooke thought as she took in the outside of her sister’s house. Everything about the place screamed “home.” She didn’t belong here.
She reached for the keys, which were still in the ignition, about to start the engine and drive away, when the front door of the house opened and Natalie appeared on the porch, waving. Damn it, Brooke thought. With a quiet sigh, she pulled the keys out and put them in her purse. She reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the bouquet of yellow roses she’d brought, opened the driver’s side door, and then, after locking the car, walked slowly up the front steps.
“Did you have any trouble getting here?” Natalie asked as Brooke made her way onto the porch.
“No,” Brooke said, trying to smile as she handed over the flowers. She’d put them in a clear glass vase left over from the time Ryan had sent her a bouquet for her birthday. Her brief conversation with him had left her feeling even more jittery than she already did about meeting Natalie’s family. “GPS brought me right to you.”
“Oh, good.” Natalie took the vase and smiled, ushering Brooke inside. “I don’t know how I survived without that bossy little voice inside my phone telling me where to turn.” Natalie set the flowers on an entry table. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Brooke said, letting her eyes wander over the high-vaulted ceilings in the living room, appreciating the thick, exposed wood beams and warm, earthy hues Natalie had chosen to paint the walls. Tall, cream-colored candles were lit on the mantel over the fireplace, and the air was redolent with herbs and roasting meat. Brooke’s stomach growled; her appetite in the last week had grown exponentially, and she finally understood the real meaning of the phrase “eating for two.” She took off her jacket and watched as Natalie hung it up in the closet.
“Is she here?” a little girl’s voice called out, sounding as though she wasn’t very far away.