“That’s why you have to talk to her. In fact, you need to get your ass on a plane and go see her. See for yourself how she’s doing and make sure she knows you’ve got her back. I know it’s hard for you too, but you have us. A career that’s going well. Money coming in. What does she have?”
Nothing.
The word hits me like a physical blow, and I wince.
She doesn’t have anything. Or anyone.
And at the end of the day, she didn’t get pregnant on her own.
One way or another, no matter how inconvenient the timing is, I have to be there for her. Even if she doesn’t want me around after the way I’ve behaved.
Without another word, I open my phone and start searching for a flight.
Chapter 18
Summer
It would be so much easier if the smell of everything didn’t send me running to the bathroom. Garlic. Cinnamon. Even apples. Everything makes me want to heave. It’s easier at home because I can walk outside or into another room to get relief. There’s no escape at the diner and tonight is worse than usual. I’ve only been here since four—I was running behind on my baking because I’ve upped my production by about twenty-five percent and it takes longer since I can’t get going until noon—and I’m miserable.
“Summer, honey,” Dolly comes around the corner with a tray full of drinks. “Table seven says they’re still waiting on soup.”
“Yeah, I’m getting it.” I fill two bowls with minestrone, something that actually smells good to me for once, and hurry in that direction.
I give them their soup, take the order from two guys at the next table, and then head to the back again. Sometimes I get a burst of energy at work. Other times, I just want to take a nap. Today is a nap day. I know it’s because I’m not sleeping well but the minute I lie down at night, my brain goes into overdrive.
Dolly and I have loosely come up with a plan.
Increasing my pie baking business by twenty-five percent now, and potentially by fifty percent in six months. I’ll be later in my pregnancy then, so slowing down with waiting tables, and I’ll need that money. If I’m lucky, the morning sickness will pass by the second trimester, and I’ll have more energy to bake more.
There are two other restaurants in town that expressed interest in buying pies from me, and one bakery wants me to provide all their pumpkin pies in November and December because they don’t have the time. Dolly also suggested putting up flyers around town, maybe taking out a small ad in the local newspaper and posting on social media, advertising my availability to bake pies for individual customers for the holidays.
Just from word of mouth I’ve been able to get a few more customers, so even though it means working more on my days off, I’m bringing in more money, which is all I care about short-term. In a perfect world, I’d be able to support myself with my pies once the baby comes, but my life is rarely perfect.
“Summer.” Dolly’s voice is low, cautious.
I look up warily. “What did I forget?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She hesitates. “He’s here.”
“Who’s here?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Tate.”
“I…what?” I blink, not quite understanding.
“He just walked in and sat at the counter. Asked if you were here.”
“Tate is here? You’re sure?” I’m so shocked I’m having a hard time believing her.
“Of course, I’m sure!” She rolls her eyes. “Go on and take a break. I can handle the dining room.”
“I’m not taking a break!” I grunt. “He can wait. God knows, he’s made me wait two weeks without so much as a text!”
I huff into the dining room but my step falters when I see him.
He’s sitting at the counter looking…gorgeous. Tired. Anxious. But as handsome as ever. Memories of our time together flood my brain. And my insides melt a little. Just for a second. Before reality sets in and I think about how awful he was when I told him I was pregnant.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, hoping I sound as angry as I feel.
