Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri

I’m stuck with Rhys, whether I want to be or not. And this time, I can’t run away. At least not for another two weeks.

Chapter Fourteen

“Will you tell me if you’re pregnant or will you run away again?” a voice asks me as soon as I wake up the next morning.

Considering that I’d been asking myself that very same question since yesterday’s shower slip up, it would’ve been easy to think the voice was coming from my own head.

But no, it’s Rhys. He standing beside the bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. And he’s holding the tray my grandma used to serve me sweet tea on when I was a little girl. But in this case, it’s filled with two breakfast plates.

I raise to a seated position and put on my fanciest voice to trill, “Ooh, The Fine Prince himself is serving me breakfast in bed this morning. What did I do to deserve this?”

He throws me a look, half-annoyed, half-exasperated. “I can’t say I’ve missed your cheeky tone.”

I laugh, mostly out of relief because he’s letting me get away with not answering his question. “Boy, you moved to small town Missouri. The only three settings we got are friendly, cheeky, and show me the receipts. I suggest you get used to it.”

He makes a non-committal sound and sets the tray down. It’s piled with what I used to call the Rhys special. Bacon, toast, and hard-boiled eggs.

“Sorry, love, that’s pretty much the extent of what I know how to make breakfast wise.”

He’d been apologetic back then, but this morning he throws the tray down like a prison guard would. You get what you get.

I eat my breakfast silently with all the thoughts swirling around my head. We had sex yesterday. The kind of balls deep wall-pounding sex we used to have when Rhys actually liked me and I was still on birth control.

But this morning it’s like we’re two strangers. Reluctantly sharing the same space.

Which is probably a good thing. It’s better for us to be reluctant and awkward than sexy and confusing. Right?

My phone vibrates with a text before I can mentally answer that question.

I pick it up. “Ugh! They’re already squabbling. It’s A, demanding that I tell E to make him some pancakes.”

“He can’t make his own pancakes?” Rhys asks.

I grimace. “Technically yes. But the twins had a weird dynamic when I first arrived. A acted all helpless and E did everything for him like she was his mom. I’m proud of E for standing her ground though. A needs to learn some personal responsibility.”

“Then why are you answering him?” Rhys asks, taking the tray with my empty plate and standing up.

I stop texting A and look up at him. “What?”

“If E has stood up for herself and A needs to learn to take personal responsibility, why are you getting involved in their argument? It sounds as if E has everything well-handled.”

I tilt my head to the side, not sure how to take that question. “First of all, it’s not interfering. I’m their guardian.”

“A told me he was eighteen, is that not true?”

“I mean, yes, but…”

Rhys raises an eyebrow. “Then perhaps it’s time for you to let them solve their own arguments. You know, take care of themselves.”

“I mean, that sounds good in theory, but I’m not even sure they can do that without me.”

As if to punctuate my point, A texts. “Now she’s telling me I have to clean up my game room!!! Can you tell her she can’t tell me what to do?”

Before I can answer, Rhys plucks the phone out of my hand. “Let’s find out then. I’ll keep your phone for the next thirty minutes. If they’re still texting after that, you may interfere.”

“Again, it’s not interfering,” I start to correct as he deposits both my phone and the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“And while we wait, you’ll answer my earlier question,” Rhys says, ignoring my protest. Then he comes back to the bed to ask, “Will you tell me if you’re pregnant or will you run away again?”

So I guess I hadn’t completely gotten away with not answering his question after all.

Which is tricky because I haven’t quite answered that question for myself. I mean, I already know I’ll keep the baby if it turns out I’m pregnant. Like that Halsey song, I’m bad at love, but taking care of other people? A+. I’ve loved my time with the twins and I could totally see myself as a mom.

However, my stomach roils with several emotions at the thought of being pregnant with Rhys’s child. Anxiety and fear and something softer that makes the other two emotions that much worse.

So how should I play this?

Cool Cynda it is. I shrug and ask, “Where am I going to run to? You’re living on my property.”