It's Not Over (Fair Lakes 1)

“And Tuesday. Actually, just take the whole week off,” Harrison instructs, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Umm, excuse me?”

“The doctor said to take it easy for a few days.”

I give him my best “teacher” look and reply, “Yes, a few days; not an entire week. There’s no reason for me to be off that long. I’m fine.”

“Through Wednesday, then.” Harrison steeples his fingers at his nose, as if he’s in a business meeting. Well, sorry, buster, but I’m not a business arrangement or contract in need of negotiating.

“I’ll take two days. I need to call my doctor tomorrow anyway for an appointment. Hopefully they can get me in Tuesday.”

Harrison sighs deeply. “You’re not going to budge on this, are you?”

I shake my head.

Again, he exhales. “Fine, through Tuesday. I’m going to the doctor though.”

Smiling happily that he conceded, I squeeze his hands. “Thank you, and yes, I’ll let you know as soon as I have an appointment set. I can call you,” I add, getting up off my knees and instantly feeling the need to use the restroom again.

I head toward the hallway when he replies. “No need. I’ll be staying here.”

Well, that stops me in my tracks.

“Excuse me?” I ask, startled, turning around and staring at the man taking over my easy chair. He’s reading the book again, or at least thumbing through it as if he were.

“I’m staying here,” he comments casually, as if no big deal.

“For today.”

“For a while.”

“We’ve talked about this. I agreed to let you stay for a very short term. One night, tops. Remember?”

He smirks over the top of the paperback. “I recall.” Then he returns his attention to the book, essentially dismissing me.

“You’re not staying here, Harrison. We’re divorced,” I state, crossing my arms over my chest. No, it’s not the end of the world if he stays here, but it just makes the muddy water even murkier. The problem is that I’ll start to enjoy having him here again, and eventually, he’ll head back to his place, leaving me behind. That thought is just depressing, really.

“We’ll see,” he says, giving his attention back to the book.

I groan in frustration and head to the bathroom to do my business. As I wash my hands, I can’t help but stare at the reflection in the mirror. I don’t look any different, but I definitely feel it. My hands instantly drop to my flat stomach, much like they did in the shower earlier. There’s a miracle growing inside me. Our miracle, even though I thought that ship had long sailed.

I just pray we’re strong enough to weather the storm this time around.

On Monday morning, after a quick phone call to my regular OB/GYN, I’m scheduled for an appointment that afternoon. As soon as I mentioned the accident and spotting, they insisted on squeezing me in as soon as they could. I’m thankful as I think this appointment will go a long way at calming my nerves. Sure, they’ll still be there, but I’m hoping they’ll be able to confirm that everything is going to be okay.

“Gwendolyn,” the nurse says into the packed waiting room of pregnant women. They come in every stage of pregnancy, some not showing, like me, and a few very close to their due date.

Harrison stands up and places his hand under my elbow. He guides me through the room to where the nurse smiles warmly. Her eyes seem a little brighter now that she’s gotten a good look at my husband—err, ex-husband. I want to tell her I get it. He’s totally adorable. But I keep quiet, and maybe lean into him a little closer.

“Let’s check your weight first, and then you can step into the restroom and give us a urine sample,” she says, glancing over my shoulder once to check out the man behind me. Okay, now it’s a little annoying.

I’ve never been self-conscious about my weight, but there’s something unnerving about stepping on the scale in front of Harrison and the nurse with wandering eyes. That number is only going to keep going up. For good reason, mind you, but I won’t dwell on it since the reason will be well worth it.

“I’ll escort Dad into the room. You can step across the hall and give us a sample. When you’re done, place it in the small door on the wall for us to collect. Come to exam room four when you’re finished,” the nurse says, smiling brightly.

I take care of business, place the cup in the little window, wash my hands, and head out to room four. As I approach the door, I can hear laughter. “I thought you looked familiar! I’ll be sure to stop in on my lunch break.”

“Do that. I’m sure one of our personal trainers will be more than willing to add you as a client,” Harrison says. I push open the door and find him standing in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest in a guarded manner.

“You don’t take on new clients?” the flirty nurse asks, not noticing I’ve entered the room.

“Not at this time. I have a great staff though, and I’m sure we can find someone who fits your needs,” he replies, noticing me for the first time.

“His staff is wonderful,” I say, entering the room completely and not closing the door behind me. “You’re sure to find someone else who’s amazing to work with.”

The nurse gives me a sheepish grin and drops her eyes. “I’m sure. I’ll stop by and sign up,” she says, looking down at my chart. “Dr. Taylor will be in shortly to talk to you before she does the exam,” she adds. Then she’s gone.

“I hate her.”

Harrison snorts. “Stop it. She was just asking about training since she saw my newspaper ads the other day.”

“She was totally wanting you to train her… and not in exercise.” He raises his eyebrow in response to my statement. I sigh deeply. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Who you train is none of my business.”

And then he moves, caging me against the exam table with his arms, wrapping me in the comfort of his scent. “Anything to do with me is your business, Winnie. I’m not training her because I just don’t have the time, but I’m also not training her because she makes you uncomfortable. End of story.”

“It’s really none of my business,” I repeat, averting my eyes and trying to hop up on the table, which is difficult considering how close he’s standing. He grabs me by the armpits and lifts, setting me effortlessly down on the table. I hate that I feel so jealous. I’ve never been a jealous woman, mostly because, when we were together, I knew he only had eyes for me. But now, I have no right to feel jealous about anything or anyone, not when I was the one who initiated the divorce.

Still doesn’t make that bitter pill any easier to swallow.

As soon as I’m situated on the table, he leans forward, placing his hands on either side of my hips, and lightly brushes them with his thumbs. “Do you know why it matters?”

I can’t answer, so I shake my head.

“It matters because you’re the only one who matters. The. Only. One. The fact that you’re a little jealous only reiterates the fact that we belong together, baby. You and me. And Peanut. Ever since I saw you in that library, I’ve only had eyes for you. Nothing has changed, even after we split. So don’t think that any of that was none of your business, because it most certainly is. You are my business. My priority,” he whispers, running his nose along my jawline. I can’t believe how quickly my body starts to heat at the slightest touch.