You Were Meant For Me (Wishful 10)

“I’m pregnant.”

Her words stopped the montage flying through his brain on fast forward. “What?”

“I haven’t had the stomach flu or jet lag or food poisoning. I am, impossibly, improbably, pregnant.”

They weren’t breaking up. Relief came hard and fast, forcing his breath out on a wheeze. If he hadn’t already been sitting, his legs would’ve gone right out from under him. His worst fear hadn’t come to pass. But what she’d said…. Mitch struggled to kick his brain in gear. Holy shit. A baby. They’d made a baby. How had that even happened? They’d taken steps, used protection.

What did it matter? Tess was pregnant with his child.

This was the why of everything. Why she’d been sick. Why she’d been distant.

It was his wish come true. Maybe not at all what he’d imagined when he made it, but a baby meant marriage and family and everything he wanted, everything he hadn’t gotten a chance to ask for in Scotland because their time had been over too soon. Now they’d get their forever.

“Please say something.” It was as close to pleading as he’d ever heard from her, and he realized she still sat there, white-knuckling her mug, utterly terrified of his reaction.

He surged to his feet, not missing her flinch as he plucked the mug from her hands.

Her face fell. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Honey—” Mitch grasped her hands, tugging her up from the chair and into his arms. “I’m gonna be a daddy! This is amazing!” He spun them in circles before it occurred to him that might upset her stomach.

Tess’s mouth pulled into a frown. “You’re…happy?”

“I’m thrilled! I mean, okay, it’s a shock. But a baby. My mom will be over the moon. The first Campbell grandbaby. Everybody will be over the moon. We’ll have to dive into planning the wedding. And a nursery! That room a couple doors down from ours would be ideal, I think. Good space. Room for a kid to grow. I’ve got lots of ideas. I think I went through about a dozen designs for Autumn and Judd…”

He trailed off as he realized Tess hadn’t responded to any of his ramble.

She stared up at him, expression guarded. “You’re making a helluva lot of assumptions.”

Mitch replayed everything he’d just spouted off, not seeing the problem. “I’m just being logical. We’re having a baby. Of course we’re getting married.”

“No. We’re not.”

As he looked at her—really looked at her—he realized she wasn’t anywhere near as excited about this as he was. He didn’t see any of the bubbling joy. He saw…resignation.

“You’re not happy about this.”

“Of course I’m not happy!” She tugged away from him and reached for a book on the table, waving it at him. “Nowhere in my planner does it say ‘Have affair. Get pregnant. Destroy plan.’” Clutching the planner to her chest, she sank down onto the couch. “I’ve been freaking out for days. I didn’t plan on this. In fact, I planned very specifically to avoid this.”

He sat beside her and laid a hand on her knee, needing the connection. “For right now or forever?” It hadn’t even occurred to him she might not want children. But she hadn’t exactly been for the idea when the topic came up at the diner with Cam and Norah, had she?

“It hardly matters, does it? Like it or not, my entire life is going to change.” The words were bitter, her tone full of frustration. “And this isn’t like a little change to the plan, where I can hide the mistake with washi tape and stickers. This is a have to start from fucking scratch with a new plan kind of change.”

“What the hell is washi tape?” Seeing the narrowing of her eyes, he realized now was absolutely not the moment for that question. “Never mind.”

She hadn’t chosen this. Neither had he. But at thirty-four, he was a lot more settled in his life, in his career. This wasn’t a blessing or the answer to a wish for her. It was an atomic

bomb to her carefully laid plans. So maybe rushing ahead to the happily ever after was premature and telling her they were getting married instead of actually asking had been a mistake. He’d table that for now and rectify it later.

“When are we going to tell everyone?”

The color drained out of her cheeks. “We’re not telling anybody. Not yet. I’m only seven or eight weeks along. I could still miscarry. I’m sure as hell not dropping this bomb on our families until I know for sure it’s going to stick.”

That was fair. There’d be a lot of explaining to everybody that he wasn’t exactly looking forward to. But miscarriage. Jesus. Just the word sent a bolt of fear straight through him. He wanted to scoop her up and wrap her in cotton to protect her and what she carried from the world. That was his son or daughter inside her.

“Have you been to the doctor yet?”

“Miranda.”