Yard Sale

“It’s nice,” he says, making his way to the front desk, the wheels of our suitcases echoing off the walls.

“That’s an understatement,” I say, tightening the messy ponytail on top of my head. My hair is so thick now that I don’t even attempt to tame it. Must be the prenatals.

“What are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can’t snowboard pregnant.” Tuck pauses. “Wait, can you?” he asks, second-guessing his initial assumption.

“No.” I laugh. “Well, I guess you could,” I amend, “but I don’t want to risk it.”

“Does this mean getting drunk is out of the question?” he teases, gesturing to the hotel bar on the other side of the lobby. I roll my eyes and follow his gaze, about to give him some sarcastic response, but the smile falls from my face.

“Mollie? What’s up?” Tuck asks, his eyebrows scrunched together as he searches the bar for whatever caused my shift in behavior. I’m frozen for half a second, looking at Camden as he poses for a photo with a group of girls. He doesn’t smile, though. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. As soon as they’re done, he leaves them with barely a nod of acknowledgment. If it wasn’t for the tattoos on his throat that I can make out from here, I might not think it was him.

The Cam I knew, albeit for five minutes, was happy and funny and brighter than the sun. This guy looks miserable. I’m lost in my thoughts, and I don’t realize I’m staring until it’s too late. He pauses his stride, and as if he senses me, his eyes lock in on mine. I whip around, pulling my dark green vest closed. I’m wearing a loose black long-sleeved shirt and black skinny yoga pants—mostly because it’s the only thing that fits comfortably anymore—but right now, I’m thankful that I picked something that would camouflage my stomach.

“Can we get the room key?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth while trying to covertly hide the side of my face with my ponytail. Tuck looks concerned, but he acts quickly, approaching the front desk, and then he’s handing me the little envelope with the plastic room key inside. Tuck ushers me toward the elevator with a hand on my lower back.

“Our suitcases—”

“They’re going to bring them up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, and we needed to hurry.”

I nod, thankful for his quick thinking.

We’re almost to the elevators when I give in to the urge to look back, and I immediately wish I hadn’t. He’s standing in the middle of the lobby, staring straight at me. His arms are crossed, and the look on his face is something between perplexed and mildly irritated.

Can he tell I’m pregnant? Why is he looking at me like that? I’m surprised he even recognizes me, to be honest. How many girls have come before and after me? But unless he likes to have angry staring contests with strangers, he definitely recognizes me.

The elevator dings, signaling its arrival, and I turn my attention back to it. Tucker guides me inside and hits the button for the eighth floor.

“Wanna tell me what just happened?” he asks with an expectant look.

“I saw him.”

“Like, him him?”

I nod, pacing the elevator. Why is he here? Sutton swore he’d be gone. I suddenly feel hot—really hot—and not in a good way. My stomach tangles with nerves.

“I thought he was in Aspen,” Tuck says, confused.

“Yeah, well, he’s not,” I snap. I don’t mean to, but I feel like I’m on the verge of throwing up, and I haven’t done that since starting my second trimester. The elevator doors slide open, and Tucker leads the way. We walk in silence, Tucker knowing that it’s best to let me work through things on my own and calm myself down before he tries to talk to me.

Once we’re in our room, I sit on one of the queen beds with the wooden posts, while Tucker snatches the remote off the dresser and flips through the guide. A few minutes pass, and there’s a knock on the door. My head snaps over to Tucker.

“Relax,” he says, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “It’s our suitcases. Remember?”

Oh. Duh.

A middle-aged man in a polo that sports The Pines’ logo wheels our luggage in. Tucker tips him as I dig through my bag, searching for my phone. I shoot off a text to Sutton, telling her that I’m going to kick her ass, and then I check my family group chat.

Mom: Dinner at the Pine Top buffet. 6PM. Top floor. Dress nice.

Craig: But I really wanted to wear my new crop top.

Andrew: New phone. Who dis?

Craig: My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.