Mistletoe Baby (Crescent Cove 9.50)

I had a stubborn side, one I stuffed under the bed each morning. After the lonely nights that made me wonder a bit too much. That insane little voice that said what if? It was the same one who wouldn’t let me delete the message from Kinleigh with Callum’s phone number.

I hadn’t been expecting her call the week between Christmas and New Year’s. I hadn’t recognized the number, but I knew Kinleigh’s sweet voice as she left a rambling explanation about the man who’d been looking for me. And she had a gut feeling that I should give him a chance.

Maybe I thought about him sometimes when the day was slow, or the night was long. Maybe I almost called him once or five times.

Suddenly, the floor wavered in my vision. I leaned to the left, and if I hadn’t had the broom handle to hold on to, I would have gone down.

“Whoa, Ellie.” Paisley Jones, the third stylist in the salon, rushed over to me. Her freakishly strong fingers gripped my upper arm and pushed me into the chair at her station. “You all right?”

“Yeah, just got a little lightheaded there for a second.” Had I eaten today? Nothing appealed lately. “Could you grab my water bottle?”

“Yeah, sure, babe.” Paisley rushed over to my area at the back of the salon and returned with my purple bottle. “Here. Drink up. Have you eaten?”

I shrugged while I gulped the cool water.

“Want me to run over to the diner or Jersey’s for a sandwich?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Everything tastes so ugh lately.” I took another deep drag on my straw.

“I wish. I just entered shark week. I could hoover down everything from the diner’s menu right now. Especially Gina’s new poutine addition. Dear God, that’s good.”

I huffed out a laugh. We could definitely agree there. “Salt is the primary ingredient in my period week menu.”

“Doesn’t help the ankles, but gawd, so good.” She yanked open her drawer and pulled out her phone. “Now I gotta make an order, dammit. You sure you don’t want?”

“No, I…” I hadn’t wanted anything salty in a while. Not in the last month at all. “Shit.” I slid out of her chair and ran for my station.

“Hey, don’t move so fast. I don’t want to scrape you out of the hair, girl.”

“Right. Crap.” I turned around to finish my chore.

Paisley waved me off then grabbed the broom. “I got it.”

“Thanks.”

She already had her cell at her ear and was chitchatting with someone at the diner.

I quickly went for my own drawer and phone. “I’m running to the bathroom, Melody!” I called out.

“Okay!”

“No, no. Don’t do this to me.” I shut myself into our small water closet and opened my period tracker app.

Six days late.

“Oh, shit.” I collapsed onto the little bench full of more plants. I shoved them over to make room for my butt.

I tipped my head between my knees. “No way,” I whispered.

If I said it out loud then that made it real.

Shut up, Ellie. Don’t say it.

Pregnant.

Maybe.

Swallowing hard, I sat up. Maybe I was just late. Starting a new job was the ultimate form of stress and it could have pushed my cycle into the red zone. Not that I’d ever, ever, ever been late in my life, but I could be.