One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,99

never had sex with a fiancé before.

Thankfully, he’s skilled with his fingers and tongue so it wasn’t the worst few weeks. But now that the baby is fully developed, we’re breathing a little easier and back at it like before. The nursery is still a mess, but the birth plan is set. So we’ve got some things in order.

Josh and I are talking about getting married next summer so I can set up my dream tiki bar-themed outdoor wedding. Even our parents and friends are happy for us. As a whole, it seems like the stars have aligned.

Except for the small fact that we don’t say I love you. It’s really hard not to tell the man I love that I love him, especially when I wake to find him watching me sleep or see that he’s pre-tied all my shoes because I can’t bend over to do it myself anymore. He even installed a gorgeous shoe organizer in the master closet complete with a bench for me.

He doesn’t love me? I call bullshit.

He’s capable of love. He loves this baby, even if he doesn’t say it. I can tell by the way he touches me. He never used to touch my belly, and now he’s very affectionate. And he’s so protective of the baby—and that, right there, is a father’s love. If he can feel a father’s love, then surely, he can love me. Which is why I’m holding on to hope that when this baby is born, his heart will be so full he won’t be able to deny loving me anymore.

I just need to be patient. I need to hold my love and accept him for what he is and not focus on what he isn’t. Josh does a lot of things in his own time, so loving me could easily be one of them.

For now, I’m giving myself permission to be happy. I have a great job, I’m pregnant with a healthy baby, and I’m getting married. Life could be a hell of a lot worse.

It’s Saturday afternoon and Josh was just called into the ER for a consult. I’ve made myself a charcuterie board and plan to sit out on the back deck with a mocktail and enjoy the summer sun when the doorbell rings. I set my fruity drink on the counter and adjust my cotton maternity dress.

I open the door to a stunning blonde on the front step. She’s dressed in all black and holding a satchel that’s overflowing with manila files.

“Can I help you?” I ask as her eyes shift from my face to my watermelon-sized belly, just like everyone else’s do these days. A pregnant belly this size is like a car crash—people can’t help but stare.

“Do I have the right house?” she asks, diverting her gaze to my face.

“I don’t know…who are you looking for?” I ask, holding my taut belly and eyeing her curiously.

“I’m looking for Dr. Josh Richardson.” She grips the bag on her shoulder and straightens her dark rimmed glasses.

“You have the right house,” I reply, my brow furrowing. “And you are?”

She sighs. “I’m Dr. Kayla Wilson. I’m an old colleague of Dr. Richardson’s.”

I prop my left hand on top of my belly and wiggle my engagement ring. “Oh, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Josh’s fiancée, Lynsey.”

The woman’s eyes go wide. “Seriously?”

I purse my lips. I might be the width of this door right now, but it’s not that farfetched to think Josh would marry a girl like me. “Does it sound like a joke?”

“No!” She steps closer, holding her hands out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I just…I never imagined.” She glances at my belly, a tender look in her eye. “You and Josh are expecting?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but how exactly do you know Josh?” This entire encounter is getting weirder and weirder.

“I worked with him at John Hopkins Pediatrics. He and I…well…we used to date, but that’s not why I’m here. I actually have a young patient that I really need to consult with Josh about, but I can’t get him to return my calls. The situation is urgent.”

Her mention of a young patient and urgency sends a throb of guilt into my chest. I shouldn’t be so cold to her. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Please come in.”

I step back and make room for her to come inside. She points at me and says, “I should be the one who’s sorry. I’m acting a little nuts