the feta hit my tongue, my stomach twisted, and I couldn’t force myself to swallow the bite.
“Did I mess it up?” He looked so anxious, and it made me feel worse about everything. I knew he was afraid he screwed up the food, but the problem wasn’t the delicious omelet; it was my lies.
I shook my head as he pulled his hand away and set his coffee mug on the table. Chewing more on the bite, I pushed it to the back of my throat, narrowly missing the gag reflex, and managed to swallow. “You didn’t make yourself anything?” I asked before pushing the plate toward him. “It’s delicious.”
He glanced at it, then at me. “You barely ate.” The look of suspicion in his eyes killed me because he had every right to be skeptical, but I had no idea how to confess. That was the problem with lies. They grew because each lie I told required another to cover it up.
“I don’t really do breakfast much anymore.” I could comfort myself because what I said was the truth, but I knew I wasn’t telling him the whole truth, either. Was telling a partial truth just as bad as an outright lie? I had to hope not.
He seemed to accept my reason and took a bite of the omelet while I made my way to the fridge for a glass of milk. Maybe that would help calm the storm in my gut. While I sipped the milk, I struggled with myself. No more putting it off, no more BS. I needed to come clean and just say it. How hard could it be?
Hey, Noah, I’m pregnant. Sorry I didn’t tell you before.
Easy-peasy, but as I turned toward him, I saw the slight smile on his face and the warmth in his eyes and thought about last night. Would I ruin everything by confessing now? Was it too late? The thoughts swirled through my brain. Logic said he deserved to know, especially before getting into anything akin to a relationship with me. Even if we were just friends with benefits, shouldn’t he be entitled to full disclosure?
“I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about you anymore. Sorry that I assumed.” His expression told me he wanted to learn everything about me, all the new details, all the things that had changed over the years, and my heart melted like butter in the microwave.
“Don’t apologize.” I was the one that should have been apologizing. I put my empty glass in the sink and walked back to the table to sit opposite him again. The milk seemed to ease the sour in my stomach, and I breathed an internal sigh of relief. That was one crisis averted.
I sat down and smiled. “I appreciate that you made me breakfast. It’s one of those sweet gestures I’ve missed.” My ex had never been so sweet. He hadn’t been a jerk either, until the end, but he’d never been attentive to small details.
“I’m glad you’re back.” With the empty fork in his hand pointed down at the plate and his attention on me, I remembered how it had felt before to be the center of his world. I’d loved that feeling; it was like a drug, addictive and thrilling, and that sensation had very nearly stopped me from walking away back then—almost.
“I’m glad to be back.” Being here with him was so natural, and last night seemed right. We fit perfectly together, like a lock and key. I didn’t quite know what to do next. Well, I knew what I needed to do, but as I opened my mouth, the words weren’t there. Instead, a little hiccup escaped me, and I held my breath for a second.
“Are you going to be sick?”
I gave my head a little shake. I wasn’t getting sick—I couldn’t get sick. That would raise questions, but even as I thought about the reasons I couldn’t get sick, bile raced up my throat.
The trembling returned, and my body slicked with an instant, sudden sweat that told me I couldn’t deny it any longer. I was going to throw up and nothing, not milk, not holding my breath, and not breathing would stop it. As sweat beaded across my brow, I stood.
He bolted out of his chair, his hands reaching for me. “Are you going to pass out?”
I couldn’t focus on what he was saying or an answer to his question. I bolted toward the bathroom at lightning speed, all fear of what