was the first person I wanted to see in the morning. Nothing more to it than that. I asked her to marry me, and she refused. Twice. But when it’s right, it’s right.”
“Is that all it takes?”
Dad laughed. “No way. Learn from my mistakes, Mandy. If I knew ten, fifteen, or twenty years ago how to take care of my relationship and put the ego and pettiness aside? Well, your mom wouldn’t be hiding in country clubs getting booty calls, would she?”
Shudder.
He smiled at me. “You are a beautiful young woman, and men will chase you. The key is to find the one you can’t live without—and then you protect that relationship, because it is as fragile as it is precious.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime.”
I checked my phone. Lindsey demanded I leave the office before closing to help with the decorations, but my mind wasn’t on her chosen craft for the night. Dad had made sense. He always did, but this time he’d made more.
I woke up this morning dreaming of Nate, and it wasn’t a fear about the pregnancy or panic about telling him. It was a vision of us, snuggling, together.
That was worth protecting.
I stopped on the way home to grab our pizza, though I couldn’t eat the greasy, sloppy mess. I’d ordered a Hawaiian specifically for the pineapple to eat, but Lindsey was onto me. She knew I hated her favorite type of pie.
“You’re not getting out of arts and crafts.” Lindsey took her dinner with a suspicious glance. “Don’t even try it.”
“Just wanted to be nice.”
She waved a pair of scissors at me, but we had two dozen paper bouquets to make. Every Pinterest page had different instructions for the flowers, and she didn’t have time to stop and nag. The project demanded all of her concentration, which was good. The pregnancy was bad for my mood swings, and even worse for hiding how I felt. My emotions weren’t on my sleeve anymore—they were tucked inside a glove I’d use to slap people who riled me up.
I managed to avoid her inquisition, but she still puttered around me as she nibbled on the pizza. She and Bryce stopped to eat. I kept trying to turn tissue paper into roses to avoid questions.
“Something’s different about you…” Lindsey said.
I folded the paper and made a cut. “I’m a little tired of paper crafts.”
“No, it’s not that. You’re…more…” She snapped her fingers at Bryce. “What’s the word I want?”
Bryce didn’t respond well to a Prescott woman’s glare. He knew better than to cross me.
“She looks fine,” he said.
“No, there’s something.” Lindsey tapped her chin with her ring finger. “You’re calmer.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked. The scissors didn’t work. I reached for the X-Acto knife to properly frill the leaves.
“It’s not you. You’ve been super crazy these past couple weeks.”
I arched an eyebrow. Lindsey huffed.
“Okay,” she said. “I know some of it is my fault.”
I smirked. “Some.”
“Still…” Lindsey leaned close. “Something’s different…”
I trimmed a bit of the tissue paper from the blossom of the flower. It wasn’t the prettiest, but tucked into a bouquet, it’d look very fluffy and pink.
Lindsey’s voice echoed through the house. “Oh, my god. You had sex!”
I flinched. The X-Acto knife sliced my palm.
We all screamed, though neither of us as shrill as Bryce.
I leapt to my feet as the blood dripped everywhere. Crimson droplets stained three of our premade flowers and all the white tissue paper. Lindsey howled like she had been cut, and Mom raced in from the kitchen, covered in flour.
“Who had sex?” She pointed at me with a finger coated in chocolate chip cookie dough. “Mandy, I told you. Ain’t nothing unnatural about your momma getting some. It’s how you got here, sweet thing, and I don’t see you complaining—”
“Mom, move!”
I pushed past her to the kitchen, dripping the entire way. Lindsey hurried after me and tossed me a clean tea-towel to sop up the blood. Mom lingered behind, fanning Bryce with her apron.
“Lord, have mercy,” Mom said. “Mandy, are you that much of a klutz? What happened? Why are you bleeding all over my floors?”
I’d have to apologize later for the inconvenience of my laceration. I leaned over the sink, but rinsing the wound made it bleed harder. It wasn’t a small cut, sliced right through the sensitive skin between my thumb and forefinger. I wrapped it tight in the towel.
Lindsey poked at me. “Does it hurt?”
“Ow! Stop!”
“That’s pretty deep.” She made a face. “You might need stitches.”
Mom padded across the kitchen