Secret Plunge - Jasmin Miller Page 0,42

I know I don’t want to live with my mom forever, but now with a baby on the way and working a part-time job, I’m not sure what my options are.”

Does he think less of me because of my current life situation? Compared to him and his life, I’m such a failure. He’s older, which could play a part in why he’s got it all together, but what does that mean for me and what he thinks of me?

He stands up and drags his chair to my side. When he sits back down, he takes my hand, rubbing circles on my skin. “You’ll figure it out, and you have me too. I’m here to help, always. You hear me?”

I nod, the back of my eyes burning.

He notices and pulls me on his lap, rubbing my back. “Hey. We’re in this together, remember?”

I pull back. I’m weak and have to ask. “Are we?”

His eyes look straight into mine, the warmth in them helping me calm my nerves. “You and me, baby.”

I snuggle closer, not ready to leave this cocoon, to leave this bubble of security that exists in this hotel room. That only I am aware of. “Thank you.”

After a few minutes, he brushes the hair away from my face, and I tilt my head to see him better.

His expression is unreadable, but I take the small smile he’s aiming at me. Then his mouth is on mine and I melt into the kiss. It’s nothing like the kisses we shared earlier. This kiss is filled with the promise of a future I want so badly but am not sure I deserve. The softness and sweetness is perfect. A lot like this incredible man in my arms.

When he pulls back, he nudges my nose with his. “Are you ready for some shopping? I believe there is a plum waiting with my name on it somewhere.”

I chuckle and it feels good. It’s like Ryan is trying to help me get through whatever I’m dealing with. He’s trusting me, and that faith pushes me to be stronger.

Ryan is an honorable man, and I’m hoping that he’ll see that my motives were driven by keeping his focus on his Olympic goal. I want him to reach every goal he’s ever dreamed of, because this man deserves that . . . and more.

Seventeen

Ryan

Should I push her or leave her alone? I’ve been going back and forth for the past few hours. It’s obvious that something's up with Harper, but it seems like she doesn’t want to tell me. Or maybe she thinks she can’t, or shouldn’t? I’ve caught her staring at me with an ominous look in her eyes. Several times. Does she want to tell me what’s going on but doesn’t know how?

Until she opens up by herself, there isn’t much I can do.

It’s definitely driving me crazy though.

So instead, I’ve focused on distracting both of us from whatever is looming on the horizon.

Harper snorts beside me. “The look on that woman’s face when you took the picture with the plum. I still can’t get over it. It was priceless.”

Her laughter is infectious and I chuckle before I stop on the sidewalk.

Seeing her happy makes me happy.

When she realizes I’m not next to her anymore, she comes to a halt and spins around. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.”

Her head tilts down a fraction and her eyelids flutter. “You’re silly.”

The smile on her face is blindingly beautiful, and I love it.

So much better than the depressed gazes earlier. Even more so, because I’m the reason for that smile. I’m the one who put it there. Why does that feel like a punch to the gut? Maybe because you’re still trying to figure out if you’re also the reason for the depressed gazes?

Now I’m going down the rabbit hole too. Maybe her wonky mood is contagious. Or are the pregnancy hormones behind this?

Hell if I know.

We continue walking, our hands filled with grocery bags as we come up to a tall apartment building. The doorman greets us, holding the door open as we slip inside and say hello before we head to the elevators.

“Oh, Miss Martin, one moment. I accepted a package for you. Let me get it.” The doorman skitters away, and Harper stops in front of me, her back tensing up at his comment.

Is that her married name? She must hate being called that since she’s divorced.

The elderly man comes back and hands Harper the small package.

“Thanks, Fred. I appreciate it.”

“You’re most welcome,