Page 16 of Consummation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #3)

Eleven

Kat

“Do you wanna wait for your friend before being seated or go to your table now?” the restaurant hostess asks me.

“I think I’ll be seated now. My friend texted she’s running a bit late.”

“Of course.” The woman picks up two menus. “Right this way.”

She leads me to a small table in the back and I immediately set down the thick stack of bridal magazines in my arms. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

“Ginger ale? Extra ice, please,” I ask, taking a chair. I pull a Saltine from a baggie in my purse and take a little nibble. Gah. This round-the-clock nausea is getting really old.

A busboy brings a ginger ale to the table along with a basket of bread, and I take a greedy bite of a roll, hoping it’ll calm my churning stomach.

My phone buzzes and I glance down, expecting to see a text from Sarah.

“Hello, Stubborn Kat,” Josh writes.

My heart instantly leaps at the sight of Josh’s name displayed on my screen, just like it always does—but then I remember the current iciness between us, and my heart pangs with an overwhelming sense of hurt and regret.

Why’d Josh have to look like his balls were being fed through a wood-chipper when he asked me to marry him at the hospital a week ago?

And why’d he have to act like such a spoiled, rich-boy-prick, too?

If only he’d looked even the teensiest bit like he actually wanted me to be his wife, if only he’d flashed a fraction of his usual down-to-earth, irresistible charm, I surely would have thrown my arms around his neck and screamed, “Yes!” despite myself .

“Hello, Mr. Darcy,” I reply to Josh’s text.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Google it,” I write.

“I did. He’s the guy from Pride and Prejudice. But since I haven’t seen that movie (a fact I’ve already mentioned to you, by the way—thanks so much for listening intently to everything I say), I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jeez, I guess being fed a weeklong diet of cold-shoulder by your pregnant girlfriend (or am I his pregnant ex -girlfriend?) is enough to make a guy a big ol’ grouch.

“Well, Mr. Grouchy Pants,” I type, “I’d never dream of spoiling Pride and Prejudice for you by explaining why I keep calling you that name. You’ll just have to watch it and find out.”

“Go ahead and spoil it,” Josh replies. “I’m positive I’ll NEVER see that movie.”

“Never say never,” I write.

“NEVER. Because I don’t have a VAGINA.”

“You never know.”

“I KNOW.”

“So is that why you’ve texted me (in all caps, no less)? To argue about whether you’re ever gonna watch Pride and Prejudice?”

“No. Sorry. That just slipped out. I’m texting to ask how Colby’s doing and also to find out if you’re feeling a bit better today?”

These are the same two questions Josh has politely asked me via text every single day this week.

And in return, I’ve politely responded to him (via text) each and every time, as smoothly and impersonally as Elizabeth Bennett (the well-mannered heroine of Pride and Prejudice ) would do, assuming she’d lived in the age of smartphones.

I’ll admit it’s taken quite a bit of willpower on my part not to instigate contact with Josh at all this week.

So many times, I’ve wanted to call him and scream into the phone, “Even if you’re an arrogant prick, I still love you!

Ask me again!” But I’ve somehow managed to maintain full control and stuff down the raging, clanging, almost desperate swell of emotion I’ve felt nearly every moment since I marched away from Josh at the hospital.

And it’s not just memories of Josh’s so-called marriage proposal that have been plaguing me all week.

Even more so, it’s the way Josh has been treating me ever since that horrible night—like he’s done with me for good.

His behavior this past week has been a complete one-eighty compared to the week after the karaoke bar.

Back then, there were daily flowers, texts begging for my forgiveness, late-night, drunken voicemails telling me he was hard as a rock and couldn’t stop thinking about me.

But this week? Nope. There’s been none of that.

Just polite texts asking after my brother and my health, exactly as the ever-polite Mr. Darcy would do—only signs of his perceived obligation and nothing more. And it’s damn-near broken my heart.

Goddammit. I truly thought I was doing the right thing when I turned Josh down at the hospital—I really did—and I guess I still do, intellectually—I mean, jeez, he was such a little prick, oh my God.

But, shoot, I just don’t know anymore. I can’t even think straight these days, I miss him so freaking much.

If it weren’t for how busy I’ve been this past week visiting Colby and gathering ideas and information for Sarah’s wedding, I’d have hopped a flight to L.A.

days ago to fling myself upon Josh’s arrogant mercy and beg him to ask me again.

“Colby’s doing well,” I text to Josh in reply to his polite query.

“Thank you for asking.” (I refrain from adding, “good sir” to the end of my sentence, though I’m dying to do it.) I tap out a lengthy (and exceedingly polite) status report about Colby, just as I’ve done every day this past week in reply to Josh’s texts.

“All in all, great progress,” I conclude.

“At least regarding Colby’s physical healing,” I add.

“Mentally, Colby’s not doing quite as well.

When I saw him this morning, he was convinced he’d somehow cost that baby her life.

He thinks he should have taken a different route out of the building or something. ”

“Oh, man. Poor guy. You told him that’s crazy, right? He’s a hero.”

“I told him. But he wouldn’t listen.”

“Well, he’s lucky to have you,” Josh writes. “If anyone can put a smile on a man’s face, it’s you.”

My heart leaps. That’s the first time Josh has texted anything remotely personal to me in a full week—let alone something so lovely.

“Thank you,” I write, my heart suddenly gushing with relief and yearning.

Oh my effing God, I’m fighting back tears.

Oh, how I want to write, “I miss you, Josh! I looooooooove you. Ask me again and I’ll say yes this time, even though I know you don’t really want to marry me!

” But I can’t do that. I know full well Josh doesn’t want a wife any more than he wants a baby, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be the woman who’s trapped Josh Faraday into having two items of baggage he never bargained for.

“It means a lot to me that you’d say that about me,” I type, my heart pounding.

“Especially now. Just knowing you still feel that way about me is making me want to sob like a baby.”

I’ve no sooner pressed send on my text than my phone rings with an incoming call.

“Hi,” I say softly into the phone, holding back tears.

“Hi,” Josh says.

Oh God, just hearing his sexy voice for the first time in a week is making my heart explode. “I miss you so much,” I blurt. “Josh, I miss you.”

Josh pauses, just long enough to make my stomach drop into my toes.

“I miss you, too,” he finally says, his voice cracking. “So, so much, babe.”

“I thought you hated me,” I whisper.

“Of course, not. Never .” He pauses, apparently collecting himself. “Are you feeling any better today?”

My heart is physically aching. I want to reach through the phone line and kiss him and tell him I love him desperately. “Yeah,” I manage to reply. “I figured out Saltines and ice-cold ginger ale take the edge off my nausea a little bit.”

“Good.” He pauses. “So what are you up to today?” he asks softly.

Oh. We’re gonna have a routine conversation?

We’re not gonna talk about his proposal or this past week?

No talking about our feelings? Okay. I can do that.

I clear my throat. “Well, I visited Colby in the hospital all morning. And now I’m meeting Sarah for lunch to go over wedding stuff.

She and Jonas got back from Greece yesterday—oh, duh—you probably heard that from Jonas.

But, anyway, since the wedding’s happening so soon—in just twenty-six little days, courtesy of your impatient brother—I pulled together some ideas for Sarah these past few days while she was finishing up her trip. ”

“Yeah, I heard about that quick turnaround thing. Classic Jonas. ”

“I guess some people in this world just, you know, really want to get married.”

Josh exhales.

Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. That was a decidedly terroristic thing to say.

Shoot. “So, anyway,” I continue, trying to deflect attention from my apparently pathological need to strap bombs to my chest. “So now I’m sitting in a restaurant with a stack of bridal magazines, waiting for Sarah to arrive. ”

“Are you gonna tell her about the pregnancy?”

“No. I think we should wait to tell Jonas and Sarah until after the wedding. They’ve got plenty to think about ’til then.”

“I agree.”

“Plus, you never know. It still might not stick. So, anyway, continuing with my exciting agenda for the day, after lunch, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”

“A doctor’s appointment? You mean for the baby?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have flown up for it.”

“Flown up for a doctor’s appointment?”

“It’s my kid, right?”

I bristle.

“Shit. That came out wrong. Kat, please don’t freak out. I meant, ‘Hey, it’s my kid, right?’ Not, ‘It’s my kid... right ?’”

I can’t help but smile. “I know exactly what you meant. It’s okay. But, bee tee dubs, it’s your kid, Josh.”

“Yeah, I know that.” He pauses. “Well, the point I’m making is that I plan to be there for my kid, right from the start. Doctors appointments and everything. I’m gonna be a real father—not just a wallet. So tell me about appointments, please, and I’ll always try to make them.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me to tell you about today’s appointment—we haven’t exactly been chatting each other’s ears off this week.” I clear my throat. “But I’ll be sure to tell you next time.”

“Please do.”

“I will.” There’s a beat. “So how’s your day going, Josh?”

“Fine. I’m just trying to finish this huge report. It’s the last thing I’ve got to do for Faraday & Sons and then I’m free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last. And the other thing I’m doing is sitting here watching moving guys put all my shit into a humongous truck.”

“What?”

“Yeah, considering what’s going on with you and the baby and everything, I decided to move into my new house a couple weeks early,” Josh says.

My heart leaps. “Really? When will you be up here?”

“Really soon. A matter of days. I’ll let you know when I get the moving schedule confirmed.” He lets out a pained exhale. “Shit. Fuck this, Kat—I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been going out of my head this whole week, dying to tell you—”

“Kitty Kat!” It’s Sarah, standing at the edge of the table, holding out her arms for a big hug. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”