Page 89 of Into the Storm

ChapterThirty

Xavier went to the kitchen before heading upstairs. It was clear the mercs had raided the food supplies his training team had stored in the restaurant’s large walk-in fridge and freezer, but they hadn’t eaten everything. He grabbed a precooked baked potato stuffed with broccoli and chopped it up, then tossed it into a frying pan and heated it on the gas stove.

If the power were on, he’d microwave it, but this would do for now. They’d shut off the generators because they didn’t want the noise to provide cover for the enemy.

He grabbed a cooked chicken breast and, after shredding it, added it to the pan. He knew Audrey could use the protein, and it would taste better than the canned stuff she’d been eating for the last twenty-four hours.

Once everything was heated through, he tossed on a handful of shredded cheese and a dollop of sour cream, remembering that was how Audrey had eaten her baked potato in November.

Sheesh. He’d remembered everything about her, right down to how she’d topped her side dish.

The plate was piled high with food—more than enough for two people—when he headed up the back stairs to find Audrey. He paused on the third-floor landing, for a moment wondering which door she’d be behind, then he smiled.

He knew exactly where she’d be.

He paused outside the room, then knocked in the pattern he’d taught her the first night, then pushed the door open.

The room was dark, lit only by a camping lantern on the nightstand that she’d covered with a towel to keep the light from reaching the windows. He spotted her in the gray light, fully clothed and sprawled on the bed, her backpack beside her.

She slowly rolled to her side, her eyes remaining closed. “Oh my god, that food smells so good. I need it in me now.”

He laughed. “I have never been jealous of a baked potato before.”

“There’s a first for everything.” She sat up and shoved her backpack unceremoniously to the floor. “I inhaled a protein bar. I thought it would be enough, but my reaction to the smell tells me it wasn’t.”

He settled beside her on the bed and held the plate between them, then handed her a fork and cloth napkin.

“My, haven’t we moved up in the world. Utensils and a napkin.” She then speared a piece of potato, making sure she loaded the bite with broccoli and chicken. It disappeared into her mouth, and she leaned back and chewed, eyes closed.

After she swallowed, she said, “I might cry, that’s so good. I didn’t know you could cook.”

He leaned over and kissed her neck, then straightened and loaded his own fork. “You’re going to be sorely disappointed in the future when you realize this is pretty basic and required no actual skill.”

He took his bite and was surprised to realize he felt a similar rush of emotion, but figured it was because not only was he enjoying his first hot meal in days, but also, he was sharing it with Audrey. She was safe, and they’d have a warm bed for the next few hours.

They ate in silence. He noticed she paced herself tonight—she didn’t gobble it down like she had the crackers yesterday.

Finally, she set her fork aside. “Thank you. That was just what I needed.” She placed a hand on her belly and said, “Fig is happy too.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, I’m no longer dizzy and I don’t want to vomit.”

He set the plate on the nightstand, then turned and placed a hand on her belly. “When will you be able to feel the baby move?”

“According to the pregnancy guide, maybe around sixteen or seventeen weeks? They say it takes longer to notice the sensation with first pregnancies. If this were my second child, then as early as fourteen weeks.”

“And you’re eleven weeks now?”

“As of tomorrow, I’ll officially be twelve weeks. Last week of the first trimester.”

“But…we had sex ten weeks ago. I’m not saying I question paternity or your counting, I’m just confused.”

She let out a soft laugh. “You aren’t the only one. The first two weeks of pregnancy are actually before conception. The number of weeks are counted from the first date of the last menstrual cycle—which is because women don’t always know when they conceived but we’re trained by medical professionals to always remember when we last had a period. I’ve gone to the doctor for a very obvious sprained ankle, and the first thing they ask is when I last bled.”

He stroked her belly, enjoying the normalness of this conversation. This was how it would have been last December if he hadn’t fucked everything up.

“Anyway, given that I know exactly what day I conceived—you’re the only man I’ve had sex with in the last sixteen months—there isn’t a lot of guesswork as to due date, but the weeks are still counted like everyone else.”