Page 24

My face scrunches, nose wrinkling. “I can’t imagine.”

“This is all your fault, you know,” she says, not sounding malicious in the slightest.

“I take full responsibility,” I say, right hand over my heart.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her restraining a smile. “Thank you,” she responds pointedly.

“I take full responsibility for the four orgasms that led to you getting pregnant,” I clarify, and when I feel her staring at me, jaw open, I can’t help but laugh. It echoes through the cab, loud and hearty.

When I cast her a quick glance, she crosses her arms over her chest and tries to glare at me. “An orgasm isn’t necessary to get pregnant, you know.”

I shrug, still unable to wipe the smile from my face. “Maybe not, but you know it’s a necessary part of having sex with me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You didn’t think that when you were taking a ride on my musta—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” she yells.

My laughter fills the cab of the truck once more. This is the most like us we’ve felt in so long, and I want to bask in it the way she was basking in the sunshine earlier, soaking up every second before the clouds return. Right now, it feels like nothing between us could ever be broken again.

We’re quiet for the rest of the drive, nothing but old country music playing on the crackly radio, but it doesn’t feel heavy.

When we get to town, I head straight for Cowpoke Diner, our longtime favorite restaurant in town.

When we lived in Salt Lake City, we definitely had more variety of food options to choose from, but we never found a greasy burger joint quite like this one.

There’s a dining room, but I pull into one of the drive-in stalls instead and turn to face Elsie. “Is this going to be okay on your stomach?” We’ve mostly avoided greasy foods since the nacho fry incident.

“Mm-hmm,” she says, smiling, eyes alight. She looks so much like herself again that I feel a pang deep in my chest. “I came here with Jade the night of the snowstorm and it was fine, so I’m going to get a cheeseburger and fries.”

“Raising our baby right.”

I watch as her eyes move down to her stomach, and she presses a hand there. “Most days, other than the debilitating nausea and exhaustion, I don’t really feel pregnant.” Her gaze moves back to mine. “Is that weird?”

“I’ve never been pregnant, so I don’t think I can be a big help in that area,” I say, and she nods. “But I think it’s still early, and when you start showing and feeling the baby more, it will feel more real.”

I’m silent for a long moment, hesitating before asking what I want to. This outing feels precarious, like one wrong move could set us back again, but I have to know. “Does it…” I hesitate. “…feel like last time. When…”

Her eyes lock on mine, and I know she understands my question. Her head shakes quickly, and relief courses through my veins. “No, not like that. I guess I just feel like I should feel like I’m growing a human.”

“What do you feel like?” I ask.

She pushes her honey hair behind her ear, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Mostly like I could nap for days, but I’m finally starting to have more energy again.”

“Well, you’re growing fingernails and toenails this week.”

A look of surprise crosses her features. “How do you know that?”

I shrug and pull my phone out of my back pocket, the worn denim soft against my fingers. “I’ve got an app.”

“You do?” She sounds so genuinely perplexed that I can’t help but laugh. I’ve laughed more today than I have in months, and I don’t want to stop.

“Yeah, Els, I want to see what our baby is up to every day.” I look at her over the console, her jacket pulled haphazardly over her white tee, blond hair still stuck in the collar. The first freckles of spring popping up on her cheeks. “Do you have one?”

She shakes her head, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she looks out the windshield. “No, I…didn’t want to get too attached yet.” Her gaze turns back to mine slowly. “Is that bad?”

My heart squeezes painfully in my chest, and I resist the urge to place my hand there and try to rub away the ache.

Elsie is the strongest person I know, but underneath that tough exterior, she’s so tender.

She feels everything so deeply, even if she never lets anyone see it.

I’m not sure how it’s taken me so long to notice that she’s not unbreakable.

“No, Els,” I say. I reach for her hand, and warmth suffuses the cold places in my chest when she doesn’t pull away from it. Her fingers thread through mine, soft against my calloused ones. New and familiar all at once. “I don’t think it’s bad at all.”

“Have you tried to do that too?” she asks, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it, eyes slowly lifting to mine.

A sheepish smile curls over my lips. “Not even a little. I’ve been looking at horse auctions online so I can buy the baby a pony and start training it now.”

Her laughter fills the car. It sounds like the wind chimes my parents have on the porch at the big house. Like a breeze rippling through them on a perfect summer day. “Of course you have.”

“Is that bad?”

Her gaze settles on mine, the exact same shade as the wide Montana sky above. “No, I’ve always loved that about you.”

I lift a brow, heart ratcheting in my chest. “Loved what?”

I expect her to tease me for the way I’m digging, but she doesn’t. Instead, her face softens as she says, “The way you love.”

My throat feels tight, a lump there that I can’t swallow down, but I force words out. “How’s that?”

“Like you’re not scared,” she says simply, without hesitation, like it’s something she’s thought of over and over again. A worn photograph she’s pulled out to examine until she’s committed it to memory.

The words hang heavy in the air between us, crackling with an unknown kind of electricity.

The moment feels tangible. I think I’ll always remember the way her hair looks right now, like spun gold.

How her eyes are wide and blue and look like every summer day I’ve ever experienced in this town.

How her bottom lip is red and dented from her teeth, and how I know she must have gone outside in the sun this week because I can see freckles on her nose.

“Are you scared?” I watch the words land. Hear the way her breath hitches ever so slightly. See the way her pulse races in her throat.

But she doesn’t shut down or pull away, and it feels like progress, like a step forward when we haven’t taken any back. She holds my gaze and says, “All the time.”