Page 99 of Omega's Formula

“Ten-thirty. At St. Mary’s.” I pause. “I had to get my medical records transferred over as my doctors assumed I was going to have the baby in Portland.”

“Are you? Having the baby there?”

The question hangs between us. It’s the real question. Where do we go from here? What does this mean for us, for the baby, for the future?

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I hadn’t decided. I wanted to wait until I’d talked to you, figured out what we were going to do about... everything.”

Erik nods slowly. “Where are you staying while you’re here? Ellie mentioned you were in town for a few days.”

“Mrs. Kay’s. She had a room available, and she offered to let me stay there whenever I need.” I smile despite myself.

“You could stay here.” He says it carefully, like he’s afraid of pushing too hard. “The apartment, I mean. You can stay whenever you want, for as long as you want.”

I look around the room. It’s strange being back here, in this space that’s both familiar and not.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say slowly. “Us, here, after what just happened... I don’t want to rush into anything.”

“You wouldn’t be rushing into anything. The apartment is yours whether we’re—whatever we are.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair. It’s sticking up in every direction, wrecked from my fingers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered. It’s too much, too fast. You just got here, and I’m already trying to—”

“Erik.” I reach for his hand, stopping the spiral. “It’s not too much. I just need to think. About all of it.”

He nods, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The fear that he’s already ruined this, that one wrong word will send me running again.

Maybe it would have, a few hours ago. But something shifted when we fell into bed together. I’m not ready to move back to the city and play happy families. But I’m not ready to run, either.

“Tell me about your new life,” he says after a moment. “What’s it like?”

So I tell him. About the restaurant where I work, about my housemates and the tutoring I’ve been doing.

He listens without interrupting, asking questions only when I pause.

“It sounds nice,” he says when I finish. “Quiet.”

“It is. It’s nothing like here.” I gesture vaguely at the window, at the city beyond. “Sometimes I miss it here, though.”

“Do you miss me?”

The question is soft, almost hesitant. Coming from anyone else, it would sound needy. From Erik—controlled, composed Erik—it sounds like a confession.

“Yes,” I admit.

His exhale is shaky. “I missed you too.”

We lapse into comfortable silence. Outside, the snow is still falling, fat flakes drifting past the window.

“I should probably go,” I say, not moving. “Mrs. Kay will worry if I don’t check in.”

“Probably.” Erik doesn’t move either. “Or you could call her. Let her know you’re safe.”

“That’s a slippery slope.”

“Is it?”

I turn my head to look at him. He’s watching me with that intensity I remember from the heat. It makes my heart race, even now, even after everything.

“If I stay,” I say slowly, “we’re going to end up doing this again.” I gesture at the tangled sheets, the discarded clothes. “And then again. And then I’m going to wake up tomorrow and we’ll have spent the night together and everything will be complicated.”

“Everything is already complicated.” He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Stay anyway.”