Page 24 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)

Paper Gowns and Peppermints

? Mine - Elly Holcomb ft Drew Holcomb

Wilder: Did you know the baby is the size of a lime?

Olivia: I did know. The question is, how did you know?

Wilder: Downloaded an app.

Wilder: How are you feeling today? Any morning sickness?

Olivia: A little, but it’s manageable.

Olivia

I feel him before I see him, like my body recognizes his presence the moment he enters a room—a tug at the tether that has somehow tied me to him from the moment I sat down in that window seat on that fateful flight three months ago.

“Morning, Cupcake,” he says in that gruff voice that has goose bumps erupting all over my skin.

“I come bearing gifts.” With my hormones working overtime and Wilder’s proximity, I can kiss these panties goodbye.

It’s like he has a direct line to my pussy.

Too bad he’s not doing anything to help with the problem.

It’s just me and my vibrators these days.

When I finally turn to face him, he’s holding out a paper bag. I glance around the diner, making sure nobody is eavesdropping, before stepping around the counter to put some distance between us. Opening the bag, I see a box of saltines, ginger ale, and a bag of peppermints.

“For the nausea,” he whispers.

Tears spring to my eyes as I take in the contents, and I sniffle against the prickling sensation in my nose. I can cry at the drop of a hat these days, or the drop of a cupcake if my meltdown in the kitchen is any indication.

Ever since we came clean to our families about the pregnancy, he’s been surprisingly attentive.

He texts me daily to ask how I’m feeling and drops by the diner whenever he’s downtown.

It’s a lot to unpack, if I’m being quite honest, overwhelming and thoughtful in equal measure.

Everything is overwhelming these days; my mind feels more scattered than it has in a long time, and I’m finding it hard to cope with all of the recent changes in my life. To put it simply, I’m utterly depleted.

“Thank you,” I whisper, genuinely moved by the kind gesture.

“Jess always favored peppermints over the ginger candies her doctor recommended.” His head hangs between his shoulders as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

Something sullen passes over his features, but it's gone before I can register its meaning. “Just don’t tell Storm I gave them to you,” he says, forcing a smile.

He doesn’t often talk about Jess, and I don’t want to insert myself where I’m not wanted, so I don’t ask. I can’t begin to understand what it’s like to lose someone you love, and I know he loved her—deeply. It’s evident in the way he looks at his daughter, like he’s seeing her there.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

Today is my twelve-week appointment, and the first one Wilder is attending.

“Let me just take this to the back, and we can head out.”

When we arrive at Doctor Patel’s office, I make my way to the front desk to check in, then find an empty seat in the waiting area.

There are a few other women here. One looks like she’s about ready to pop, another is being doted on by her husband while their toddler plays with a set of building blocks at their feet.

Will I ever have that easy affection with someone?

Wilder sits beside me, his knee bumping into mine as he drapes an arm over the back of my chair. “How are you feeling?”

I smile, showing him the peppermint clenched between my two front teeth. “Better. These really do help with the nausea.”

“Olivia Sullivan?” A nurse in pink scrubs stands in the doorway a few feet away, a clipboard clutched to her chest.

“That’s me.”

“Come on back,” she says.

I glance back at Wilder, who wears a look of uncertainty.

“Your husband can come too,” the nurse says .

I don’t correct her, and, shockingly, neither does Wilder. He stands from his seat and intertwines our fingers.

She leads us down a narrow hallway with numbered doors, stopping in front of room three. “Right through here. I’ll just get your weight and your blood pressure first, then Doctor Patel will be in to see you shortly.”

I stare at the scale, its numbers taunting me. I didn’t consider this part when I invited Wilder to the appointment, and to say it feels awkward would be an understatement. Inhale, exhale.

I step onto the scale and the numbers begin to climb. I don’t dare look over my shoulder to see if Wilder is paying attention; I don’t want to know.

The nurse notes the final number and then takes my blood pressure. It’s slightly elevated, but I’m not convinced it doesn’t have something to do with my anxiety and Wilder’s proximity. She then sends me down the hall to give a urine sample.

When I return, she says, “Ok, Olivia. I’ll have you undress from the waist down, then hop onto the table, and you can cover yourself with the sheet. The doctor will be in shortly.”

The ‘sheet’ in question is something akin to two-ply toilet paper. This certainly isn’t how I wanted to be naked with Wilder again.

To his credit, he doesn’t watch as I undress.

I fold my leggings and place them on the flimsy plastic chair, making sure to tuck my panties underneath where they won’t be seen.

Acting as if my panties are somehow the most intimate thing my doctor will be seeing today is ridiculous, but I’m pretty sure it’s a universal thing all women do.

It’s instinctual, like taking off your bra when you get home, going to the bathroom in pairs, and crossing the sidewalk when there’s a man coming toward you.

“Good afternoon, Olivia! How are we feeling—oh, hello.” She stops wh en she spots Wilder in the chair against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees.

He straightens when she greets him.

“This is Wilder,” I say. “He’s my—he’s the father.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Wilder,” she says. “Are you excited to see your little one today?”

He nods awkwardly, running his palms over his jeans.

Doctor Patel glances down at her clipboard, flipping through the pages. “Well, it looks like you’ve lost a few pounds since your last appointment,” she says. “We’ll need to keep an eye on that. How’s your morning sickness since we last saw you?”

“Not great. It’s more like all-day sickness.”

“That’s not uncommon, but it should start to resolve soon. If you’re still experiencing major episodes in a week or two, I want you to come in. We can prescribe some medication to help. Any pain or spotting?” She takes a seat on a rolling stool and approaches the table.

“No. Everything’s been normal.”

“That’s great. Lie back for me.”

The rest of the appointment is standard.

She does a quick exam before we go over my test results from my first appointment.

We discuss the slightly elevated blood pressure, and she starts me on a low dose of aspirin since I'm at risk for preeclampsia.

Wilder is by my side the entire time, listening attentively to everything Doctor Patel says.

When she leaves, he stands and holds out his hands.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Helping you off the table.”

I smile softly and take his hands in mine, awkwardly scooting to the edge of the table, dragging the crinkling paper with me as it sticks to my ass. My face flushes as a wave of embarrassment threatens to pull me under .

You’re fine, Olivia. This man ate you out like you were his last meal. It doesn’t get more intimate than that.

We head over to the ultrasound room next, and I pull my leggings down over my soft belly. I’m not showing yet, and I likely won't show until much later in my pregnancy, but I can feel the difference in my body.

The ultrasound tech comes into the dark room as Wilder stands stoically at my side, holding one of my hands between both of his. Is it just me, or is he nervous?

“This is going to be a little cold,” she says, squeezing the jelly onto my exposed midsection.

I wince as the chill hits my skin, but it doesn’t take long for me to adjust. Doctor Patel presses a wand over the gel and moves it around.

She applies more pressure, tapping a few keys on the big machine, then she turns the screen so we can see.

Wilder’s breath catches in his throat when the image comes into focus, and my eyes well up with tears.

The last time I was here, it looked like little more than a gummy bear. This is… real. That’s my baby.

I glance up at Wilder, taking in his furrowed brow and the slight sheen to his eyes as he squeezes my hand.

“Is that a foot?” he says, his voice coming out choked.

“It sure is,” she says. “Ready to hear the heartbeat?”

We both nod, and a distinctive whooshing sound fills the room. I try and fail to keep the tears at bay, but they come unbidden anyway, my tear-soaked cheeks mirroring Wilder’s. I was utterly alone the last time I was here.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, barely audible beneath our little one’s heartbeat. He raises our joined hands, kissing my knuckles, then lowers onto his knees to kiss my forehead. “Thank you.”

I smile. “What are you thanking me for?”

“Everything, Liv. This is… everything. ”

Wilder

There’s a trail of Cheerios from the kitchen island to the toddler-sized chair in the living room, the only sign Emmy Lou is up before me. She loves Cheerios; her mom did, too.

These bittersweet reminders of everything we’ve lost seem to find me when I least expect them, creeping in like a phantom pain. The memories are inescapable, and they settle heavy on my chest like a weighted blanket, somehow both comforting and crushing.

When I step into the room, Emmy freezes with her entire arm buried inside the box as she digs for another handful of cereal.

“Mornin’ Emmy Lou,” I say, holding in a laugh. Nobody tells you about those parenting moments when you really should be chastising them, but it’s all you can do to keep a straight face.

She smiles around a mouthful, a mass of blonde hair hanging wild around her head. I crouch near her chair, holding out my hand, and she reluctantly hands over her pilfered breakfast.