Page 41 of When I Should’ve Stayed (Red Bridge #2)

Josie

I shut off the shower water, wrap a towel around my body, and start the process of putting on lotion and drying my hair. All thanks to a little bout of pregnancy-induced nausea, I’ve been up since seven this morning. Thankfully, the hot shower I just took has definitely perked me up.

For the past two weeks, Clay and I have been like ships passing in the night. He works late at the bar, and I’m too tired to stay awake past ten.

I still haven’t officially moved myself into his apartment, even though that’s the plan, and Clay has by and large stopped pressuring me to pack up Grandma’s stuff.

I know he’s ready, though, and every day I go without committing to moving builds our tension a little higher. Neither of us wants it to, but it is.

Not to mention, I haven’t actually told him I’m pregnant yet, and I’m sure that’s turning me into a bit of a pressure cooker of emotion.

Once my hair is dry, I add a little texture spray to my blond curls and head out of the bathroom to wake up Clay.

His big, muscular body is sprawled across the bed, his eyes are shut, and his mind is still in dreamland.

He worked especially late last night, thanks to all the little birds who flew the Red Bridge coop to other towns but always manage to come back to spend the holiday with their families who still live here.

We haven’t even had a chance to talk yet, but I know from the town phone tree that Fran the florist’s daughter got up on the bar and took off her shirt while her husband looked on helplessly. Clay had to kick both of them out before they started a brawl.

“Clay, you’re going to have to start waking up,” I whisper into his ear, and he blinks his eyes open.

“What time is it?”

“A little after noon.”

“Shit,” he mutters. “What time do we have to be at Bennett’s?”

“One.”

“Fuck me,” he groans and rubs at his eyes, and I smile down at him.

“You know, complaining isn’t going to help you get out of bed any faster.”

Clay eyes me with feigned annoyance, but then he surprises the hell out of me by bear-hugging my only-towel-clad body with both of his big arms and pulling me toward him.

“Don’t you dare, Clay Matthew Harris!” I squeal. “I just fixed my hair and makeup. I am not above kicking you in the dick if you mess it up.”

My words mean jack shit to him, and he just adjusts my body over his so that his big arms are still wrapped around me, but my thighs are now straddling his hips. The only barrier between me and his already hard cock is the thin sheet between our bodies.

He nips at my shoulder and grins at me. “But Mrs. Harris , don’t you think we could fit in a little morning sex session before we head off to witness Bennett grumble like an old man about hosting Thanksgiving dinner at his house.”

“Technically, it would be afternoon sex since you slept so late. And no, we don’t have time.”

He makes a show of sliding his hands up my bare thighs and under my towel.

His pesky fingers don’t stop until they are fully gripping my ass.

“Please?” He flashes puppy dog eyes at me and leans forward to bury his face into the crook of my neck, taking a deep inhale of air.

“You smell so good. You feel so good.” He squeezes my ass.

“I think I’m just going to start closing the bar down at, like, eight every night so I can come home to you. ”

“The whole town of Red Bridge would riot. Not just Janie and Holden Berns.” I laugh, and he lets out a deep groan.

“You heard?”

“Oh, I heard .” My eyes go wide with amusement. “From Melba and Pete and Angie Hoffer. Everyone was talking about it.”

Clay shakes his head. “See? Even more reason to close at eight.”

“You talk a big, bad-ass game, but I know better.” I tap his nose with my index finger. “You’d last one night closing at eight.”

Clay smirks and squeezes my ass again. “But does my big, bad-ass game work on my wife?”

I shake my head and press a kiss to his nose. Right here, right now, it’s almost as if everything is the way it was before Grandma Rose passed away. We’re smiling and laughing, and my chest feels warm and gooey like a chocolate chip cookie that just came out of the oven.

We’re the Clay and Josie who ran off to the courthouse to elope because they were so excited to spend the rest of forever together.

And the Mr. and Mrs. who are about to be Mom and Dad, too.

I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to come up with the most special way to let him in on my secret, on our we’re-having-a-baby news, but it’s moments like these that make me want to just blurt it out right now.

“Clay…I have something to tell you.”

He kisses my forehead and heads for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder as he does. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

I trail after him, watching the bounce in his step and imagining what he’ll be like after I tell him.

Clay isn’t a quiet kind of a guy. He’s loud and impulsive and wears all his emotions on his sleeves.

It’s not hard to picture him buying a megaphone and announcing it to the whole town like an old-school town crier.

Immediately, memories of Carly Stamper and her husband Dan having to tell the whole town about her baby not having a heartbeat at the first ultrasound a few years ago pull me up short.

They announced their news practically the instant she got a positive pregnancy test, and when it ended in a miscarriage, the pain in her eyes whenever she had to explain what happened to people who hadn’t heard the sad follow-up news was downright heartbreaking.

I can only handle so much heartbreak. Hell, Carly and Dan’s traumatic situation is what made me wait to tell Clay in the first place.

I wanted to make sure our baby had a heartbeat.

And when I went to my follow-up appointment with an OB in Burlington last week, the vaginal ultrasound she did confirmed a little beating heart inside my tiny baby’s chest.

“Babe?” Clay calls. “What did you want to tell me?”

I think about the fact that we’re getting ready to head to Thanksgiving dinner at Bennett’s and decide to stick with my original plan.

“Never mind,” I tell him with a forced smile.

I really do have a plan. After leaving the office in Burlington last week, I ordered one of those cute, “You’re going to be a daddy” onesies off Etsy.

Of course, when it came, it said grandpa instead of daddy, so a new one’s on the way, but with the holiday, it’s probably not going to get here until tomorrow.

I’m going to tell him soon. And it’ll be perfect.

Clay flips off the light in the bathroom and comes straight to me, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I love you, Josie.”

“Love you too,” I whisper back, and God, do I mean it. We’ve been through a lot—and I’ve been off—but Clay is the man of my dreams.

“C’mon, sleepyhead,” he teases as he stares down at me and stretches his arms out wide. “Unless you want us to be late to Thanksgiving dinner, you better get moving.” He glances down at his now raging erection. “And I guess we’ll have to deal with this later, huh?” He winks, and I giggle.

“Yeah. We will.” I head for the closet, shrug off my towel, and start the process of getting dressed with a renewed sense of happiness.

I know I’m antsy, but it’s all going to work out.

Tomorrow, I’ll get the onesie and do the whole balloons and flower and cake thing I’ve envisioned in my mind, and then, we can both be in on the baby secret.

We can both be excited for the little life growing inside me. The little baby that’s ours.

I’m just sliding on my bra and underwear when Clay starts talking to me over the running shower water.

“Did I tell you that Breezy is having our Thanksgiving dinner catered by some renowned chef from New York?” he calls out.

“She’s not cooking?”

“Breezy is a full-on city girl, Jose. There’s no way she’s cooking.”

“How did you find all this out?”

“I ran into her at Melba’s bakery yesterday. She was picking up her ginormous dessert order because she’s invited half the damn town.”

“For real?” I respond as I slide my pants on. “Does Bennett know that?”

“No.” Clay laughs his ass off. “But man, I can’t wait to see his face when everyone shows up.”

“Everyone?” I question, looking toward the shower. “Who all did she invite?”

“Earl, Pete, Marty Higgins and his wife Sheila, Reverend Bob, Harold Metcalf and his wife Carol, Todd, Melba…pretty much everyone besides that busybody Betty Bagley.”

“Oh my God, Clay!” My eyes go wide as I slip on my brown boots. “Ben is going to lose his shit.”

“Yeah.” Clay laughs again, and the water shuts off. “It’s going to be fantastic.”

If there is one thing that Bennett Bishop is known for, it’s being the world’s biggest sourpuss. The only person who plays the exception to that rule is his daughter Summer. That big man melts like fucking chocolate for his little girl.

Once I’m fully dressed, I stand in front of the floor-length mirror in Clay’s bedroom and give my outfit—cream wool pants, warm chocolate-brown sweater, and my favorite nude ankle boots—another once-over.

My Grandma Rose would be adorably annoyed that I’m breaking the “no white after Labor Day” rule, and that makes me feel like giggling and crying at the same time.

God, I miss her. It’s only been two months since she passed away, but it feels like much longer. I guess when so many monumental things happen, it compounds the feeling of time.

I lift up my sweater to look at my barely there belly. There’s a baby in there. A whole-ass baby is inside me. Grandma Rose would be absolutely beside herself with excitement.

Last night, I Googled what a baby looks like at twelve weeks. He or she is the size of a lime, has little fingers and toes, has fully formed organs, and is starting to make spontaneous movements. Movements that in a few months I’ll actually be able to feel.

Reading the description made it all feel real.

When Clay strides out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, I quickly shrug my sweater back down and pretend to be fluffing my hair in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” he says, and he wraps his arms around my waist.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to the crook of my neck.

“Is it just me or did your tits get bigger?” His pesky fingers move up my belly and find my boobs, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“And your ass…” He wolf-whistles and leans back to look at my butt.

“Damn, my wife is the sexiest, prettiest, most fucking perfect thing on the planet.” He grinds his now hard cock into my butt.

“God, Josie. Stop making me hard,” he teases.

“I don’t have time to fuck you before we head to dinner. ”

I laugh and swat him away. “Stop being so horny.”

“Blame my hot, sexy wife. I can’t help it.”

I roll my eyes. “How about you get dressed so we can get this show on the road?”

Clay grabs me by the waist again, spins me around, and dips my body down as he presses a passionate kiss to my lips. It’s so deep and all-consuming that my head spins.

I’m half tempted to suggest we can be late to dinner, but he sets me back to my feet and heads for his closet to grab some clothes.

“Give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready to go!” he calls over his shoulder. “And we’re going to have to take your car. I need to get my truck looked at. The damn thing almost didn’t start up for me last night.”

“Fine, but I’m driving.”

“You don’t want me to drive your Civic?”

“Hell no,” I retort without hesitation. It’s not that Clay is a reckless driver, but more the fact that he’s hard on cars.

Honestly, I’m not surprised his truck doesn’t want to start.

He drives that fucker like he’s trying to break it.

Also, that Civic was purchased at Grandma Rose’s urgence in her will that I didn’t even know she had.

I was the only person named, and not only did she leave me her house, but she left me some money too.

A good portion of which was set aside for the very purpose of me buying myself a more reliable car.

“C’mon, babe,” Clay comments, but his words are filled with humor. “I’ll be gentle on your baby.”

“Don’t make fun of my new car, Clay. It’s newer than your truck.”

“I know it is. And I wouldn’t dream of bursting your bubble about it like that. She’s used, but she’s perfect.”

I snort. “Is that what you say about me, too?”

His smile is smug. “Yep.”

And I don’t hesitate to walk straight over to him and playfully slap him on his bare chest. “Excuse me?”

Clay chuckles, but he also leans forward to press another soft kiss to my lips. “Don’t worry, Josie. That’ll change when you finally let me tell people you’re my wife.”