Penny pats my shoulder. “Go get your bone. Or, in this case, your man.”
“But what if he doesn’t love me back? And what if telling him I love him scares him away from the baby?” A new worry takes root. “I never thought I needed a father for my baby, but now that he wants to be involved, I don’t want to freak him out.”
Delaney shoots me a gentle smile. “If this frightens him away from the baby, then he was never going to be a great dad in the first place. And I can’t imagine a man like him would be that kind of a pansy.”
I manage a small laugh. “Pansy he is not.” But my laughter fades quickly. Delaney didn’t answer my other question, and this one gnaws at me. “What if he doesn’t love me?” My voice is tiny, stretched with the threat of tears.
She grabs my hand. “What if he doesn’t? You have us, and Ruby, and an ice cream-balancing belly. You’ll be no worse off than you are now. And you have your baby.”
I do have so much in my life. Is it possible I might have more? I close my eyes and rewind to my last night with Ryder, to the way he touched me, how he held me, the way he worshipped me. Maybe it wasn’t only me, the mother of this child, that he was attracted to. Maybe it’s me, all of me, the woman and the mother-to-be.
I remember his words . . . the ones about me.
Missed you. Missed this.
It’s the only place I wanted to be.
Look at me.
Can I see you tonight?
I’ve changed. I now want someone in my life as more than a donor, so is it possible he’s changed, too? A stupid grin forms on my face. Could a girl be this lucky in real life?
Katherine’s opens at nine a.m. I’m here at three minutes before the hour. The second the doors swing in, I race to the counter where I bought the key chain many months ago. Alongside its gorgeous platinum rings and stunning necklaces, this classy store also carries a handful of little novelty key chains, like the tadpole. When I bought that one, I spotted the key chain I want now.
I squeal when I see it’s in stock—a woman in silver, like the sexy silhouettes of women’s bodies on the mud flaps of trucks. It’s classy kitsch, and I love it. It’s exactly what I want to say to Ryder.
I want you to have the woman, too.
A saleswoman strides up to me. “Can I help you?”
I bounce on my toes as I point. “I’ll take that.”
Twenty minutes later, I carry the box into work as my stomach tries to crawl up my esophagus.
Oh wait. That’s nerves. I’m a cauldron of churning emotions—hope and fear and happiness and doubt. But I’m going to do this anyway. I’m going to pursue the impossible dream, and there are tons of top five reasons why this might rank as the craziest thing I’ve ever done. But there’s one reason why this might be the best choice I’ve ever made.
Top Reason to Tell Him You Love Him
1. He’s the one.
I knock on his open office door, but he’s not in there. Then, I remember. Right. He’s probably recording right now. Damn my baby brain. But I don’t leave the box on his desk this time. He doesn’t like surprises, and this is something I need to do face-to-face. Clutching it tight in one hand, I’m heading to my office when my phone pings.
His name flashes on my screen, and my stomach dips.
My belly flips upside down as I open the message.
Ryder: Tune in to my show in five minutes.
They are the longest five minutes in the history of the world. Especially because at four minutes and thirty seconds, I have to pee.
Thirty-Nine
Ryder
“It’s the end of this episode on dating and mating, and before I sign off, I have something to say.”
Across from me, Jason gives a nod, a sign that he’s ready. I tug the mic closer as if I’m getting intimate with it.
I suppose intimacy is a fitting word. It’s the thing I’ve shunned. The thing I fear. The thing I want desperately.
“In the last several months, the show has changed. You might have noticed. Did you notice, Jason?”
“Absolutely. You’ve gotten funnier.”
I laugh. “Dude, I was always funny. Take that back.”
“Fine,” he says in mock indignation. “You’ve gone soft, then.”
I smile. “Some might call it soft. I like to think I’ve become less of an ass.”
I glance at my watch, hoping that a certain someone is listening. Hoping she’ll come stand outside the studio window any second.
Jason snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes. That’s another way to put it. You’ve had a jackass-ectomy.”
I shake my head in amusement. “And it was a painful process, man. Let me tell you. I went kicking and screaming most of the way. But then . . .”