SIOBHAN

After Natasha and Hunter return to their homes, I’m afraid to go back to mine. On edge and nervous someone will find out about the baby before I tell my family, I head to the farm. Before fessing up, I force my parents and sister to swear to secrecy.

“You know I’m telling Pork Chop, right?” Carys says as soon as the words leave my mouth.

“No,” I bark at her. “He can’t keep secrets. It’s his only flaw.”

Shrugging, she shuts up long enough for me to announce my baby news. Then, she points at me and claims, “You shouldn’t have told Indigo yet. He can’t handle so much pressure.”

“Well, now,” Dad says, stepping between us, “Indigo’s not a weakling. The man has faced plenty in life. He can handle knowing about the baby he made during a night of passion.”

Carys frowns at our father for using the word “passion” while he waits for her to complain.

Mom wraps her arms around me. “You’ve been talking about having a baby.”

“Do you think I should have kept the news from Indigo for a while longer?” I ask, clinging to her. “Hunter said honesty is a good thing, but Indigo didn’t seem happy about the baby.”

“He always looks unhappy at first. Do you remember when he first arrived at the farm? He frowned all the time, seeming miserable.”

Dad smiles at Mom and murmurs, “He sure did love your mama hugs.”

Despite my parents' upbeat response, I worry Carys is right. Except my sister tends to coddle our foster brothers. Is that the right way to handle a man I want to build a life with?

Carys later returns to our parents' house and hugs me. “I told Pork Chop,” she whispers in my ear. “I couldn’t help myself.” When I try to pull away, she adds in a sweet voice, “I know you’ve wanted another baby. I can’t think of anyone better than Indigo to be the father.”

Her supportive words make me cry. The younger foster boys just roll their eyes at my drama, having no idea that I’m fully within my rights as a woman, mother, and American to weep over my big sister’s generous heart .

I end up staying overnight at my parents’ house. My heart keeps my head awake, leaving me tired the next morning.

Breakfast does nothing to calm me down. I just keep thinking of the hundreds of times I ate breakfast with Indigo. Why didn’t my lust rev back then?

Though Mom tries to relax me with head rubs and shoulder massages, I remain in a state of hysteria all morning.

Dad suggests I have lunch with the twins at school. “The best way to stop thinking about dick is to spend time with your babies,” he says helpfully while Mom rolls her eyes at his wording choice.

Taking his advice, I pick up chicken rice bowls before heading to the girls’ school. The twins are so excited to find me waiting for them in the cafeteria. Their delighted expressions steal my earlier anxiety. No one can calm me like my babies.

“Is Daddy picking us up?” Kiera asks as lunch comes to an end and they cuddle on each side of me.

“Yes.”

“Do you miss us, Mommy?” Deirdre asks, hugging me tighter.

“Yes, but I need to share you with your daddy, or else he’ll cry like a big baby.”

The girls giggle. “Daddy loves us.”

After leaving the girls, I imagine a possible future with Indigo and the baby. As my garage door opens, I add Indigo’s favorite two motorcycles to the empty spot. Inside the house, I try to view my décor from a man’s eyes. Is it too feminine? Does Indigo care about wall colors or accent pillows? I haven’t seen his bedroom in years. I recall how he painted the walls a pale blue. I assume he has two dog beds in there now for Grumpy and Sleepy.

I try to picture the dogs in my house. Will they mess with Bubbles? She isn’t a friendly animal. New people don’t interest her. She only likes the twins, so I suspect she’ll detest having the dogs in her space.

Walking around my house, I stop at my girls’ shared room. On each side of their queen-sized bed rests adorable vintage side tables.

I recall when I was shopping at the Banta City Bazaar with Mom and several foster brothers. I had recently broken up with Sync and needed to furnish my new house. Sync had hired an interior designer to create a princess room for the twins at his place. Feeling competitive, I wanted a sweet, country-girl style for their room at my house. I wanted something special to go in their room, but nothing was standing out to me.

Indigo was the one who found the tables. Up until then, my other foster brothers kept pointing at ugly stuff because they thought “vintage” was code for lame. Indigo, though, told me about the little side tables with decorative handles.

As I run my fingers over one of the tables, I start to cry over how Indigo’s been in my life for so long. Did he already have romantic feelings for me that day? I have so many memories of Indigo helping me out with something or lingering close when I was out somewhere.

Why hadn’t he said something sooner? I’ve been lonely for years. I hate staying at the house alone. We could have been together. I would have seen his value years ago if only he had revealed how we could be more than friends.

Wiping my tears, I leave the girls’ bedroom. I walk down the hallway and glance at the various rooms. I always assumed when the twins got older, they’d want separate rooms. Once one of them was moved into the guest room, they could turn their current toy room into a hangout spot.

The only room with no real purpose is my office. My small desk is mostly used by Bubbles to sleep in the sun during lazy afternoons. I try to imagine a nursery in here. The bedroom might be too far away from my bedroom, though. Maybe I can use the guest room or switch out the playroom for the office.

My hand goes to my belly. I’m still so early in my pregnancy. My periods have been super regular since I was fourteen. I knew right away with the twins and immediately told everyone. I never thought to wait until a safer point in my pregnancy.

I’m older now and wise enough to realize Indigo isn’t a man built for emotional stress. I should have kept my mouth shut and asked him out on a date.

Except that’s not me. I wasn’t able to hide the information from my parents for more than twenty-four hours. How could I get through an entire date with Indigo without blurting it out?

“No regrets,” I tell my reflection. “You are you. Indigo is Indigo. You can only work with what you’ve got.”

Feeling calmer, I look through my clothes for a flattering outfit. I try to remember if Indigo ever complimented any of my clothes before .

I eventually choose the same shirt and jeans I wore on the date to the steakhouse where I got stood up. In fact, I fix myself up like I would on a regular date. Unlike with those other guys, I’m actually excited to see Indigo.

As I apply makeup, I recall the night with him in the clubhouse. Indigo was incredibly sexy. Everything happened fast, but I distinctly remember his kisses being hot and delicious. His body and mine fit well together. Just recalling his cinnamon-and-patchouli scent turns on the heat in my clam.

I stand near my front door, waiting like an anxious kid. My mind returns to Indigo naked over me at the clubhouse. I know every tattoo and scar on his chest. I’m aware of his favorite foods and how he’s allergic to shellfish. I know what songs he likes and what movies make him laugh.

I’m nearly bouncing with anticipation when a motorcycle rumbles up the drive. A shadowed figure is visible through the front door’s textured glass. I open up to find a delivery person with a bouquet of pink and white lilies. He awkwardly hands them to me before stepping out of the way. That’s when I see Indigo lingering back at the driveway.

The men change positions with Indigo shuffling closer. I hold my flowers and smile at him.

As the delivery man drives off, Indigo shrugs. “I worried the flowers would get messed up if I brought them on my bike.”

When I wave Indigo inside, he hesitates. I wrap my hand around his wrist and tug him through the door. I close it quickly to prevent his escape.

Our gazes meet. We’re alone without eyes on us. I stare up at him and exhale deeply.

All my earlier fears drop away, leaving me transfixed by a man capable of claiming my heart.