21. Camilla

21

CAMILLA

I push another smile onto my face, though my cheeks are starting to hurt. If I stop smiling, I get a queasy feeling in my belly. Nerves.

"This is our dark roast," Jack explains from the head of the long, wooden, communal table as two of our baristas start dispersing small cups to our guests. "It's going to give you the bittersweetness of dark chocolate and skew in an earthy direction."

As our guests sip, I scan their faces. The table is full of Jack's family and friends, all faces I know now that our relationship has been outed. I'm grateful I've been welcomed into the fold without question the past two months. Helps that one of his best friends is my former boss and is the reason we got shoved together in the first place.

However, I'm still uneasy. Still want to prove myself, not only as the new girlfriend, but as the worthy business partner.

I'm sure if any of them knew that Jack was fronting all the capital and giving me stake in the company for nothing, they'd think I had somehow hypnotized him with sex or something.

Although, that's not giving credit to myself. Jack would of course say that my business expertise was the investment. And I'd have to agree.

I sit at the other end of the table, opposite Jack, with my computer open, taking notes on everyone's reactions as they taste the various roasts he's concocted tirelessly since we returned from Hawaii all those months ago.

All those months. Of Jack and me. Feels like a dream.

"Mm…" Bridget hums from beside me, Seth's stepsister-turned-girlfriend-turned-fiancée. Her eyes skitter to the side.

"Be honest," he says with a grin before taking a sip of the dark roast.

She looks at me, and I implore her with my eyes. "Your opinion is important, Bridget."

"Is it?" she asks. "I don't like black coffee to begin with."

"Then you'll like our next offering," Jack says, grinning in my direction.

My stomach flips. And not in a good way.

My body has been betraying me since I woke up this morning. I thought it was because I was nervous about this afternoon's taste test, but the longer I've been awake the more I think I've been coming down with something.

Abigail sits on my other side, swigging her coffee. "How much caffeine in this one, Jackie?"

"This one is robusta beans so…" he says with a shrug.

I know what that means after being steeped in this world for so long at this point, no pun intended. Abigail, on the other hand, rolls her eyes. "That helps…not!"

Jack laughs. He's so at ease compared to how jittery he was this morning. He's got his ankle crossed at his knee, his sleeves rolled up, and his dark hair is the perfect balance of well-coiffed and messy.

I can picture the "About" section on the website now, him sporting this look. "More caffeine than the previous ones, yeah."

"Oh, good," she says and swigs the rest of it. "I'm running on two hours of sleep."

"Abigail…" Nate admonishes from across the table.

She narrows her eyes. "Don't be all Dad about it."

Edwin is missing from the table as is his wife, Sonia. I haven't met either of them yet, much to my chagrin.

Jack is keeping his distance, and I have to respect that, but it is strange to have met everyone else in his life.

What was once a sawdust laden floor is now beautiful, polished wood. The windows overhead are streak free, letting in so much sunlight you'd think it's summer rather than the middle of winter. And it looks customer ready, all the tables set up and ready to go. It's beautiful, finished ahead of schedule thanks to Jack's pushiness and bank account.

The only thing left to get together is the roastery in the back which will need to be finished before opening.

We're proud of it. It's pieces of us.

Us .

My stomach quavers, interrupting my fingers as I type up my notes. I pause, duck my chin to my chest and swallow.

"Okay, this is for those who aren't purists," Jack announces and flags the baristas over.

They start setting down small cups of what is set out to be the café's signature latte, the hibiscus latte, a coffee-based drink with a pinkish hue.

"I need you to be brave and take a risk with me," he says. "We've all heard of the lavender lattes."

"My favorite," Laney whispers to Mason. He grins at her and kisses her forehead.

I clench my stomach muscles. Every muscle in my body after that. The nausea will pass. It has every time since this morning.

"But this is a hibiscus latte," Jack says. "Floral. Not too sweet. I've been working on the syrup for a while, and I hope you like it."

People sip. I place my hands on my thighs and hold on.

Jack is looking at me, a soft smile on his face.

I try to smile back.

The nausea rolls up through me.

I bite my tongue. Fuck, I'm sweating. This isn't good.

"Bridget likes it," Seth says with a grin as he watches his fiancée.

She smiles when she places the cup back down. "I do. Better than black."

"Not too acquired of a taste?" Jack asks, then flicks his eyes to me to let me know I should keep my ears perked and start writing notes.

Bridget glances at Seth before she says, "I think it's…"

Her voice drifts into the background, replaced by my own inner monologue.

Don't throw up, you're fine. You're just tired. You've been working too hard. It will pass. Don't fucking throw up.

That would be so embarrassing, not only as Jack's business partner, but as his girlfriend.

What kind of impression does that make on a family, a projectile vomit into the middle of the table? It's too soon for that. That will be one of their only memories of me for a while, the way they'll describe me to others.

Yeah, Jack's new girlfriend? She's a puker.

Dammit.

"Camilla?"

Jack's voice cuts through the fray of my brain.

I lift my eyes and hold my breath.

The concern is evident on his face, brows strained, lips pursed. "You okay?"

That does it. All my attempts at keeping my nausea quelled are lost.

I shoot up out of my chair. "I have to–"

I can't even talk or that projectile vomiting nightmare will become a reality. Except everyone is staring at me like I'm a crazy person. I force out a, "Just a minute," and run to the bathroom.

The next thing I know, I'm leaping into one of the bathroom stalls and narrowly making it to the toilet to puke.

Damn, it burns.

I place my elbows on the toilet, my hands on my forehead and wait for anything more to come up.

The embarrassment lands on my cheeks. Burns, hot and sweaty.

I puke again.

Jack's voice again. "Camilla?"

I don't say anything. He'll find me.

His footsteps are slow and measured until he's at the entrance of my stall. "Oh my god, baby girl, are you okay?"

"No," I choke.

Obviously .

My stomach punches up again, and my body jerks.

"Okay, okay, that's okay," he says.

His fingers thread through my hair, pulling all the curls up and away from my mouth. It's a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. "Let it out, it's okay."

It's not okay. It's been years since I've puked. I've counted. At least since college. And that was alcohol induced. I haven't been sick like this, randomly, in years.

I get sick again, though not much comes up.

What could possibly be left in my stomach to even come up?

"Good girl, that's it." He rubs my back.

"Don't call me a good girl while I'm puking," I say, tears bristling at my eyes.

"Sorry, sorry."

He doesn't deserve my shortness, but I have nothing else to give right now.

I reach up and flush the toilet. Don't want to get an eyeful of whatever came out of me.

The bathroom door swishes open, and Abigail's voice comes. "Everything okay?"

God, no. It's not okay. And I don't need more witnesses.

"Could you bring us some water? And some napkins?" Jack calls out.

"On it."

He's a good man. Such a good man.

We sit there in silence for a while, me waiting for more to come up, him stroking my back.

Abigail returns with the water and the napkins, then heads back out at Jack's request.

"Want some water, baby girl?"

I nod. My head feels like a bowling ball.

Jack turns my face toward his and then dabs my mouth off with a napkin before cracking open a bottle of water for me and bringing it to my lips.

The water soothes the burning in my throat, the waviness of my stomach.

My shoulders fall, and I can breathe again. "I don't know what happened."

"You weren't feeling well this morning."

"Yes, but…" I mentioned it in passing. I swallowed down some Advil. Said I was fine.

"We could have postponed," he says. "In fact, I can ask everyone to leave if you're not feeling well."

I shake my head. "No, that's crazy. They're already here."

"But if you're not feeling well–"

"Much better now that I've…" I settle my hand against my stomach. And something clicks in the back of my mind.

Jack puts the back of his hand to my forehead. "You're warm. You could be coming down with something."

I could be coming down with something all right.

"I want to take you home. We've gotten most of the samples done."

"Jack…"

"I'm not trying to take away your agency, but I'm not going to let you push through something, especially not if it's contagious," Jack says, then adds with a humored smile, "That would be bad for business."

I shake my head. "I don't think what I have is contagious."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

Jack's not getting it. In fact, I don't think I am either.

But it's a possibility. Not a slim one based on the way the two of us act in bed. Reckless and impulsive.

My mouth is hot and dry.

"Baby girl, your eyes are glassy. You need to go home and get in bed and–"

"What if I'm pregnant?" I whisper.

Jack's expression doesn't move. That's shock for you.

I fumble for the bottle of water, not knowing what to say and not sure I'd be able to say anything anyway. As quick as I can, I chug the rest of it. Too fast. I'm nauseous again. Fuck.

Jack finally is able to form words. "W…what? How?"

"You know how."

"But you're on birth control." His eyes grow wider.

This is going to ruin everything, isn't it? "Yeah, but I don't know, maybe I took it at a weird time, or I missed a day, and I didn't know it or–there are so many variables I could have messed up, and we have never been–"

Jack swallows.

"And I don't get regular periods, so it's not even like I would know if I missed one."

Jack touches my arm. His fingers are delicate. Tender. "Slow down, Camilla, let's take a second."

We take several long seconds, both of us quiet. Unsure.

"You really think you might be?"

It's subtle, but I see it. I know him too well now.

The corner of his lip turning upward.

He's…happy.

"I don't know," I say. "Maybe?"

Jack inhales and sits up straight, both of his hands clasping my biceps. Something primal and powerful settles through him. It's sexy. Or would be if I wasn't mortified over interrupting our tasting to vomit.

Would be if I wasn't terrified of the possibility that everything has just gone haywire.

"Okay, I'm going to take you home," he says, again assured.

"No, Jack–"

"We need to find out, don't we? There's no reason to make you go out there when you're not feeling well or–"

I shrug off his hands. "For god's sake, Jack, I'm fine. At worst, I'm pregnant."

"At worst?" Hurt coasts through his voice.

"I mean…" Yes. At worst. Because a stomach flu is gone after a few days. Pregnancy doesn't go away after a few days. That's a lifetime sort of thing.

"Can we just pretend like this didn't happen until after the tasting? And then we can go–" My throat knots. "Take a test."

Jack's lips part. "How are we going to pretend that–"

"Please, Jack, that's what I want, that's what I need right now." I'm begging. It's not fair to beg him, not like this, with my voice pressing into a higher register, with my head bowed and my body feeling so small.

In this state, Jack will give me anything. We both know it.

And if I want to pretend, he'll pretend too.

"Fine," he says. "Fine, we'll…fine."

It's not fine, that's clear from the way his words come out all clenched and frustrated.

Jack helps me to my feet. His grip is angry. Not painful. Insistent and…

Disappointed.

But we have work to do.

After work, I can feel.

After work, I can let it sink in that I might be having Daddy's baby.