goodness she didn’t have to deal with that headache today.
Mom, it’s scheduled for the eighth. I put it in the online calendar I set up for you last week.
Dimples, you know I’m never going to use that calendar thingy. It’s too complicated. Plus, your dad accidentally deleted the app off my phone when he was trying to reset our wi-fi password.
Before Rebekah could respond, another message popped up on her screen. This time from her dad.
Hey there, Dimples. Your mom screwed up our wi-fi password again and I can’t find the paper where you wrote down all our log-in codes. Any chance you can come up this weekend and reset things for us?
Rebekah was convinced that her parents purposely remained technologically challenged because it gave them the perfect excuse to summon their dutiful daughter home for long weekend visits. Normally, she didn’t mind the thirty-minute trips to Raleigh, but Rebekah wasn’t quite ready to face them yet.
After typing a detailed response to her father, including a description of where she’d filed their log-in information and an online link to a video giving them a step-by-step tutorial on how to change their password, Rebekah found the number for a local obstetrician with excellent ratings and took a deep breath before placing her call.
A male receptionist answered and Rebekah had to clear her throat several times before finally getting the words out. “I think I might be pregnant and I’d like to schedule an appointment with Dr. Singh.”
“Congratulations,” the deep masculine voice replied and Rebekah took solace in the fact that at least there was one man in this world who was happy about her revelation. “How far along are you?”
“Um, I’m thinking eight weeks,” she offered, going off the app on her phone that tracked her cycle. She could organize everything else in her life to a T, but much to her frustration, she’d never been very regular when it came to her periods.
“And do you know the date of conception?”
Embarrassment threaded through the lower half of her torso, squeezing around her stomach. Of course she knew the exact date of conception. She even remembered the spicy lettuce wraps and the blackberry mojitos that had been on special during that fateful happy hour. It had only been one night of weakness. Yet apparently, one night was all it took. Instead of admitting as much to the receptionist, she simply told him the date.
“Usually Dr. Singh doesn’t see her patients until they’re closer to twelve weeks. I can put you on the books for October.”
Rebekah clenched her jaw so tightly, her back molars vibrated. It was currently the end of August and there was no way she could wait that long without knowing for sure. She hated to even think about the last time she’d found herself in a similar situation, let alone use it as an excuse to garner special treatment. However, she needed to take action, she needed to be in control of the situation this time. “Actually, I have a history of ectopic pregnancy, so I’m sure the doctor will want to see me sooner.”
“Of course,” he replied, and she heard him tapping on a keyboard. “In that case, the soonest we can get you in will be next Thursday.”
He listed the appointment openings, and after finding one that worked for her schedule, Rebekah wrote down the time in her day planner. Then she mumbled her thanks and disconnected the call so she could also program the appointment into the calendar app on her smartphone.
Getting into the shower, she made a firm decision to put the whole thing out of her mind until next week.
That vow lasted a whole forty-five minutes—when her teal blue Fiat was idling at the intersection near a large chain drugstore. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard and wasn’t surprised to see she had plenty of time to swing inside, grab some prenatal vitamins and still get to work half an hour early.
When she came out of the pharmacy, she walked over to Great American Bakery, because she couldn’t very well take the vitamin on an empty stomach. Besides, if she couldn’t have coffee, then a warm chocolate croissant would be the next best thing to settle her nerves. No, not her nerves. She refused to be nervous. This uneasy feeling in her tummy was simply due to hunger. Or the pregnancy cravings she’d only heard about but never experienced.
Climbing back into her car, she realized that she’d surely get crumbs and chocolate all over her brand-new silk blouse. Many of the people employed at Furever Paws wore much more functional clothes for working with animals, but Rebekah had a lunch with a potential donor this afternoon and then a city council meeting tonight. Her bosses, Bunny and Birdie Whitaker, were going to request a zoning ordinance to allow for a cell tower on their farm, which adjoined the pet rescue’s learning center. The tower would provide the sisters some much-needed financial revenue, and it would provide the town’s new development of Kingdom Creek some better wireless service.
Not everyone in the suburban town was happy with how quickly their little city was blossoming, though, so she was expecting to confront some annoyed townspeople tonight.
By the time she pulled into her parking spot at work, her stomach was growling and her temples were pounding from the beginnings of a headache—probably due to a lack of caffeine. Grabbing the bags containing the vitamins and the croissant, she tried to shove both in her already full tote.
It wasn’t like her to pick up a breakfast treat and not bring in a box to share with everyone else at work. However, she didn’t necessarily feel very social this morning and just wanted to sneak into her private office and hide behind a mountain of paperwork and a closed door.
Many of Rebekah’s coworkers were more focused on the rescue center’s animals than on the humans who worked there. So hopefully nobody would notice that her entire world was threatening to topple off its axis. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, assuring herself that there was no sign of a pregnancy glow or anything else that might give away her secret before she was ready to disclose it.
Thankfully, it would be easy enough to avoid Grant until she was able to confirm that her pregnancy was real—and had worked out the best way to tell him. She’d already managed to avoid him since their night together, although it helped that he lived in another state. The last contact she’d had from him was the note with his cell number that he’d left the morning he sneaked out of her townhouse.
Not wanting the temptation, she’d immediately thrown the number away without programming it into her own phone. As amazing as he’d made her feel that night, there was no way she could allow a repeat performance of their one-night stand. And even now, there still might not be a reason for her to call him. Her pregnancy wasn’t confirmed yet—not officially. Her father had made his career on giving people advice and was especially fond of the phrase, Don’t borrow tomorrow’s problems today. Rebekah repeated those words in her mind.
Balancing her purse and tote bag on one shoulder, Rebekah grabbed her other two bags and used the thick wedge heel of her espadrille sandal to close the car door behind her.
She took a deep breath before heading toward the entrance and then froze at the sound of the unmistakable deep voice coming from behind her. “Looks like the early bird definitely gets the worm all to himself this morning.”
Grant Whitaker was unfolding his long, athletic frame from some nondescript rental car she hadn’t even noticed in the parking lot. Right this second, he didn’t look so much like an early bird as he did a hawk. Wait. That meant that she would be the worm in this scenario. Although, she couldn’t deny that she was currently trying to
