Chapter 38
The next morning came too soon. I barely slept, my mind looping through every word Wes had said, every look that had passed between us. The quiet of the apartment felt heavier than usual, like the air itself was holding its breath.
I sat at the kitchen island, staring at the mug of tea I hadn’t touched. The steam had long since faded, leaving it lukewarm and forgotten. My thoughts were a mess—Wes showing up, the photos, Preston’s confusion, the doctor’s words echoing in my head.
Two months pregnant.
I still couldn’t say it out loud without feeling like the ground might shift beneath me.
The bakery was supposed to stay closed another day, but I needed something to do—something that didn’t involve thinking. I pulled on jeans and a sweater, tied my hair back, and walked downstairs. The familiar scent of sugar and vanilla greeted me, comforting and grounding.
I turned on the lights, the soft hum of the ovens filling the silence. For a while, I just stood there, breathing it in. This place had always been my safe space, the one constant when everything else felt uncertain.
I started mixing a small batch of cookie dough, more out of habit than purpose. The rhythm of it helped—measure, pour, stir, knead. My hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over where my thoughts couldn’t.
Halfway through rolling out the dough, the bell over the door jingled.
I froze. The bakery wasn’t open.
When I looked up, Preston was standing there.
He gave me a small, hesitant smile. “Didn’t think you’d be here. Place looked dark from outside.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, brushing flour from my hands. “Figured I’d bake something.”
He nodded, stepping closer. “You okay?”
I hesitated. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He studied me for a moment, his brow furrowing. “You sure? You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
I forced a small smile. “I’m fine, Preston. Really.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “I wanted to apologize,” he said after a moment. “For yesterday. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about the photos. I know Hattie’s work, and I should’ve trusted you.”
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “I get it. They looked… real.”
He smiled faintly. “They did. Guess that’s what makes them good.”
I nodded, unsure what else to say. The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable, but fragile.
Preston glanced around the bakery, his gaze landing on the half-finished dough. “You want some help?”
I laughed quietly. “You bake now?”
“Not well,” he admitted, grinning. “But I can follow directions.”
I handed him an apron, and for the next half hour, we worked side by side. It was easy, almost peaceful—the kind of quiet companionship that didn’t need words. He asked about any upcoming orders that I had and about Hattie’s next project. I asked him about work and how it was going with the new investors that he got.
When the last tray went into the oven, I leaned against the counter, feeling the exhaustion settle in again. Preston wiped his hands on a towel and looked at me, his expression soft.
“You really should take it easy,” he said. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “I’m trying.”
He nodded, then hesitated. “Maisie… if there’s something going on, you can tell me. You don’t have to handle everything alone.”
The words hit harder than he probably meant them to. I looked down, my throat tightening. “I know,” I said again, but it came out barely above a whisper.
He didn’t press. He just reached out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before heading for the door. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll check in later. I have to head back to Chicago for a couple of weeks to catch up on work and finalize some new contracts. But I will call or text everynight.”
Before he left he kissed me on top of the head. The smell of fresh cookies filled the air, warm and comforting, but it didn’t reach the knot in my chest.
I turned off the ovens and went upstairs, collapsing onto the couch. My hand drifted to my stomach, the gesture automatic now.
I thought about Wes—his face at the door, the way he’d looked at me like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. I thought about Preston, kind and steady, trying to understand something I hadn’t told him.
And I thought about the tiny, invisible life growing inside me.
Everything was changing, and I didn’t know how to stop it—or if I even wanted to.
For the first time, I whispered the truth into the quiet room, just to hear it out loud.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hung there, fragile and real.
And for the first time since I’d found out, I didn’t feel scared. Just… certain.
Whatever came next, I’d face it.