Page 93 of Slap Shot Surprise
I stared at the simmering contents of the pot. “It’s all we have of him right now,” I said. “And I’ll be fine.”
Late that night, I was reading in bed when I got a text from Joe.
Hey, thanks for the book.
You’re welcome. I bought it a while ago when you said you were nervous about being a dad.
I’m still nervous. I’ll read it. Then you can quiz me.
Haha, deal. You played a good game tonight.
Not good enough to win.
How’s the shoulder?
It’s okay. I’ve got therapy tomorrow. That should help.
Can you take some days off to rest it?
If it’s necessary, but I hope it won’t be. How’s our artichoke?
Fine. Almost a banana.
You’re up late.
I know. But I’m in bed already and I’m going to sleep now.
Good. Take care of yourself.
You too.
I set my phone on the charger and turned off my lamp. Lying there in the dark, I thought about Joe in his bedroom, taking off his clothes and slipping between the sheets we’d shared last night. Or maybe he’d changed them already?
I rolled onto my side and hugged a pillow close to me, the way he’d held me last night as I’d fallen asleep, his body warm and strong behind me, his hand on my belly.
I missed him.
And I wondered for a moment if what I’d said to Ari about being fine was a lie.
On the morning of my fundraiser, two dozen red roses were delivered to me at the historical society.
“Oh my!” exclaimed my assistant, a retired nurse named Nell Howard who served on the board and volunteered her time to help me a few days a week. “Look how beautiful! Who sent them?”
“I don’t know,” I said, hunting in the box for a card. Finding it tucked among the stems, I slipped the card from the envelope.
Knock ’em dead, Montana Swift. Wish I could be there.
Love, Joe
I smiled as my heart boomed inside my chest.Love, Joe!Had he specified it should say love? Or had the florist just added it? “They’re from a friend.”
“Afriendsent you two dozen roses?” She leaned over and sniffed the scarlet blooms. “That’s a good friend.”
“He is a good friend.” I decided to be honest with Nell. Touching my stomach, I said, “He’s the baby’s father.”
“Ah.” Nell nodded and smiled, her expression free of judgment. “The hockey player?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised she knew. When I’d told the board about my pregnancy, I’d simply said I was having a baby and would need some time off next spring. They knew I wasn’t married but hadn’t asked me for any additional details, and after the next board meeting, they told me I could take up to three months maternity leave. “How did you know he was a hockey player?”
