A Partridge and a Pregnancy (Holiday Brothers, #3)

by Willa Nash

How had it come to this? How was I even here? I’d asked myself the same questions hours ago when I’d been sitting on the bathroom floor with a positive pregnancy test in hand. One night. One night with Tobias. A farewell. And now I was pregnant.

It was one thing I’d always loved about him. Tobias never rushed me.

Now he was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Nope, just my menstrual cycle.

“On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me.” Tobias had always loved it in college when I’d make up stupid songs in the shower. He’d sneak into the bathroom and sit on the toilet to listen. He’d often scared the hell out of me when I’d pulled back the curtain and there he’d been, those blue eyes dancing at my ridiculous lyrics. “Eva, what the hell is—” I held up a finger. “Three French hens. Two turtle doves.” I opened my eyes, slid my hand out of my pocket and threw the stick at him. Tobias snagged it from the air. “And a partridge and a pregnancy.”

I’d learned a long time ago that rushing Eva usually meant she’d shut down. She needed a distraction whenever she was stuck, which was why I’d invented our thumb wars.

There was a truck in the driveway, parked beside my space. My heart did a little flip. It always flipped for Tobias. I wasn’t sure why he was here, waiting on my porch. But it was nice to come home and not be alone.

Kids needed homes. They needed a resting place. They needed roots and routine. I had all of those in spades. Which meant if she didn’t change her mind, I wouldn’t have a choice. Once this baby was born, he or she was coming home to Montana. I stared at my reflection, hating myself so much that I couldn’t hold my own gaze. If Eva was going to fight for London and the next move and the next move, then I’d fight her for my child. And she’d hate me. She’d fucking hate me. But my kid was worth the fight. And I’d just drawn the battle lines with a kiss.

Why couldn’t she see how much sense we made? How good our life could be? How good we were together? I was a fucking fool. She’d leave me again. Just like she had before. This time, with my child.

“It’s my identity,” I told him. “I’m not sure who I am without it anymore. It saved me when I was at my lowest. And it’s more than the money, it’s my pride.”

He looked . . . like my dreamland.

“You kissed me and now I can’t sleep.”

“Why hasn’t he asked us to stay?” I whispered, sliding a hand across my belly. The baby didn’t have an answer. Neither did I.

Because goddamn it, I loved her. I’d always loved her. I always would.

Was this really a home if my heart was on its way to London?

“How about one more adventure? We tackle London. Then we’ll decide what’s next. Together.” “Are you sure? What about your home? Your family?” I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m looking at my family. I’m staring at my home.” “I haven’t had a home, a real one, in a long time.” “You do now.”