Hard No: Secret Baby Enemies to Lovers Romance Hazel Parker (novels to read in english .txt) 📖

I smile a little at that, both because of Tira’s protectiveness and because it’s a pretty attractive image.

“I can’t believe that Trent would get mixed up with that woman, though,” she goes on.

“Why else would she be there, answering his phone?” I ask.

“I still can’t believe it.”

“Disbelieving in something doesn’t necessarily make it not true.”

“Fortune-cookie wisdom,” she says. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“You really believe he was tangled up with her when you called?”

I sigh. “I don’t know what to think, T.”

“Exactly. You shouldn’t be thinking at all after all you’ve been through today. You should have your brain off the hook! Look at everything tomorrow with clear eyes.”

“Good advice. Tough to do when you’ve just found out you’re going to be growing another human being inside you.”

She pauses. “Does that mean—”

“Yes,” I answer.

Tira squeals. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just so excited for you! You have to let me throw you a baby shower! I’ve never given a baby shower before.”

“That’s okay,” I reply. “I’ve never had a baby shower before. But don’t rush. You’ve got plenty of time. I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied for the time being.”

“Oh, right. Of course you do. What are you going to do? I mean, about work and all?”

“I don’t know. For now, I’m going to keep going in, the same as always.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You hit the kitchens pretty hard.”

“I can handle it. The little I’ve read up on it says that I can keep to my normal routine as long as I feel good.”

“Most people could keep to their normal routine,” she counters. “Your routine would burn out most normal people, though. I just want you to be careful. Remember, you’re cooking for two now.”

“For now, I need to stick to my routine,” I tell her. “I need a good routine, so my mind doesn’t wander to…other things.”

I know that this last statement was a laugh. My mind is going to be all over the place. I have no idea how I’m ever going to be able to get to sleep tonight. I figure that the only way to go is total sensory deprivation. I turn off my phone, draw the curtains, turn off all the lights and crawl into bed in the silent pitch blackness.

It takes a long time, with my brain hopping around like a monkey on a tree branch, but eventually, sleep comes.

My first-restaurant assistant Andy has some good ideas for me when I clock in this morning. A sane person would trust his judgment and give his suggestions some serious consideration. He is even at the point now where he could implement these things on his own.

It’s a matter of micromanaging. I’ve always been guilty of it, even when I only had one restaurant. Especially when I only had one restaurant, Andy would be the first to remind me. I really should let go of some of the creative control to my support staff. They’re all at the top of their games and can clearly keep things running smoothly when I’m not around.

Part of me says that this is because I have everything laid out for them, down to the position of the forks on the tables. Another part of me says that this is crazy talk and I need to relax. A new part of me isn’t saying anything yet, but it will be eventually. Oh, yes, it will have a very large say in how I have to do things. The question will be how well I can handle that.

So far, the morning sickness, which had begun only two weeks after my first missed period, hadn’t been too bad, mostly a mild queasiness that I could just grit my teeth and ignore. The unusual tiredness, though—that could rapidly become a real problem in my line of work. Also figure in that my mobility would only begin to decline as time went on, and you can see that I have a lot weighing on my mind.

At least I hadn’t developed any weird food aversions; thank god for that. Imagine if I suddenly couldn’t stomach being around cooking vegetables or meats!

As it is, this morning, I’m doing all right. I’m at the cutting board, rapidly dicing up onions, when all of a sudden, I feel like crying. It’s not the onion—we chefs know how to prepare one of those without falling prey to its tear-jerking effects. I am just suddenly overwhelmed by sadness. I put down the knife as my eyes get blurry.

“Hey, boss,” Andy says, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, taking a deep, shuddery breath. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you look as white as a sheet,” he declares, still looking worried.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, “how about that?”

“Okay,” he answers grudgingly. “But if you need to step out for a minute or two—”

“I don’t.” I take up my knife again and get back to work. “I’m all right now. Just a passing case of the weirds.”

He looks at me doubtfully but goes back to his own work.

I haven’t told Andy or anyone else in any of my restaurants what’s going on. So far, Tira is the only one who knows, and I feel like keeping it that way for a while. I don’t want to be treated any differently by anyone in my place of work.

But you are different, my interior voice insists, and you’re only going to get more different from here on out!

For today, though, I have a handle on things. The sadness passes, and I feel better. No, better than better—I feel terrific. I even start to hum to myself as I move on to the next onion.

Now Andy’s really looking at me curiously. I’m always almost completely silent when I’m working, focusing