In Your Dreams by Sarah Adams - 41

6 DAYS SINCE I FAILED . . . BUT KEPT GOING

It’s been a long week of prepping for the official restaurant opening tomorrow. I should be there right now, double-and triplechecking everything. Does the stove work? Is the fridge staying cold? I’m tempted to call each and every employee and make them swear to me with a Bible in their hand that they’re not feeling the slightest bit ill.

Instead, I’m at Hank’s, gathered around a table with my family.

As if James can sense my growing restlessness and predicts me hurtling out of the bar any second, he lays his hand on my thigh. Squeezes once, tenderly. Grounds me.

I breathe in deeply through my nose and release it.

Everything is going to be okay.

But then Annie gasps and looks into her full beer. “A bug just flew in here! Gross.”

James and I share a look before I blurt, “Okay, I give up! Annie, are you pregnant? I can’t take it anymore!”

She looks panicked for a moment before her eyes catch something—or someone’s —across the table, and she smiles like we’re in the middle of a murder mystery and I have accused the wrong suspect. “Nope. I’m not pregnant.”

“What! But you’ve very clearly not been drinking alcohol for months. Actually . . .” I say, blinking and turning to Emily. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t been drinking.”

“Don’t look at me.” She raises her hands. “I’m not pregnant.”

“If it’s not Annie, and it’s not you or me, that means it has to be . . .” We all slide our eyes to Amelia, who’s sitting back in her chair, Noah’s strong arm around her shoulders, holding her like he has everything to protect now.

“It’s me,” she says with a quiet, satisfied smile. “We’re pregnant.”

My mouth falls open. “But . . .” I swing my gaze to Annie. “You . . .”

“Suspected me all along?” Annie asks, delighted to have pulled the wool over our eyes. “So, this is what happened. I wasn’t supposed to know either. But I came over one day to see Amelia, and she forgot she’d left her pregnancy test on the counter.”

Amelia takes over. “I told Annie I didn’t want anyone to know yet because . . . well, to be honest, we’ve been trying for a while, and it’s been difficult. I wanted to keep it on the down-low until I knew it was safe.”

“Understandable,” Emily says, and it immediately makes me skeptical of her. She sees my look and laughs, leaning in to whisper, “No babies on the horizon for me. You’ll be the first to know if that plan changes.”

“Before Jack?” I need reassurance.

“Duh.”

I nod, satisfied by this answer, and turn my attention back to Amelia. “It’s nearly impossible to keep a secret in this family, so me and Annie concocted this plan to get everyone’s eyes off of me and onto her instead.”

“Which,” says Will, interjecting with a dimpled smile, “let me tell you, was very confusing to me for a minute. Nearly sent me into an early grave when I realized what y’all were suspecting. Not because I’d be upset if Annie was pregnant, but because I was really freaking out that she didn’t want to tell me. I got the truth out of her one night though,” he says, that dimpled grin aimed at Annie and insinuating all kinds of ways he extracted the truth from her.

“Brilliant,” I say with deep affection as I look to Amelia. “You’re both absolutely brilliant little liars, and I am so proud to call you my sisters.”

“What about me? I knew too.” Noah kisses her temple. “Well, she told me the night I came home from playing Hearts with y’all. She’d been waiting for a BUN IN THE OVEN shirt to arrive in the mail. She was wearing it when I got back.”

“I’m proud of you too, big guy,” I say, leaning to shove his shoulder.

“We would’ve told you sooner, but it sort of became a fun game,” Amelia says proudly. “I wanted to see how long I could keep up the alcohol gag before any of you caught on.”

“You gorgeous, devious woman,” says Emily, and it takes her all of thirty seconds to turn into Mother Hen. “Have you had enough water today? Need me to get you some? I’ll get you some.” She’s off like a shot to the bar.

“James, did I see you leaving Dr. Macky’s office yesterday?” asks Noah. Ever since the Tommy punch, Noah has been hovering a bit. I don’t think he realized just how out of the loop he’d been until that moment. All week he’s been popping in or calling at inconvenient times to make up for it. James has begged him to stop. I’ve begged him to stop.

He hasn’t.

Emily returns to the table with an ice-cold water for Amelia at the same moment James says, “Uh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Was there for a blood pressure recheck.”

“Recheck?” Noah and Emily both ask at the same time.

They glance at each other, and Emily looks offended that Noah is encroaching on her overprotective territory.

James makes a shooing gesture to both of them and then lays his arm over the back of my chair. “I’m fine. I had high blood pressure a few months ago. But it was perfect yesterday.”

“Because I’ve healed him,” Will says like a mystical guru. “Through the power of our morning runs. I’ve given this man the gift of cardio. And inner healing via deep conversations.”

“Gift of cardio, my ass,” James mumbles.

Jack leans around Emily to ask me about the launch tomorrow. “Feeling good about it?”

“No. And thank you for reminding me.” I look to Emily and roll my eyes. “Control your boyfriend, please.”

She glances at him, and the slightest smile touches his mouth: Dare you, it says.

Emily swivels back in my direction, cheeks flushed. “I actually want to know the answer to his question too.”

My eyes narrow. “Traitor.”

And then they regret asking when I launch into a half-hour-long diatribe about the woes and wonders of restaurants. My nerves are high, and it doesn’t help that Tommy lined up two different food journals to cover the launch and Zora and Josie are coming as well.

The Chef Brookes will taste my food tomorrow, and if she hates it, I swear I will quit and never cook again. I’ll start a whole new life in some remote part of the world.

But I have a sneaking suspicion she’s going to like it. Because . . . well, turns out I’m a pretty damn good chef.

It’s the time management and leadership I have to continue to work on.

Speaking of food, though, Amelia tells us she hasn’t been able to stomach much of anything lately. Still, she was craving pancakes earlier today and decided to give her recipe another shot. The poor woman has been trying for years to perfect her scratch-made pancakes, and although I’d never say it to her face, it’s a little concerning that she still can’t quite get them right. But hey, nobody’s perfect.

“Anyway,” Amelia says, reaching into her purse and drawing a few worried glances from us. “I thought they tasted terrible, but I saved one so y’all could try it and tell me what you think.”

“Goodie,” Will mutters, eyes filled with dread.

Amelia shoots him a look sharp enough to draw blood—clearly pregnancy hormones are doing some heavy lifting. “Since you’re so eager, Wilburt, you get to be the first to try it.”

He looks like he wants to protest but also doesn’t want to risk facing Amelia’s wrath . . . or potential tears.

With a tight, polite smile, he takes the single pancake sealed in a Ziploc bag, opens it, and gives it a cautious sniff. Then he pinches off a bite and slowly brings it to his mouth. The second it hits his tongue, he frowns.

“Bad?” Amelia asks, eyes wide, leaning forward in anticipation.

Will chews. And chews some more. Then, finally, after swallowing, he gives her a beaming smile. “They’re so, so good.”

In an instant, the rest of us scramble for the bag, tearing off bites and exchanging amazed looks as we confirm he’s right. She’s finally done it—Amelia has made a kick-ass pancake.

“Why do you look so sad?” I ask, noticing her shoulders slump.

“Because I think they taste like battery acid, ” she says, groaning. “I finally make a delicious pancake and I can’t even enjoy it with you guys because of this damn food aversion.”

There’s one little sliver left in the bag, and before James can grab it, Noah snatches it away. He aims a tender smile at his wife. “I’ll freeze this last bite. It’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “Maybe tasting it later will help me remember how I made it too.”

“You didn’t write down the recipe?” I ask, panic creeping in.

“I forgot.” She grimaces. “But that’s okay, I’ll figure it out.”

The rest of us siblings exchange a look that says it all: We’re in for another long journey.

Hours pass, and after drinking and laughing and even a little line dancing, the night winds down. Yawns make their way around the table, and my eyelids are heavy.

Knowing I have an early morning tomorrow, James leans in close and whispers softly in my ear, “You ready to leave?”

I look around the bar, noting that our bunch is pretty much the last group in here. The jukebox is still playing George Strait. The bar is getting wiped down. And the neon sign above the door flickers like it’s ready to turn off. “Yeah. I guess it’s time to go.”

We say our goodbyes and file out to our various trucks, each headed home with the people who love us most.

But on our drive back through town, with one hand intertwined with James’s and my other arm out the window, we slowly roll past Mabel’s bed-and-breakfast. And that’s when I see something I never thought I’d see.

The curtains are open, and through the living room window I spot Mabel and Harriet sitting together on the couch watching a rerun of The Price Is Right.

James squeezes my hand, and when I look at him he smiles.