Indefinite (Salvation #6)(53)

I guess I’ll find out how much truth there is in that statement. “Yes, well, I don’t forgive you yet.”

She smiles. “I made penne ala vodka.”

My mother is a shrewd woman. “With ravioli?”

“And garlic bread.”

“With the cheese on top?” I ask.

I can’t resist garlic cheese bread.

“And I made extra sauce that you can dip it in.”

My stomach growls, and she grins. “Maybe I’ll feel less hostile after I eat.”

Mom laughs and pulls me into her arms. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Me too.”





Dinner is great. We all laugh and talk about what’s new since they last saw Quinn. I can see this being my life—Quinn and I coming to my parents’ on Sundays, the baby knowing the love of his or her grandparents, and us being happy.

It’s the one thing that the two of us haven’t talked about yet, though. How do we make this work?

I can’t give my job up—or, at least, I don’t want to.

Leaving my parents seems like the second big hurdle.

Dad clears his throat. “Son, now that you’re out, what are you doing for work?”

“I’m actually going to take a job with Cole Securities.”

And here we go.

“Where Gretchen works?” Dad asks, his eyes moving to mine.

“Yes, Dad, the very same.”

“I see.”

As do I.

“It’ll be very flexible to start. Mark and Jackson will have me come when I’m needed, and I can stay here when I’m not on a detail.”

My chest loosens and relief starts to form. Does this mean he’ll stay in New York and only travel for work? Is that even what I want? How much will he be gone?

Quinn looks at me, his deep blue eyes feel as if they’re piercing through me. I sometimes wonder if he can read my thoughts. “I’ll go back and forth, but it’ll give Ashton and I some time to work things out and come up with a plan.”

He’s . . . consulting with me?

What in the fresh hell is going on?

“You didn’t mention this,” I speak up, my voice trembling a bit.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t know I should.”

His jaw clenches and then relaxes. “You can ask me anything.”

“Good to know.”

“And then we’ll discuss it,” Quinn adds.

“Okay.”

“And the two of us will come to an agreement—together.”

My smile is slow and builds because it’s everything I wanted. He’s taking the two of us and making us a team.

I turn to my parents. “Mom, Dad?” My voice shakes as I address them. “Quinn and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh my God!” my mother screams. “You’re getting married!”

My eyes widen as I shake my head quickly. “No, no, no, we’re not.”

“But . . . you two have been together for so long.”

“We’ve also been apart, and we’re not getting married.”

“Well, not right now,” Quinn tacks on.

“You’re not helping.”

My mother wants a wedding more than I do. She loved helping my cousins, shopping for the dress, and the whole mother of the bride part. I’m pretty sure they have enough money saved for any extravagance I could dream of. I would’ve rather used that for college or anything else, but a wedding—that’s Mom’s dream.

“But it’s the perfect time, Ashton. The summer dresses will be on display soon, and you know how I feel about summer weddings.”

This is going to go off the rails very quickly. “Mom.”

“And the flowers, oh, with your red hair, violet would be just perfect. Then, of course, you have to have your reception near the water since Quinn was in the navy.”

“Mom.”

“I wonder what kind of cake we should get. I think four-tier is the perfect size. Vinnie’s five-tier cake was ridiculous, and remember how it fell over.”

“Mom!” I say again. “We’re not getting married. That’s not what I wanted to tell you about.” I release a heavy breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Quinn takes my hand in his, offering me support.

“You’re what?” Dad asks.

“Quinn and I are expecting.”

“But you told me about the”—her voice drops to a whisper—“baby without a man in the lab thing.”

She clearly chickened out about telling my father about my plans because he looks like he might puke.

“Yes, but it turns out I didn’t have to artificially inseminate myself because I was already inseminated—by Quinn.”

My father doesn’t move. His eyes shift, but nothing else does. They go back and forth between Quinn and me, deducing that I am not, in fact, the Virgin Mary and this wasn’t an immaculate conception.

I wait for my father to be a dick to him.

Not because I don’t love him and we’re not happy, but because a bit of karma would be nice.

“Mr. Caputo,” Quinn speaks, and my father’s head jerks toward him. “I can assure you that I love Ashton. I want to be there for her, love her, and be a great father to our child. This wasn’t what we planned to happen, but please know that it wasn’t done out of disrespect.”