It's quiet at Clyde's, thank God. I'm still tired from last night's shift. Back to backs are not normally my thing but I've been promising her a date night for weeks so it will be worth it.

I pick up a tray and move from behind the bar, collecting the scattered bottles and glasses that linger where they were abandoned - sad little testaments to midday drinking. It's almost 2pm and I'm two hours into my shift, but it feels like ten. I look up at the clock and calculate the minutes until Bob will arrive and I can leave.

It feels like I've barely seen her this past week. I guess that's to be expected when your schedules are often so often opposing to one another. Bar tending and teaching are polar opposites in many ways - kinda like me and Jess.

Me and Jess. Jess and I. Us. Still such new words and phrases that I roll around my tongue like a foreign language I'm struggling to learn. How long will it take until it becomes familiar and comfortable? I'm not sure. If I'm honest, I still can't believe this is happening, I'm waiting for her to wake up and tell me she made a mistake.

I can feel myself smiling just because I am thinking of her. She has that affect on me. Always has.

Heading back to the bar, I start tossing empty bottles into the recycling bin.

I miss her, actually. Yeah, I know... I shake my head: you dumb idiot Miller. You fell for her so hard, what if- I squash that thought immediately. I've spent so much time worrying and over thinking things that it's a real hard habit to break. But I'm trying.

I wonder what she doing now as I load the dishwasher. I really hope she's sleeping. The past few days I've been worried about her, she's been so quiet. But every time I ask she insists there is nothing wrong. Just tired. She does work hard. The amount of times I've came home to find her at the table with pen in hand, head down and fast asleep are becoming too numerous to recall. I really hope she's sleeping.


In a frenzy I've lost all ability to think straight. My shoes? Where are they? My purse too - I'm sure I left it by the door.

I freeze in the hallway and close my eyes. Calm down, I tell myself.

I'm filled with a kind of buzz - a mixture of fear and nerves and excitement all happening at once. I take a few deep breaths, letting my chest expand into my abdomen, concentrating on the motion. That feels a little better.

I find my shoes under my bed, where I had hastily kicked them when I returned from the drug store. My purse I find tossed on the couch, it's contents spilling out onto the floor. Hastily I scoop everything up and slide them back in.

I take a chance to sit. Why am I rushing? He'll be home later, I can tell him them. No rush...

But that's not what I want, what my heart wants. It needs to tell him now. I need to share this. I need to see his reaction...

It suddenly occurs to me that I had yet to think about what he will say. How will he react? I feel a tingling sensation as this thought washes over me.

This is Nick Miller. The man who up until recently was unable to share a single feeling. Doubt clouds my mind as I start to worry. I'd been so wrapped up in my own thoughts and feelings I hadn't stopped to consider his. Would he panic? Would he run away? Would all this progress we - he'd - made dissolve in the realisation that he was going to be a father?

And I have to admit I don't know. I really don't know. He loves me but is that enough for a man so scared of anything real and true? So damaged by his past?

I don't know. I feel a little flat after the high of minutes earlier. My resolve returns. I need to tell him now, find out, because if... If... No, I can't think like that. I pick up my purse and head for the door.


Three PM. I yawn loudly, feeling my eyes water a little. Three customers in two hours must be a record low for me. I kind of wish it was busy, to make the time pass. I reach under the bar and pick up my phone, flipping open the grey plastic device. Two messages from Schmidt. I decide to ignore these for now and pour myself a Coke.

The sugary liquid fizzes on my tongue as I take a long drink. I really need to be healthier; not drink so much of this stuff. But I finish the glass anyway. I'm reaching down to dishwasher when I catch a glimpse of brown curls and a blue sweater. My heart skips a beat. Jess?

She's smiling as she walks up to the bar, it's a strange smile that I haven't seen before. There's something unfamiliar in her eyes.

"Hey," I call as she reaches me. I cup her face in my hand and place a kiss on her soft, pink lips, "This is a nice surprise." She smiles coyly and doesn't say anything as she settles onto a nearby barstool and unstraps her purse from her shoulder.

"It's been a while since I kept you company at the bar," she replies softly. I'm hit with a wave of love. Yes, the L word. Love for her. Her being near me - it does something that I can't explain.

"Drink?" I ask. She pauses for a second and I see her mouth twist.

"Ginger ale please."

I raise my eyebrows a little at her request but obediently select a clean hi-ball and filled it.

"So how has your day been so far?" I ask her, keeping one eye on the barfly, six feet away, who is working on his fifth beer.

She shrugs a little in that coy way she often does, dipping her chin and looking at me through her thick, black lashes. Her mouth curves up at the edges. "Well, you know..."

I'm laughing at her a little. "What?" I ask. I think she's hiding something.

She bites her bottom lip and it becomes white and pallid until she let's go and the blood rushes back in a full flush. She's rubbing her hands together: her right hand strokes each finger of her left in turn before circling the face of her watch.

I swallow. Jess is never this quiet. I feel a trickle of worry, cool and prickly down my back.

"Jess, are you okay."

She brings her baby blues up to look at me dead on. I can see her breathing heavier, her chest is heaving a little, her blue sweater rising a tiny bit higher each time. She takes a sip of her drink.

"Yes. I mean, kinda, well-"

I freeze. Is this the moment I've been dreading? Is this why she has been so quiet...

"Is there something you need to tell me?" I ask quietly, resigned to what she will say next. Times up Miller. It was good while it lasted.

"I do have something I need to tell you. That's why I'm here, I just-" she's takes in a sharp intake of breath and I see her eyes start to glisten with tears.

Dread begins to firm in my chest. I feel my heart sink. But all I want to do, right then, is comfort her.

I lift up the bar hatch and then I'm next to her. Her head sinks to my chest as she fingers the collar of my shirt and I draw my arms around her waist. She's shaking a little.

"Shhh, baby, what's wrong..."

A few seconds pass and we remain as we are. The bar is quiet, the only sounds are the replays of the weeks sports flickering on the wide screen TV's.

I feel her shift and look up at me.

"Nick."

I steel myself.

"I'm pregnant."

My stomach collapses, as if I've been punched, the wind knocked out of me. I draw back in shock - her eyes widen. Oh no, she must think-

And I don't have the words, I can't form them. So instead, I kiss her. I dig my hands in her hair, pull her face to mine and I pour out my feelings. I feel her go limp. But I don't stop. I never want to stop.