“I could argue that you’re at least getting something you want,” Leah said, smoothing a hand across her middle. “I’m not ready to do the marriage deal, but this is the next best thing, isn’t it?” Or maybe her commitment ideals were backwards. Agreeing to marry him would’ve been a whole lot easier, but maybe that was the point. She chose the option that required more effort, more devotion. She wondered if Evan would ever be able to see it that way.
Ah, so there it was, the reason that made more sense. Leah dropped her gaze. It wasn’t the pregnancy. It was what it always was: her. Leah. She wasn’t friend material. Or else that material was the flimsy, cheap stuff that frayed and tore easily. Instead of responding, she forced a smile and latched on to the next thing he said. “Instead you’ll just have to keep me to yourself. What a shame.”
“Nope, you haven’t. Definitely won’t be the last time I tease you about that.” Her grin became smug. “I wish I’d had the chance to thank him for all he did for you, though. Not just helping you polish your skills, but for being that friend bond you needed.” The smugness subsided, dimming her expression only slightly. “For the family’s sake, I hope you’re around longer than that. I also hope you don’t think you’ll be doing all the training. I can’t count the number of times I’ve kicked your ass.”
Leah turned her eyes away, choosing to make it a playful topic rather than a serious one. “You’re probably right. Every second that ticks down to the moment you turn thirty has the potential for epic disaster. I don’t know how we’ll survive this year.”
“Shut up and hold out your hand,” she demanded affectionately. When he did, Leah cupped his hand in her left and rested her closed palm on top of his. “This might be one of those unintentional themes we have. And if it is, I have to wonder what I’ll be giving you next year,” she mused as she opened her palm, slipping Olivia’s necklace into Evan’s hand. “Happy birthday, Frenchie.”