"Coffee is fine."
Ryker leads me past the bassinet, through the living room and into his kitchen. I've been jealous of his home since stepping foot in it, but no room makes me as green with envy as this one. The countertops are clean, the stainless steel sparkles in the light coming in from the windows. It's the sort of place that I've always dreamed of, but never imagined myself ever having. I have the tantalizing image of fixing myself here, abandoning my shitty job so that I could stay with this man, making dinner for our family. It wouldn't be such a bad life, would it?
Then reality smacks me in the face. This isn't my place. In a few short weeks I'll be returning to the dingy, rat-trap apartment I left behind. My dog, my baby, and I will all pack ourselves like sardines into the place. And that's how it will be for the foreseeable future. The thought is depressing enough that my eyes prick again.
Ryker stops scooping coffee into the filter for a moment, watching the emotion play out on my face. My hands tremble on the table, and I can't stop them. I probably look like a basket case. It's a damn shame he's chosen to pity me, when there are plenty of other uses for his time.
"Cleo, you can talk to me," he says in a low, wheedling tone. "Whatever is bothering you, we can fix it. Trent hasn't got a chance of taking custody. I've talked with people. The only fucking chance he has is to claim you're unfit as a parent. And again, that would mean you were negligent, unable to care for yourself or him, or had unacceptable living conditions."
He spreads his arms wide, showing the apartment I've been eyeing with discreet envy. "My place is far from unacceptable, Cleo. You and Bryan can stay here however long you like. Once I've gotten the security system set up, it'll be pretty damn impregnable."
"That's not fair to you," I argue. "You have a life too, Ryker. I can't keep intruding on it."
"I like my life with you in it," he insists, the frustration creeping back into his voice. He's lying, trying to appease me. I stare at my hands, folded on the table, still shaking, rather than answer.
When I don't respond, Ryker heaves a sigh. "You're trembling like a leaf, Cleo. You need a break from all of this. You've been at home with Bryan for fourteen days straight. At least let someone else take a turn. Holly and Cruz could use the practice. I'll take you out for a proper meal tonight. No more Chinese takeout."
The offer sounds incredible. I should tell him no. I'm treading a thin line already, and going out with him on what we could perceive as a date might push things right over the edge where Eden is concerned. But I've never been strong, and under his earnest gaze I crumble.
"Okay," I whisper.
A delighted smile spreads across his face, as if I've just handed him a Christmas present early.
"Great. I'll tell Holly and Cruz we've got the green light."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "You've been planning this?"
"For a while," he admits. His smile is unrepentant. "You've got a few hours to get ready while I call and confirm a reservation."
The guilt slams into me again. He's made reservations? God, I reallyamturning into a homewrecker. There's no way that this won't look like a date. Eden will be furious with me. But under Ryker's expectant stare, I can't muster the courage to say no.
"Okay," I mutter again.
Then I scurry from the room, and back into the bedroom, trying to find something to wear.
* * *
In the end, I find that none of my pre-pregnancy dresses fit me, and am forced to call in reinforcements. Vicky is a size bigger than I was, and loans me a skimpy cocktail dress. The black dress is overlaid with some kind of shimmering fabric, and the result is a ripple of shining color every time I step into the light.
I pull my hair into a French twist, my makeup looks as good as it ever has, but still I'm unhappy. I pluck at the front of my dress, sure that my stomach ruins the look. My body isn't as svelte as it once was, and I'm sure my aunt is clawing her way out of the grave to call me fat one last time. Ryker will laugh and tell me this is a waste of time. I shouldn't be trying this hard anyway. But some small part of me has a frivolous hope that maybe, for one instant, someone might find some worth in me again.
A whistle issues from the doorway and I glance up to find Holly standing there. She's wearing an understated green blouse and a pair of slacks, and I still feel underdressed standing next to her. Between the almost permanently tousled hair, and the doe-eyes, she seems to have come from or be going to a passionate roll in the hay.
"Look at our little hottie," she says with a broad smile.
"Oh stop."
"No, I'm serious. Ryker will have a hard time keeping his hands off you."
I drop my gaze to the carpet. It's confirmed. Iamtrying too hard. I should just change and call this whole night a wash. Instead, I ask an important but still unrelated question.
"How is Bryan doing?"
"Happily staring at his mobile," Holly answers. "Cruz is getting a kick out of it. Don't worry about it, Cleo. We've got him. No way in hell is Trent getting past Cruz."
At least that part I agree. Aside from Ryker, Cruz is one of the most dangerous men in the Spades MC. Though he's built more like a soccer player, rather than Ryker's huge NFL frame, I've still seen him do serious damage. I'll just have to trust that between the security system and Cruz's fists and his pistol, Bryan is as safe as I can make him.
"Thank you for doing this," I say, taking her hand in mine. "It means a lot to me."
