"For now. It has security, a doorman—things we need while everything is still chaotic." He pauses. "But it's not a home. It's a place I sleep. I don't want to raise a child there."
"What do you want?"
"Something that's ours. Not Crane property, not your apartment. Let’s choose something together." He's watching my face carefully. "If you want that."
"I don't know what I want." The honesty feels dangerous, but I'm tired of pretending. "This is all happening so fast. A week ago, I was packing a bag to run away. Now I'm having dinner with you talking about buying a house."
"We don't have to decide anything tonight."
"I know. But we do have to decide eventually." I push a piece of chicken around my plate. "What happens when the baby comes? Am I staying home? Are you? Do we hire someone?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to work. I just got the job of my dreams. I'm not ready to give it up." I look up at him. "But I also want to be there. For her. I don't want to miss everything because I'm chasing a story."
"We’ll figure out a balance. You work, I work, we hire help when we need it." Carter reaches across the table, covers my hand with his. "This isn't a zero-sum game, Jamie. We can both have what we want."
"Can we? Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like we're making it up as we go."
"We are." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "Everyone is. No one knows what they’re doing."
I laugh despite myself. "That's either comforting or terrifying."
"Why not both?"
We finish dinner and move to the couch, Carter building a fire while I watch.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, settling beside me.
"Still that I don't really know you." I pull my feet up, tucking them under a blanket he produced from somewhere.
"Then ask me things. Anything."
"Were you ever in love? Before me, I mean." The question comes out more vulnerable than I intended.
Carter is quiet for a moment, staring at the fire. "No," he says finally. "I thought I was once. There was a girl in college—smart, ambitious, exactly the kind of person I was supposed to end up with. But looking back, I think I was in love with the idea of her. With what she represented."
"What about Georgia?"
"Oh, I love Georgia, but I’m notinlove with her. There’s affection, respect and all of those good things, but she’s more of a friend than anything else. It’s not the kind of love that makes you do stupid things." He turns to look at me.
"I've never been in love," I admit. "I told myself I was too busy. Too focused on my career. But really, I think I was scared. My mom loved my father, and he left us with nothing. I watched what that did to her." I pick at a thread on the blanket. "I decided I'd never let anyone have that power over me."
"And now?"
"Now I'm terrified." I meet his eyes. "Because you already do."
Carter reaches over, takes my hand. He doesn't say anything, just holds it while the fire crackles and pops.
"Tell me about your mom," he says eventually. "What was she like?"
So I tell him. About how she worked double shifts as a nurse and still found time to help me with homework and how she read to me every night until I was old enough to read to her.
I tell him how she died of cancer when I was twenty-two, leaving me alone in the world.
Carter listens without interrupting.
"She would have hated you," I say into his shoulder. "Rich politician's son."
