My heart starts doing that stupid hammering thing it does whenever she’s close. Jesus, I’ve got it bad.
“Not sleeping, so…” I wipe my hands on the towel and try to look like I’m not freaking the fuck out about all of this. “Thought I’d make some bread.”
“At five in the morning?”
“No distractions.” Except now she’s here, and she’s the only thing I can think about. “You feeling okay? How’s the morning sickness?”
“I’m fine so far.” She moves closer, shimmying her hips. “So the Filsbury Dough Boy rides at dawn?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s trying to make a joke because…Christ, those hips. It’s about the bread and catching me stress-baking at dawn like some kind of certifiable housewife. But I’m too raw for jokes right now, and too scared of saying the wrong thing and making everything worse.
“I want to be a father,” I tell her quietly, forcing out the words before I’m too chicken shit to say them. “There’s a good chance I might suck at it, but I want to try. Even if the only support you want from me is financial, you’ve got it. You don’t ever have to work again.”
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees.
Piper’s eyes go from soft to icy so fast I get whiplash. “Excuse me?”
That part about how I was afraid I’d say something stupid? Nailed it.
“I just mean?—”
“Do you think I’m looking for a sugar daddy, Felix?” Her voice could cut glass. “Is that what this is? You throw money at me and I go away?”
“That’s not what I meant?—”
“Or do you think I got pregnant on purpose?” She takes a step toward me, and even though I dwarf her in size, I feel like I’m being backed into a corner. “That I was trying to trap you?”
“Jesus, Piper, no.” I run both hands through my hair, making it stand up in directions that probably match my stress level. “Of course, I don’t think that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want to take care of you. Both of you. Fucking sue me, but I thought that’s what men were supposed to do when they get someone pregnant, right? Take care of the?—”
“If you say problem,” she seethes through gritted teeth, “I’m going to make Ian’s punch feel like a love tap.”
“I wasn’t going to say problem.”
“I don’t need you to be my personal ATM.”
“When you put it like that?—”
“How else should I put it, Felix?” She crosses her arms, and I try very hard not to notice how the movement showcases those gorgeous tits.
“I don’t know, but this isn’t like...” I take a breath, trying to find the right words. “Come on, Hart. You know I’m not angling to be your sugar daddy. Christ, if we were in that kind of relationship, you’d be a lot more accommodating?—”
She swats my arm then growls low in her throat, kind of like a feral cat. And I’m shocked to find feral cat kink might be my thing, which is not helpful right now.
“This is not going the way I thought it would.” I hold up both hands in surrender. “But I fucking promise that I don’t think you were trying to trap me. I don’t feel trapped. I feel shocked still, yeah, but I’m going to figure it out.”
“Sooner than later, I hope,” she murmurs and takes a step away.
She doesn’t sound like she believes in me, and honestly, I don’t blame her. How the hell am I supposed to be a father when I can barely get my thoughts out in any sort of coherent manner?
“While you figure it out, or process or whatever you need to do, I’ve made a decision.” She opens the fridge and pulls out theorange juice and the container of leftover focaccia. “About what I’m doing next.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank God.”
She arches a brow, and I have a feeling I’m not going to like what’s coming. “I’m going home.”
