I took the knife from her, setting it on a paper towel on the counter.
“It’s a boy,” I murmured, enthusiasm and awe seeping into the words.
When she said nothing, I glanced at the side of her face—and the tear rolling down it.
Instantly, like it was second nature, I wrapped a hand around her arm and turned her to face me. “Park, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, and I couldn’t tell if she was frowning or smiling. “Nothing.” She waved a hand in front of her face before swiping at a tear. “This was just really sweet.”
The corners of my mouth ticked up. “You deserve this.” I cupped her cheek as she sniffled. “And I made a promise last week. We’re going to make up for everything. You’ll have good memories of this pregnancy, okay? No regrets. I won’t allow it.”
She let out a blubbery laugh, tears still spilling. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Parker.” And I meant it.Anything. My heart. My soul. She could have it all. Hell, she already did.
“You want to go change and eat some cake?” I asked.
She nodded. I felt bad that she did this in her work clothes—a gray T-shirt with North State Auto’s logo and a zip-up jacket—but I wanted to surprise her as soon as she got home.
Parker disappeared for five minutes before coming back wearing an ivory tank top paired with little shorts that had teddy bears all over them. While she was gone, I’d dished up another slice of cake.
With both plates in my hands, I asked, “Sit or stand?”
“Stand, please. I need a few minutes off my ass. I’ve been sitting in that office all day.”
I frowned, making a mental note to research how that could affect pregnancy before wiping the look off my face.
I set the plates back on the counter and offered her a fork. She took it, but rather than going for her own piece, she reached for mine. Before I could ask what she was doing, she broke off a bite and held it out to me.
“First bite honor goes to you for actually baking a cake,” she announced with a smile.
“It wasn’t all that hard, really,” I mumbled.
She arched a brow. “Sage gave you the recipe, didn’t she?”
My eyes narrowed. “Maybe.”
She wagged the fork before I reached forward and attempted to take the bite. With her movement, all it succeeded in doing was bumping the cake against my cheek and toppling it to the floor.
Her eyes dipped to my ribs. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Despite the apology, she couldn’t seem to contain her giggles as she reached for a paper towel.
I looked down to find a blue streak down the center of my white T-shirt. “It’s alright. I’ve got probably ten of these lying around.”
She began rubbing at the frosting on my shirt, intent on getting it off. “You still buy your shirts in those big bulk packs, huh?”
My eyes narrowed skeptically. “Some. Why? Is there something wrong with that?”
She laughed. A full, belly-aching laugh. “No, it’s just so…you.”
“They’re usually only work shirts,” I defended.
“I know?—”
“And sometimes I wear them at home. Like when I’m baking.”
This only made her laugh harder, her face turning red. “You bake often?”
“Well, no. But on the off chance that I do”—she arched a brow at me—“they come in handy.”
