“Anddon’tforgethercheck-up on the 14th,” Doyle fussed, grabbing his bags and dodging a very anxious Nancy Reagan, who was tap dancing around his feet like she sensed there was a major shift occurring. “Make sure she’s drinking fluids and keeping her feet up. And no fast food. Tally, really, take care of that baby. They did not ask to have a mother who survives on fries and martini olives.”
From the kitchen, Dig called out, “Girl dinner!” before sauntering around the corner in one of Jordan’s giant, probably very expensive, plush robes. Jordan tensed by the door.
“And Charlie,” Doyle added in a loud whisper, gesturing toward the man standing like a reluctant bodyguard near the living room. “Whatever she says or does, do not hold it against Jordan or me. We love you. I won’t let her ruin that for us.”
Charlie stood between Doyle and me, his wide, flannel-covered back toward me. I took in his height, the way his long, copper-brushed hair curled slightly around his earlobes. Cedar and something warm wafted toward me and I took a step in his direction before I caught myself.
“Remind me again why Dig can’t stay with me?” I asked, a little too casually. “We did fine in New York, just the two of us, since you abandoned us for wine and money and good looks. No offense, Jordan.”
Jordan lifted one shoulder, already fighting a grin. “None taken.”
Doyle, ever the dramatist, shoved poor Nancy Reagan out of the way to reach for his Louis Vuitton carry-on, then squared his shoulders like he was about to march into battle. “Tallulah, you were living in a fifth-floor walk-up that smelled like lo mein and broken dreams. And might I remind you,” he added, his voice climbing as he flung a hand in the general direction of my stomach, “you are now with child and have no plan, no roadmap, and not a single clue how to raise a human.”
Dig sashayed across the glossy hardwood floor and threw his leg up in a Rockette’s-style kick. “He’s not wrong, Tally.”
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms. “Thanks for the support.”
Dig smirked. “Anytime, doll. That’s what family’s for.”
I crossed to Jordan and wrapped my arms around him. “Please call me if you need anything, even if it’s just to vent. Especially if Doyle makes this trip all about him.”
“You wouldn’t hit a pregnant lady, would you, Doyle?” Dig asked, snacking on an olive from his martini. God, I would’ve sold a kidney for that drink.
My gaze flicked to Charlie, who stood a few feet away, arms loose at his sides, watching the circus unfold with a look I couldn’t quite read. Not amused, not annoyed—just... there. Noticing everything. Including me.
Dig tossed back the rest of his cocktail and grabbed his overnight bag, slinging it over one shoulder before sauntering over to press a kiss to my cheek. “I have to go back to New York, Tal,” he said, holding my hand like he was about to deliver a eulogy. “We talked about this. Shifts at Errico’s, a callback for Clam Number Three inThe Little Mermaidreimagining, and a situationship I can’t let get too stale. You know I require at least three viable options at all times.”
Charlie laughed—low and surprised, like it caught him off guard.
“All right, Clam-Boy,” Doyle said, already heading for the door. “If you’re piggybacking on our Uber, we need to go. Tally, please don’t burn my house—or the city—down.”
I crossed the room and kissed my brother’s cheek. “A girl sets the town gazebo on fireone time...”
“Bye, y’all,” Charlie said, stepping to my side while the three of them argued and stumbled their way into the elevator, bags dragging behind them.
Dig turned, clicked an imaginary camera at us, and blew me an air kiss as I slammed the door shut.
“Tallulah!” my brother’s voice echoed from the descending elevator.
I exhaled, leaning against the door, pressing my palm to my stomach.
“You okay?” Charlie asked, voice low and rough.
I nodded, even though I wasn’t totally sure.
He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “All right. Well. Guess we’d better figure out how this is gonna work.”
I swallowed hard. “Well, I thought I could soften you up a little by baking you a treat. Wait here.”
Charlie’s eyebrows shot up, but he stayed put, murmuring to Nancy as she pranced around on the marble, proud as only poodles can be when getting attention.
I opened the oven and pulled out the blueberry bake, an exact, well, okay… that’s ambitious of me. Itwassupposed to be a replica of the ribbon-winning Blueberry Boyfriend Bake my grandmother, Nonie, had perfected over the years. But without a recipe, I was winging it, and when I set it on the stove it deflated like a balloon.
But while Jordan, Doyle, and Dig were packing, I needed to keep my hands and mind busy, and though I’d maybe baked twice in my whole life, if you count oven-ready pizzas as baking, I wanted to show Charlie that I was appreciative of him and his time.
I grabbed the potholders and took a deep breath. Maybe it tasted better than it looked? I turned the corner from the kitchen into the living room and ran smack into Charlie.
“Are you okay? Wha–” he started, then yelped when the hot dish nicked his forearm. He cursed, good and loud, more from surprise than pain.
