“I’m sorry, Luke.”
I don’t miss a beat. “Jade. Piper. Summer?—”
“I’m serious right now.” Sighing, she tucks the last wineglass in the cupboard above her. “I can’t seem to stop being a bitch to you.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She sounds guarded already.
“When was the last time you let yourself be soft?”
Blinking, she sets down the dish towel. “I seem to recall feeling pretty darn pliant when we toppled into bed together the other day.”
“Not what I meant.” My memory snags there a second, bubbly and warm and sexy. “I mean, when’s the last time you trusted somebody completely?”
Her eyes drop to the counter. “My father.” She speaks the words softly, twisting the dish towel in her hands. “Even after my cousins accused him, I believed him so fiercely. I defended my dad up until I couldn’t anymore.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does it?” Dropping the towel, she lifts her gaze. “Because I feel like I’m stuck in a pit of mistrust. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to climb out. I’m just stuck here, being mean to everyone. You especially.”
Squash chooses that moment to jump down from her perch. Ambling over to Hazel, she hops on her lap and starts purring.
“Yeah, I was gonna point that out.” I go back to washing the Crock-Pot. “You’re a real bully to stray animals.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Such a bitch to host your family for dinner.”
She snorts. “Like I did the cooking.”
“And all that charity work you do,” I continue, ignoring her. “Even the folks who named you one of the Top Forty Oregon Women in Business must’ve said it—Hazel Spencer, only out for herself.”
She sighs and sets down the dish towel again. “Why are you so nice to me?”
“Aside from the fact that you’re incubating our children?” Ignoring the pot I’ve been scrubbing, I lean back on the sink and dry my hands with a cream-colored dish towel. “I like you, Hazel. In case that wasn’t obvious.”
When she lifts her eyes, they look shimmery. “I like you, too.”
“Why do you sound so surprised by that?”
“Because I’ve tried so hard not to.”
“I’m a likeable guy.”
“You really are.” A tear rolls down her cheek. Looking embarrassed, she dashes it away. “You’re a really good guy, aren’t you?”
Am I supposed to answer that? “I try to be.”
She slides off her barstool and joins me at the sink. “Look, I know I’ve said I don’t want us to date. I still believe firmly we have no business embarking on anything other than a platonic co-parenting relationship.”
Her sharp words contrast with the soft hands wrapping around me. She’s hugging me tightly, pressing her body to mine. I let my hands drift to the small of her back, dipping my chin to inhale the sandalwood scent of her hair. I’m conscious of every spot where our bodies connect. Her breasts kiss my chest, the mound of her belly curving into the space below mine. Behind me, the dish-soapy bubbles fizz and pop.
Hazel releases a shuddery breath. “Learning to parent will be tricky enough without juggling a romantic relationship.”
“This isn’t romantic?” I say softly.
She laughs. “You’re up to your elbows in dirty dishes and I’m gassy and bloated.” A hiccup slips out like it’s proving her point. “It’s a pregnancy thing, sorry.”
