I lay in the unfamiliar bed, not moving for several seconds, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo, and feeling the rise and fall of her chest against my side.
I was going to be a father—the thought should’ve terrified me. I’d seen my brothers wrestle with the weight of it when their time came. But lying here, with the woman carrying my child curled against me, I felt something I hadn’t expected.
Certainty.
Whatever else I did with my life—whether I made wine or didn’t, whether I stayed in Paso Robles or built something new somewhere else—I would be a good father. I knew it the way I knew my own name. The way I knew the difference between a vine that needed water and one that needed time.
And Isabel…
I looked down at her face, softened by sleep. The sharp edges she showed the world were gone. She looked younger. Vulnerable in a way she’d never let herself be while awake.
I wanted to marry her—the realization settled into me without fanfare. Not because of the baby—or notonlybecause of the baby. I wanted to wake up like this every morning. I wanted to be the person she trusted enough to fall asleep beside.
But I couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. She’d assume it was an obligation. Duty. Thehonorable thing, as she’d said last night with an edgy tone.
So I’d wait. We’d spend time together. Get to know each other again. The way we’d started to before the night we spent together in October. And maybe, if I did this right, she’d fall in love with me the way I was beginning to suspect I’d already fallen for her.
Beginning to suspect.I almost laughed at myself. My feelings for Isabel were tangled up in everything—the baby, the history, the way she’d looked at me in that hospital room like I might actually be someone worth trusting. No one got her like I did. No one even saw her the way I did. That had to count for something. Actually, it should count for everything.
And maybe it wasn’t love or even something that could become love, or just the overwhelming reality of everything we were facing together. But I wanted to find out.
She stirred against me, then went still.
“Kick?” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“I’m here.”
She lifted her head, blinking. Confusion crossed her face as she took in our position—my arm around her, her body pressed to mine, me still dressed in the clothes from last night.
“We fell asleep,” I said. “Both of us. I meant to go to the guest room, but…”
“You stayed.”
“I stayed.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Not anger. Not the wall she usually put up. “I’m glad you did.”
Four words that shouldn’t have meant so much, but they did.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
She shifted, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Okay. No pain.”
“Good.” I made myself release her, sit up, and give her space even though my every instinct wanted her closer. “What do you want to do this morning?”
“I need to tell Thomas that I’m pregnant.” She pushed herself up against the pillows.
“I can come with you if you’d like.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I need to do this alone. He hired me. He deserves to hear it from me without—” She gestured between us. “Without complications.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to be there in case Whitmore reacted badly, in case she needed backup. But this wasn’t my call to make.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll support whatever you want to do.”
The look she gave me was searching, like she was testing whether I meant it. “You don’t have to wait around.”
“Isabel.” I caught her hand. “Where am I gonna go if I don’t stay here?”
