He wasn’t fooled by the softly worded question. Hope wasn’t happy, and their truce was about to cease. Newman scrambled to come up with the right words.
“My dad’s an asshole.”
“And my mom’s a saint?”
She had him there.
“My parents are away visiting my aunty.”
“And?” She lifted a brow.
“And nothing.” Newman got to his feet. “And that’s enough talking for one day, because for almost thirty minutes we actually talked without sarcasm, which is likely a record.”
“I’m not sarcastic.” She stood beside the table, hands on hips, glaring at him in those ugly boots that he was starting to find way too sexy.What the hell is with that?
“Whatever. I’m out. Don’t overdo it with Finch, the first trimester is the hardest.” He closed the door on her outraged shriek, and didn’t exactly run from the Howler, but it was a swift walk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Allhail, our missing corporate troubleshooter has risen.”
Newman walked into the Hoot to find Buster wiping down tables in an apron that should make him look soft but didn’t. It was one of life’s mysteries how the man managed to look like a wrestler dressed like that.
“Two days, baker boy. Surely you didn’t miss me that much?” Newman kept his voice light. His friends knew him better than anyone, even his parents. It would only take the scent that something was up with him and they’d pry mercilessly.
Buster came to stand beside him. Newman opened a cabinet and got out a pie. He couldn’t avoid his friend, so he looked at him. “Coffee, get to it.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. I need coffee and food.”
“No, there’s that line there.” Buster poked him in the forehead.
“Ouch.”
“Wimp.”
“Am not.”
“Are so.”
“Can I have coffee now you’re done abusing me?”
“Sure. What’s up? You can tell Uncle Buster.”
“Nothing’s up.”
“Okay. I’m making coffee now, you go and sit, and think about how you’re going to tell me.”
“I’ll have it to go.” Newman felt it again, the panic he thought he’d got a handle on. Seeing Hope had calmed him. Seeing Buster ignited the anxiety once more.
He was going to be a father.
“Don’t think so,” Buster said. “Sit. I’ll bring coffee.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just leave it, Buster.”
He couldn’t talk about it, not until they’d told their parents and were ready to speak about it openly.
