“You break her trust, you disappear on her, you turn this into one more story she has about men who do not show up, and I will spend the rest of my career making sure every contract you touch feels like penance. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly,” I say. “I’m not going to disappear on her. I’m not going to hurt her. That’s not who I am.”
He holds my gaze for another long moment, and I don’t flinch. I mean every word, and I need him to see that.
“Good.” He leans back, watching me for another beat. The intensity eases, just a hair. But his look lingers for a longmoment like he is weighing something. Then he nods, slowly. “Natalie has walls,” he says. “You’ve probably noticed.”
“A little,” I say.
“They’re there for a reason,” he continues. His voice is not sharp now, just tired. “She’s had people let her down. More than once. It’s not my story to tell, and I’m not going to stand here and give you a play-by-play of her worst moments.” He holds my gaze. “But if you are serious about being in her life, you need to understand that pushing her is the fastest way to lose her.”
“I hear you,” I say. “I don’t need easy. I just need time. And the chance to prove I mean what I say.”
Something like approval flickers across his face. “Then here’s my advice,” he says. “Show up when you say you will. Don’t make promises you cannot keep. Don’t try to fix her. She doesn’t need fixing. She needs consistency.” He taps his pen against the desk once. “And for God’s sake, don’t try to turn this into some grand romance before she’s even caught her breath. Let her be freaked out. Let her be angry. Stay anyway.”
“I can do that,” I say. “I will do that.”
He studies me one more time, then nods, like he has come to a decision. “All right.” He stands, signaling that the meeting is over. “In that case, consider this your official welcome to whatever version of the family we are building here.”
The word lands heavier than I expect. Family. We haven’t defined what Natalie and I are to each other yet, but we are connected now, permanently. Through this baby. Through every choice we make from here.
“Thank you,” I say, standing too. “For not firing me. For being understanding about all of this.”
As I walk back to my office, I replay what he said about Natalie. That wasn’t just my boss giving me a warning. That was Natalie’s father trusting me with something precious.
I’m not going to let either of them down.
twelve
. . .
Natalie
The waitingroom is exactly what I expected. Pregnant women everywhere. Some alone with their faces buried in their phones, some with partners who look either excited or terrified or both. Parenting magazines are scattered across side tables. A water cooler in the corner with those tiny paper cups that hold approximately three sips.
I spot Jake immediately.
He’s standing near the reception desk in dark jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and my eyes do a full sweep before my brain even pretends to be polite. There’s no denying Jake is good looking. What really kills me are the creases that bracket his mouth when he smiles. Not exactly dimples, but they up his hot factor by at least a hundred.
When he sees me, his whole face lights up. It’s that right there that worries me. The way he looks at me, like I’m not a walking complication. As much as I love the way his expression softens when I show up, I know I can’t give him what he wants. He has this stable, normal life, and mine is about to bethe opposite of that. He’d get tired of it eventually. He’s too nice and I know myself. I can be a lot. I don’t want to be the one who eventually breaks his spirit.
“Hey.” He crosses the waiting room in a few easy strides. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous.”
“Me too.”
That comforts me more than I want to admit. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand over his head, gaze flicking toward the hallway like he can see the exam rooms from here. “I’ll feel better once we hear the heartbeat and everything looks okay.” He gestures toward the reception desk. “Have you checked in?”
“Not yet.”
We walk up together, and the receptionist slides a clipboard toward me, stacked with forms. Insurance information. Medical history. Emergency contact. There’s a whole section labeled “Father’s Information” with blank lines staring at me.
Jake leans one forearm on the counter next to me, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Something clean and masculine and annoyingly comforting.
“Need a pen?” he asks quietly.
