“Are you okay?” Everett asks when I slow down and gulp in huge lungfuls of air.
“Uh-huh,” I lie.
Being seen with him means throwing myself—my unborn child—into the public eye. Something I’ve spent my whole life trying to stay away from.
But even if we’re not “together,” he’s still going to drag me along with him. I’m growing his child. He’s always going to be a part of my life, whether I want him there or not.
“Bea?” he questions as he steps in front of me, staring down into my eyes with his brows pinched. “Sweetheart, what’s?—”
“I’m okay,” I lie.
He knows it, too. For long seconds, he refuses to back up. Instead, he just watches me, as if he’s waiting for me to break down.
Honestly, he’s not the only one. How I’m not crying right now is a miracle.
“Do you still want waffles?” he asks once my breathing has settled.
“Uh, yes. That’s not in question.”
He chuckles before falling in beside me again. I’ve barely taken a step when his fingers brush against mine, and a heartbeat later, they’re entwined.
A smile twitches at my lips as we silently walk together.
Okay, so maybe he isn’t ashamed of being seen with me. He might be hiding behind a cap, but that’s hardly a disguise.
“Down here,” Everett says, tugging me down a quiet street.
I smell the waffle shop long before I see it. The sweet scent of sugar and chocolate surrounds me, making my stomach growl as if I haven’t eaten all month.
“Once you have one of these waffles, you’ll never go anywhere else,” he tells me as we turn the corner and a pink neon sign illuminates the street ahead of us.
“I’ve tried waffles in almost every state, and none stand up to these.”
“I’m excited,” I breathe as I take in the length of the line to get said waffles. Clearly, this place isn’t just Everett’s secret.
We join the line and turn our backs on the crowd. He steps close enough to me that his body heat sears through my dress, and he ducks his head as if he’s entranced by what I’m saying. Only, I’m silent.
Seconds pass and nothing is said as we patiently wait. I’m so lost to the feeling of him almost pressed up against my side, and the wicked thoughts that continue to flicker through my head, that he startles me when he does speak.
“Would you rather have pancakes or waffles?”
I blink up at him, his question not registering for a few seconds.
“Waffles, obviously.”
His smile confirms that’s the right answer.
He lifts a brow and waits while I catch up and come up with a question of my own.
“Would you rather have a cat or a dog?”
“Dog, obviously.”
I frown. “Why obviously?”
“Oh God, are you a cat person?” he asks in a panic.
“Maybe,” I tease. “Is that a deal breaker for you?”
