“Right. Of course.” She holds out her hand. “Pass me your phone.”
She keys in her number and drops herself a text. “There’s a lot to discuss, but we have time. You should get back to the wedding. I can drive you.”
I gesture for the bill. “Nah, I could do with the fresh air.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Warren, it’s forty-five degrees out. You’re not walking.”
“The cold doesn’t bother me.” Plus, I need some headspace before returning to the celebrations, knowing my family will have questions about my absence. “You should get home and rest.”
Whatever argument she had is lost to a long yawn. Once the bill is settled, I walk her back to her apartment. Her hair reflects the streetlights, shifting like iridescent silk with each step. My jacket hides the form fitting dress that hugs her curves perfectly and emphasizes her breasts that dare I say are fuller.
When she turns to face me, her expression is neutral.
“Guess I’ll see you soon?”
I nod. “Guess so.”
“Enjoy the wedding.” Her keys jingle as she unlocks her door, and I ignore her friend’s face pressed against the second-floor window.
“Harriet?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Thank you for hearing me out. Text me if you need anything, day or night.” I clear my throat. “Hearing you sing earlier…you’re phenomenal.”
I allow myself three seconds to admire the way her lips part in anObefore I’m spinning on my heel andstriding away. Shock blocks out the cold, and the brisk walk does nothing to clear my mind. If anything, it’s messier, like a jigsaw puzzle without the edges, allowing every intrusive thought to spill out onto the frosty sidewalk.
Whatever troubles cloud my head are irrelevant.
I’m going to be a dad.
SEVENTEEN
HARRIET
After the bizarrebreakfast-dinner with Warren, exhaustion hits me from all angles. Talia spots how tired I am and leaves me to it. I’d only end up repeating myself three times anyway, so the girls will have to wait until we’re together tomorrow for a rundown.
It was only after scrubbing the day from my face that I realized I was still wearing his jacket.
Harriet: You forgot your jacket.
Warren: Keep it. You’re halfway to owning a full suit.
The button-up shirt he gave me after Oktoberfest hangs in my closet, reminding me of the easygoing interactions at the fair, the antithesis to the stoic, stiff man who sat across from me in the diner.
The second my head hits the pillow, sleep finds me. The feel of Warren’s warm hands on my neck plays a leading role in my dreams. Far from ideal.
I spend the next day replaying every single one of Warren’s words and reactions, searching for any hint that letting him in was a mistake, and come up short. The man was a walking ball of anxiety, but he was also deeply apologetic and accountable. Beyond that, he was intent on being there for me and the baby.
Afternoon bleeds into evening, and then it’s time to face the cavalry, who have impatiently blown up my phone all day.
Talia is having us all over for dinner. The four of us try to do this as often as possible. With Talia and Parker working late nights and Margot needing a babysitter, finding a date is challenging.
My ass barely hits the chair before I’m bombarded with a slew of questions and forced to relay every miniscule detail. Ten minutes later, three stunned women stare at me from around the dining table.
“I’m sorry, rewind. He held your hair while you vomited?” Margot gawks. “That’s strangely sweet.”
Parker, ever the cynic, scoffs. “Are we forgetting he lied about his job and walked out when you told him the news? He needs to do a lot more groveling before all is forgiven.”
