“Deadly.” There’s an evil glint in her eyes. Her being Team Warren now is giving me whiplash.
“I’m more than capable of seeing to myself, thank you.” What I don’t share is whenever I have been in the mood, replays of our night together are in my head.
Admitting defeat, my friend rises from the sofa. “If you plan onseeing to yourselftonight, please keep the noise to a minimum. Your room is across from mine.”
I throw a cushion at her head.
She cackles. “C’mon, Goldilocks. Let’s get you to bed.”
My joints crack as I stretch out my legs before standing. “I’ll only be here a short while. Five days max.”
She dismisses me and drags me down the corridor to one of the guest rooms. “Shut up. You’re always welcome here, and it’s nice having company. Warren is right—you shouldn’t be staying there, but what are you going to do when the baby arrives?”
She echoes the question that’s been playing in my mind since Warren dropped me off a few hours ago. “I guess I better look for somewhere new to live.”
“And in the meantime…” Talia throws an arm over my shoulder, tugging me close. “You will stay here for however long you need. I have two more bedrooms we can make into a nursery. My only request is if it’s a girl, you name her after me.”
I squeeze my best friend in return. Talia knows the real estate market in Iris Meadows is lacking, and the last thing I want to do is move out of town. I don’t fight her on her generous offer and instead count my lucky stars for the small army looking out for me.
TWENTY-EIGHT
HARRIET
Five days turned into fourteen.
My landlord buckled up and started work on my apartment immediately. No doubt the threat of legal action and liability from Warren if anything were to happen to me stoked a fire underneath him.
It’s fun staying with Talia, and though she works long hours, the company is nice. She and her husband bought this house before they separated, and considering it’s just her now, there’s plenty of room. It’s also requires a lot of upkeep, but Talia refuses to hire a maid.
After hours spent finalizing the end chords for my recent song, I put down my guitar and decide to do some deep cleaning—the perfect opportunity to throw on my cute maternity overalls.
The bump is bumping. The kicks are kicking. The heartburn is burning. Knowing you’re pregnant and feeling pregnant are two very different things, and I’m finally experiencing the latter.
I’m wringing out the sudsy mop, a crisp citrus scent fillingthe air, when the doorbell rings. I squeal in excitement, knowing it’s the box of baby clothes from my sister. Careful on the wet tiles, I make a beeline for the front door, not caring about my greasy hair and pimple patches.
It’s not the delivery driver.
“Warren.” I covertly cover the purple stars on my chin.
He was working today, still on desk duty, and must’ve come straight from the firehouse. Not bothered by the chilly morning, he stands in a tight navy T-shirt, the fire department badge on his pec and the sleeves hugging the bulges of his biceps. Thick work pants sit snuggly on his hips, but what really does it are the suspenders stretching across his broad chest and shoulders.
I’ve never put much thought into a man in uniform until this very moment.
I’m totally onboard with it. Ten out of ten. Is his hat in the truck? Perhaps the pole they slide down?
Pausing my starved perusal, it finally clicks why he’s here. “Our appointment isn’t for another couple of hours. You’re early.”
He squints in the morning sun toward his truck. “I was hoping we could go for a drive.”
“Now?” I squeak.
“If that’s okay.” He winces. “I should’ve texted, sorry. Kinda blew over here after my shift without thinking.”
“Give me ten minutes. I need to get changed.” I open the door, gesturing him inside. “Do you want a coffee?”
Ignoring my question, he glances at my outfit. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”
“Um, I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backward. Twice,” I deadpan.
