He doesn’t blink. “It’s a good size. Maybe for a…”
“A what?”
With his deep exhale, the reason behind the mystery tour is revealed. “For a nursery.”
I’ve misheard him. The chemicals from my morning deep clean must’ve mixed. “Who’s nursery?”
His gaze lowers to my belly.
“Um, I don’t think so. This place isn’t even up for rent, and I’m going to take a wild guess and presume it’s way out of my price range.”
“It’s available.” He’s unreadable as he ushers me to the small circular window overlooking the backyard.
There’s no denying this is the house of my dreams, plucked right from my Pinterest board. I sigh while staring at the tall maple tree, its branches swaying in the wind. The sky is a brilliant cerulean blue today, the odd wispy cloud floating by. “It would be perfect, but I can’t afford this.”
His shoulder brushes mine, and thank god he can’t see the tears burning my eyes.
“Michael owes me, and I cashed in the favor.” He gently grips my wrist, forcing me to face him. “Whatever your rent was at the apartment, he’ll agree to. All he asks is you commit to a one-year tenancy.”
I gawk at him. “You can’t be serious? This is too much.”
“It isn’t too much; it’s exactly what you deserve, so don’t beforgetting that, sweetheart.” He cups my cheek. “Nothing is too much if it means you’re happy, safe, and have somewhere to call your own. I can tell from your expression you love this place, so let me help. Please.”
I’m leaning into Warren’s rough palm while my brain scrambles for the correct response. A thank you is too pedestrian. “I’ll only agree if you promise to stay here when you’re in town.”
Wait, what?
The connection between my brain and mouth is severed because I didn’t sign off on that.
Warren’s perplexed expression mirrors mine. Best I roll with it.
“You’re always in Iris Meadows, visiting me or running errands after a long shift. Don’t get me wrong, I love your company, but you must be exhausted.” His hand drops, and I do us both a favor by circling the room. “There’s enough room in the office for a pull-out bed. You can have your own key, come and go as you please. Plus, when the baby is here, we’ll be seeing a lot more of you, won’t we?”
My last question rings with hope.
“Harriet, this isn’t a good idea…”
“Why?”
His eyes flare, as if the answer is obvious.
“So it might not be conventional, but what better way for us to get to know each other than adult sleepovers?”
He chokes on air.
“Oh, notthosetypes of sleepovers. Separate beds. Fully clothed. PG.” I’m rambling and sweating and losing the plot. I refuse to let this go without giving him something in return, because so far, this friendship seems very one-sided. “Please, Warren. Promise you’ll consider it.”
A deep groan of defeat echoes through the bedroom. “You make it very hard to say no to you.”
I flutter my eyelashes. “I’m the youngest daughter. I was born to get my way.”
Verbally, he doesn’t agree, but his decision is crystal clear.
The father of my child is now my kind of roommate, because if the waters weren’t muddied enough already, this will certainly do the trick.
I suckin a breath as the sonographer squirts cold gel across my stomach.
I’m a riot of emotions. The gratitude and shock from Warren’s surprise still bubbles, now mixing with the nerves and anticipation of seeing our baby for the first time in months.
