It was porn.
Absolute, filthy dad porn, if such a category existed.
“You’re staring again,” Clarke singsonged.
“I am not,” I said, way too fast.
“You so are,” Pink chimed in from behind us before guzzling an entire water bottle. There was still a faint trace of blue on his cheeks. “You’ve got the look.”
“What look?”
He smirked. “The ‘I want him to rail me with hisBake Offtent pole’ look.”
My mouth dropped open. “I do not—”
“Oh, honey,” Clarke cut in, nudging my side. “You absolutely do.”
I tried to tear my gaze away. I really did. But then Brooks threw his head back and laughed, and one of Carolina’s friends tugged on his sleeve to whisper something in his ear, and he listened—really listened—with that big, beautiful, ridiculous heart of his. And I was gone.
Melted buttercream on the pavement.
“Case closed,” Pink mumbled.
I swallowed hard, cheeks blazing, and that was when Brooks glanced over. Our eyes met across the lawn—his crinkling at the edges, like he already knew I was watching. He always knew.
Something reckless slipped loose in me. Before I could stop myself, I dipped my finger through the frosting topping my lemon cupcake, shot him the tiniest, most dangerous smirk, and licked.
His whole body stilled, just for a second. Then, one brow arched, slow and deliberate, promise written clear across his face.
Rut-roh.
I ducked my head, pretending to ignore my racing pulse. My friends’ laughter buzzed in my ears, but the heat crawling up my neck had nothing to do with embarrassment.
I needed air. Or maybe a cold shower. Or both.
“Bathroom break,” I muttered, waving vaguely toward the house before anyone could comment. Clarke shot me a knowing smirk but mercifully let me go.
I slipped out from under the tent, weaving past the frosting-slick battlefield until the squeals and shrieks dimmed behind me. Out on the fringe of the yard, with only the faint smell of sugar clinging to the summer air, I finally exhaled. My hand drifted to my belly again, and I let my baby’s kicks anchor me, reminding me to breathe.
“You look like you’re about three seconds away from making a getaway.”
I gasped, turning toward the voice.
Allie stood a few feet away, perched casually against the pergola, sipping from a can of sparkling water. To say that Brooks’s ex-wife was an intimidating creature would be an understatement—the woman was flawless.
Early-forties, maybe, with skin the color of rich espresso and cheekbones sharp enough to slice through concrete. Her hairhad been swept into a sleek braid that not even buttercream chaos could touch, and she wore a sundress that managed to look both effortless and editorial. Damn. Leave it to me to discover that Brooks and I had the same taste in women.
“Busted,” I admitted with a nervous laugh. “If I start scaling the fence, promise you’ll distract the kids?”
She smiled, and for the first time since we’d met, I realized how much softer she seemed outside of the co-parenting logistics and birthday chaos. “Trust me, I’ve been there,” she said, her voice genuine. “Carolina’s having the time of her life, and that’s what matters.”
“She’s amazing, you know. You’ve clearly done something right.”
Allie tilted her head, eyes tinged with humor. “Thanks. Though, if you’d seen her at four, taking me down in a gingerbread house contest, you might call it something else.”
I laughed, tension melting further. “Intimidation tactics? Pretty sure she inherited that from you.”
She smirked. “You’d be surprised how much she gets from her dad.”
