I blinked. “Who?”
“The sourdough starter, Doughy McIntyre.” Her bottom lip wobbled, another tear sliding down her cheek. “Carolina trusted me to keep it alive while she was at camp, but I left it in my car, forgot all about it, and now it’s dead. How can I be expected to take care of a baby when I can’t even remember to take care of a doughy blob?”
My hand dragged over my face, and when I looked back at her, she was sniffling so hard I couldn’t even laugh.
“Kitten,” I said, stepping inside and cupping her damp face with both hands. “You’re crying over bread.”
“Starter,” she corrected miserably, shoulders shaking. “It’s not just bread, Brooks. It’s like a pet—ayeastpet—and I killed it.”
This time, there was no way to stop the crack of laughter that shook my chest. She tried to swat me, but I was faster, dragging her to my chest and circling my arms around her waist. She collapsed there, sobbing and hiccupping, her fists knotting in my shirt.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I muttered against her hair, holding her tight. “Yeast pets I can handle, but I thought—” I broke off, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Never mind what I thought. You’re fine. The baby’s fine. We can figure out the rest.”
She let out a strangled laugh that was half-sob, half-relief. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I admitted, rubbing slow circles over her back. “Now, sit down before you cry yourself into dehydration. You tell me everything that went wrong today, and we’ll fix them.”
“But the starter—”
“Fuck the starter. I’ll buy her another one. I’ll buy her whole a fucking bakery.”
That got a small laugh out of her, and I felt her start to unclench against me, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders.
“Come on,” I said softly, steering her inside and nudging the door shut behind us. I guided her to the couch and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in mine.
“I know what’ll make you feel better.”
Her watery eyes met mine, wide and searching. “Crying some more?”
I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “Let’s make a list.”
“A list?”
“You love lists,” I reminded her, squeezing her hands. “Let’s make a list of everything we still need to do. Anything we need to buy, build, or whatever—we’ll write them down and knock them out, one by one.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, staring at me like I’d just offered her oxygen. “But there’s still so much—”
“We’ve got three-and-a-half months, kitten.” I leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Plenty of time. In fact, we can tackle a couple today. You know, baby steps.”
Her laugh came out watery, but real. “When did you get so corny?”
“Anything to make you laugh, kitten.” I reached for the notepad and pen sitting on the coffee table and pressed them into her hands. “Let’s start with a crib.”
She sniffled, looking down at the blank page. For a moment, she just stared. Then, she wrote in shaky but determined letters.
“Perfect,” I said, nodding like we were planning a championship lineup. “What’s next?”
Her gaze flicked to me, softer now, steadier. “Registry.”
“I’ll ask Allie if she has any recommendations.” I grinned. “Don’t you feel better already? And tomorrow, during my flight, I’ll research how to resurrect our yeast pet.”
“And what if it’s a lost cause?”
I shrugged. “Rest in yeast, Doughy McIntyre.”
That earned me a laugh so sudden, she covered her face with the notepad, shoulders shaking. The sound loosened something in my chest. “There she is,” I murmured, tugging the pad down so I could see her smile. “We’re gonna figure this out. All of it. Together.”
She muttered something under her breath.
