Can’t deny I want her to keep it.
“If you don’t,” I force myself to say, “I’ll take you to the clinic, hold your hand, and stay with you afterward.”
For a second, she doesn’t move, just stares at me with those intense hazel eyes.
Eyes that fill with tears.
Or maybe not.
Because almost as soon as I think I’ve spotted the growing dampness, she blinks and any sign of emotion is gone.
“Right,” she says coolly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Look”—a breath—“I have some things to finish up here and can’t think about this right now. I have your contact info and will get you the specifics about your choices later today.”
I frown, not understanding.
Not at first, anyway.
“I suggest you pick three or four appetizers and sides, two main dishes, and I can either make a simple birthday cake or recommend a bakery that can do something fancier.” She shrugs. “You can look at the quote and let me know which way you’d like to go.”
I stare at her for a long moment.
Try to think of something meaningful to say.
And come up blank.
Great.
She points to the door. “I’ll follow you out so I can lock up.”
And, fuck, but all I can do is walk back out front and move to the door.
When I hesitate with my hand on the cool metal, she reaches by me, pushes it open. “I’ll be in touch.”
About the baby?
Or the birthday party?
But I don’t ask.
Because what fucking right do I have to ask anything of her?
And anyway, it doesn’t take long for me to get an answer.
The quote for her to cater Shannon’s party is in my inbox before I get home.
Seven
Harper
“Oh, my God, Harper,” Luna says through a huge bite of my quiche (this time I made a normal-sized one instead of the finicky one-bite versions). “This may be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
“Tell that to Aiden.”
We all freeze.
Because that hadn’t come from our resident loudmouth, Luna (and I say that with no little amount of love—Luna is awesome).
But we all freeze because it wasn’t her.
