Page 10

It takes me three long strides to get to the stairs, which I climb to at a time to reach the porch. The dark wood is covered in a litter of fallen leaves, and the set of outdoor furniture left here from before is also wet. There’s a pile of old mail left by the front door, most of it junk despite the sign that’s meant to dissuade the mailman from leaving it, and none of that bothers her.

Honey holds out a hand and wiggles her fingers. “I assume you have keys?”

“You are an impossible woman,” I growl, fishing out the old keychain as I do from my pocket. I don’t hand it to her, though, and instead reach around her to jam the key in the lock.

It puts me impossibly close to the woman. Her soft blonde hair, even under the beanie, tickles my neck as I all but wrap my body around her. The heat she emits makes me shiver, but it’s her scent that has me starving for something I know I can’t have.

The smell of honey and vanilla and a hint of something floral tickles my nose as I breathe in. Winnie has earned her name, and the temptation of her sweetness has me all the more obsessed, even though I know I need to tamper down on that.

Honey glances at me, and I watch colour rise in her cheeks. This close, I take in the hint of freckles lining her nose and the storm grey of her eyes. Will our baby have freckles like hers, so faint you need to search for them to know they’re there? Or maybe her eyes, like the morning of a storm, dark and tumultuous?

She sucks in a breath, lashes fluttering, but the honking of a horn draws me away from her and back to the door. I clear my throat and push it in with a little too much force, the heavy wood hitting the wall as it swings open. A litter of dried leaves from the overgrown tree in the front yard skitters into the entryway, making me sigh.

“I’ll clean that up later,” I mutter, placing a hand on her hip and guiding her in. “Make yourself at home.”

Honey looks around with wide eyes, releasing a soft breath as she does. “Super cute. Definitely not your place,” she says under her breath. She scans the entry way, eyes landing on the office first as she makes her way in, then the simple staircase that leads to the second floor. All the while, she rubs her stomach, hand circling the swell with slow even motions.

I swallow hard and force myself to look away. “I’ll get your bags.”

“What are you doing?” she asks, crossing her arms. “You sound like you’ve resigned yourself to the worst possible fate imaginable, Max.”

I stare at her for a long moment before shaking my head. “Not the worst fate you’re thinking of.”

Just a fate that says this isn’t going to end how it should: with her in my arms, our baby being ours, living in a house like this one where there’s never any doubt she isn’t leaving.

By the time I return with groceries, there are children running around the street in costumes with bags of candy. I pull into the driveway carefully, cutting the engine with a sigh. I used to hate driving through town during this time of year and dodging kids in Superman costumes and princesses waving wands. But as my gaze catches the porch and the woman sitting on it, my heart twinges.

Maybe it won’t be so bad with her and our baby.

I rarely thought about what it would be like being one of those dads who walked behind their kid while they went door to door trick-or-treating, and now I wonder how long it will be until I’m in that position.

Given the look on Honey’s face, maybe not too long. By next year, she’ll be the mother who walks past the bungalow with her baby dressed in some ridiculous onesie and in her own costume.

I wait to feel that common feeling of disinterest or even disgust at the thought, but it never comes.

Instead, I feel a hint of…excitement, over the prospect.

I shudder and get out of the truck, grabbing the grocery bags from the back.

“Let me help!” Honey calls, groaning as she rises from the porch chair.

I barely glance at her as I grab the last of the bags. “Stay where you are, Honey. I’ve got this.”

She huffs, but at least when I turn, she isn’t trying to make her way down the porch steps to meet me. Instead, she crosses her arms and leans her hip against a pillar, lips pressed together, just barely holding back a smile.

“Please tell me you got candy?” she asks sweetly, biting her lip.

I cock a brow. “Really?”

“Not for me!” She smacks my arm as I reach her, rolling her eyes. “For the kids.”

My stomach twists. “It’s almost Halloween. You really think there’s anything left?”

Honey pouts but doesn’t say anything as she leads me to the door, pushing it open and holding it for me. “I knew there was something still on my to-do list. Ugh. I can’t believe I forgot.”

“I didn’t take you as a Halloween person,” I mutter, which is a lie. Based on the happiness in her eyes, she loves the holiday.

“It’s one of the few times a year a girl gets to be in her element! The spooky vibes, cute kids going door to door, watching the movies and handing out candy. I used to help my sister make costumes for my nieces and nephews, and ugh. Damn. I miss them.”