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All I can do is flop back with a sigh and try not to cry. First, it’s watching all these kids get dressed up to go out. Now, it’s not knowing what to expect from this man.

The sky darkens. Not with clouds—those cleared up the first time he left, leaving the streets wet but sky eventually clear. Now, stars flicker across the evening. I settle in once again. The energy to go in and make myself a drink—or food—leaves me. So, I just sit with Parasite and consider my options.

“What do you think?” I ask, rubbing my stomach. “Do we trust him? Or do I sneak out tonight and not look back? He’s your dad, but I just don’t know if I can risk it.”

He has the power to hurt me, and I can’t help but regret looking for him now. He deserved to know, I won’t deny that. And I needed to look at him to be sure he was the right man before I did anything that blew up someone else’s life.

By the time he returns, night has sunk in and streetlights flood the landscape with their yellow glow. Porch lights flicker on, kids continue running around with flashlights, and the atmosphere grows heavier as I watch Max pull in.

What I don’t expect to see are take-out bags and cups, along with another lone grocery bag. His brow furrows as he climbs the porch steps. “What are you doing out here still? It’s getting cold.”

I shrug as I push off the chair. “Waiting, I guess,” I murmur. “What’s in the bags?”

He motions for me to get the door, and silently, I push it open so he can enter.

Max kicks off his work boots and hands me one of the cups. “It’s a local apple cider. They promote it heavily for the fall festival,” he says, watching me.

I’d seen like seven flyers for it in town while hunting down those cinnamon rolls, so I’ve been anticipating trying it. The first sip has me groaning. Damn. It tastes like Fall.

Max clears his throat, and this time holds up the grocery bag, allowing me to look inside. “Candy?” I ask, eyes wide.

“Turns out they still had some,” he says, setting the bag down on the entry table. “No themed bowls, but the festival should have a stall that sells homemade ones. Ceramic and hand painted ones. Or there might be one lying around. I haven’t gone through the closets, but I’m pretty sure my tenant used to hand out candy.”

My throat tightens with complicated emotions that make me wonder if this is too good to be true. But then the smell of food hits me, and the worry turns to hunger.

“What did you pick up for dinner?” I ask, glaring at the bag. “Depriving pregnant women is grounds for⁠—”

“I grabbed a couple of burgers and fries from Home Sweet Burgers. You like burgers, don’t you?” he says, staring at me.

I feel the weight of his stare. I know he’s looking at me. I just can’t bring myself to respond immediately. The hunger twists my stomach. Or maybe it’s Parasite yearning for the taste of a greasy cheeseburger with fries under the bun. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

And as if sensing that, Max chuckles. “Come on. Plates are⁠—”

“It’s a burger. You don’t need plates.” I take a sip of the cinder and almost groan. “God. I am suddenly starving. Parasite might just eat me alive.”

Max shakes his head as he enters the living room. “I literally bought enough food to last us a month.”

My cheeks warm as I follow him. He unpacks the takeout onto the coffee table, which includes two packs of fries, loaded fries, and four burgers. “Are you planning to feed an army?”

He looks back at me, the corner of his lips quirked—though not in a full smile. I’ll get one out of him eventually. “No. I had no idea what you preferred, so I grabbed a cheeseburger, a regular, one with all the fixings, and a chicken sandwich.”

“I call the cheeseburger,” I state, moving around the sofa. “And the regular. Hmm. So many options.”

“Thank fuck I got enough,” he mutters, shaking his head again. “Come on. Eat. You sure you don’t want a plate?”

I drop onto the comfortable, old sofa—which smells like old people—and sigh. “I’m sure.” Although, I do make a grabby motion with my hand. “Food, please.”

The smile grows—a millimetre, but it’s progress—as he grabs my two burgers and fries. “Hold on. Let me get you a tray, at least.”

Before I can tell him not to, he goes to a side table next to the fireplace, which holds a few different nicknacks, and from behind it, he whips out a tray table that may or may not fit over my belly.

“Sit with your legs up,” he instructs, coming back.

My cheeks warm as I manage to shift myself to do just that. To my shock, Max pulls my shoes off, sets them on the floor so I’m left in just my socks, and only then does he put the tray down. It’s a snug fit, but it does the job.

“There,” he murmurs, finally giving me the food. “Good?”

I swallow hard and nod. “Yep.”