Page 3

Oh, that’s a lie. I want the cinnamon roll. It’s one of those perfectly moist, soft, covered in a creamy icing cinnamon rolls that melts in your mouth and hands. It’s a messy motherfucker, but I am in no way going to judge myself for these cravings. And anyway, you can’t just walk past a place boasting they have the best cinnamon rolls in Illinois and leave it alone! You have to see if it’s true.

And with each bite I take, I might have to agree.

Especially after the disappointment of today.

Time to cross another Max Gilbert off from my list. Ugh. I should have paid more attention to where he was from. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he told me which small town he lives in, but being a little too drunk and a little too distracted by his penis entering me, I forgot.

Well, here are the consequences of those actions.

Pregnant. Unmarried. Alone.

I haven’t even told my parents yet. Not my siblings. Definitely not my brother. I doubt he’d judge me; he’s marrying a gorgeous single mom—who I introduced him to—and they’re living their best lives now with their new baby, and I couldn’t be happier about how that turned out. Love my brother, but he is…strange. Overprotective and yet, pretty hands off.

When my sister’s husband left, he stepped in to help her more. Granted, I don’t think he would have done that if it weren’t for him falling in love. I love that he’s grown, but I don’t know if he’s evolved enough to handle another sister with zero contact with her baby daddy.

But that changes today. I’ve got another Max Gilbert on my list to see. Apparently, as cute a name as it is, there are quite a few men named Max Gilbert on this side of the country. Narrowing it down to remove children and elderly, I still had a rather decent pool of men to test. I’d been able to get rid of men who had public profiles—I might have been drunk, but I wasn’t that drunk, and I do distinctly remember what he looks like—so after getting my list down to five, I started my hunt.

One was dead. Thankfully, his widow could confirm it couldn’t be my Max, since hers had been in hospice. After making her cry, I’d baked her a cheesecake and wished her well, feeling so bad I also sent flowers. My mistake.

Second was trans, so he could thankfully assure me he was not, in fact, my baby daddy. Wished me the best on my hunt, and again, I sent flowers—because why not?

Third was a dud. Not a cowboy, but in real estate—and I do not touch men in real estate—but also, married, four kids, and a wife pregnant with number five. I’d prayed and prayed to the universe and every god I could name he wasn’t my Max, and thankfully, he wasn’t. His profile was a total catfish, though.

Now, I’m here for number four. Zero online presence. Knowing what I know about cowboys, that is a great sign.

Although, that could mean I’m looking for an eighty year old.

If only it were that easy.

Ugh. I bite into the gooey cinnamon roll with a groan. Parasite—I haven’t seen the gender, and I don’t want to know, since the element of surprise is way more exciting than planning ahead—kicks my side happily. To think, I’m going to pop soon without my baby daddy by my side. If he even wants to be with me, that is. Lord, I can’t imagine what he might say.

I can’t assume he’s going to be like my friend’s baby daddy. He locked eyes on their kid and committed a lifetime to them both. Moved them from Texas to Colorado in a heartbeat so she could be closer to her sister. I should assume my baby daddy wants little to nothing to do with me and Parasite. Like my sister-in-law. She had her twins young, the father stepped away, and passed before he could ever get to know his kids. Tragic as it was—and still is—she’s happy with my brother, and they’re doing everything right by those kids.

Guess I shouldn’t be surprised if it is the latter. I chew my cinnamon roll slowly, licking icing from my lips as I look around. The town reminds me of my own home, except less green. This town is just Fall. Orange and yellow rather than green and dark. Dried leaves dance across the asphalt, a soft breeze picking up the strands of my honey-blonde hair. The sky darkens with the threat of rain, but it doesn’t dampen the festive mood.

The set up for the festival has me excited. Back home, we’re known better for our Christmas markets rather than our small attempts at Halloween-themed activities. Sure, there’s a pumpkin patch here and some great trick-or-treating opportunities there, but Maple Lane Falls hits all those Pinterest mood board dreams better than Willow Ridge does.

I finish the cinnamon bun with a happy little moan and lick my fingers clean. By the time I push off the bench, the sky has darkened a little more and the smell of rain hits the breeze. A cold chill rolls down my spine, making me wrap my scarf tighter around myself. Trash from my sweet treat goes in the can beside me, and I begin the waddling trek back to my truck. The address on my list weighs a ton, and it makes each step heavier.

If this isn’t the guy, then I have one left. I’m terrified, because I’m not entirely sure what comes next if I don’t find him. Am I strong enough to do this alone? I’m not like my friends; they found the strength to do it on their own—sometimes more than once—and did everything they could to protect their babies.

I don’t even know if I can count baby daddy in my plans. The idea of sticking around this area doesn’t make me afraid, so there’s that. But I know I can always go home, admit my faults, lick my wounds, and join the group of single moms in town who offer support for one another. Easy. Simple. A reliable plan.

But not the one I want to commit to.

I want to find Max Gilbert. The right cowboy. And I want him to decide what happens next. Is he in, or is he out?

That’ll be the defining factor in what I do next, and it tears me apart.

As much as I’m not a planner, this is the one thing I know I can’t fuck up. Not for me or Parasite.

But first thing’s first: find Max Gilbert, and upend his entire life.

3

MAX

Iblow out a long, slow breath as the rain starts. I’m not shocked, but I’m also disappointed it had to start now. At least the Fall Festival doesn’t open until tomorrow.