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Max broods silently, clicking away at his computer while I sit as quietly as possible trying to figure out what the heck is happening. At least I can cross the other ‘Max Gilbert’ off my list.

But the one I’m stuck with has left me a mess of…well, warm, ooey-gooey feelings mixed with dread.

He’s still as handsome as the day we met at the bar. Maybe more now, because unfortunately, a broody man with his brow set firmly, lips pursed, and the veins in his hands bulging along his forearms from the tension wringing his body, is hot.

Here I am, having promised myself to never fall for a broody male. My brother brooded. He also secluded himself in a cabin on the mountain and decidedly refused to allow anyone—family, friends, love—into his life.

Max, though, is a different kind of beast. I grew up around the kind of reclusive brooders who live on ranches. The cowboys, the ranch hands, the ones who preferred the great outdoors to human companionship. I also promised myself none of that. Believe it or not, I am not a live in a barn kind of gal. I prefer the luxuries of the modern world. Especially cinnamon rolls.

Max gives me the impression he might be the total opposite.

“What, exactly, are you looking up?” I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. The arms of the chair dig into my hips uncomfortably, pressing against the sides of my belly. I’ve been bruising easily, and I have no doubt the next one blooming on my skin will have a right angle.

The brooding male doesn’t look at me, just clicks at another thing. “My insurance might actually need us to be married legally. I’m checking how they define ‘spouse’. I might just be able to get you on there without going through all the legal insanity of getting a marriage license.”

I huff a breath. “You know, I don’t actually need your insurance,” I tell him, though I know it’ll help.

“No one is going to hire a seven-month pregnant single mother,” he replies, looking at me with a hard stare.

“Jeez, don’t mince your words or anything,” I mutter, shifting again. God, when will I ever be comfortable again? Probably not until this baby is off to college. “I have a job.”

Max scrubs a hand down his face. “Insurance?”

I purse my lips before shaking my head. “Nada.”

I can’t really tell if he likes me or not, but he just sighs and returns to his browsing. “No plan, no insurance⁠—”

“Hey.” My cheeks burn as I sit up, which only makes the arms of the chair dig in more. “I had a plan. Find you. And most of what had to come next hinged on whether or not you wanted anything to do with us—with Parasite,” I correct myself. “But I didn’t think you were going to be such a control freak about this. I am more than happy to go home and ask my family for help. At least they won’t look at this like a burden.”

There it is. He’s not jumping for joy and breaking down into tears like my friend’s baby daddy did when he found out the truth, and maybe a small part of me had actually hoped that would be the case between me and Max Gilbert.

Nope. He just jumped straight into problem solving.

“I don’t need you,” I tell him as firmly as I can muster without crying. “I am more than capable of doing this myself. You didn’t even really ask me anything else.”

“You told me everything I need to know.” He sits back and crosses his arms like he’s a principal staring down a naughty child, and not the mother of his unborn baby he may or may not be trying to marry so I can get on his health insurance. “You said this is step one.”

I sigh, slumping back, which actually makes the pain in my hips worse, but I won’t let him know that. And Max doesn’t give me the impression he’ll relent, which is a different kind of pain in the ass. “For how long, then?”

“What?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“How long do we have to stay married?” I ask with a shrug. “I’m guessing you’re going to find that we have to be legally married in order to qualify for me to go onto your health insurance. So, how long will this last?”

Something shifts in his expression as he glances at the screen. “Ideally, for as long as possible.”

I snort. “Sure thing. Like you could handle that.”

“Excuse me?” He raises a dark brow, leaning his forearms on the desk.

“Oh, come on, you can’t stand how…unprepared I am,” I say, waving a hand. “Let’s be real. You’re getting all broody and bossy because you probably hate I’m having your kid. This is the last thing you want. And to be tied to me until death? Because if you stick around, we’ll both be in this kid’s life until we kick the bucket, so that means another fifty or so years together⁠—”

“Honey, if I actually hated the idea of being stuck with you for the rest of our lives, I’d have kicked you out, demanded a paternity test, and told you to come back once the baby’s born,” Max says, turning to me fully now and crossing his arms.

I close my mouth quickly and stare at him, blinking hard. Huh. He has a point, I guess. “But⁠—”

“I am trying to take some stress off your shoulders, since I can’t imagine it’s been easy doing this alone. Which is exactly what you have been doing, isn’t it? Going through this alone?” he interjects, leaning back. There’s something intentionally yummy about his forearms. Damn. I should be focusing on the man’s face and what he’s saying, but instead, all I see are the muscles. The veins.

I think I stress him out. There’s no way he can hide that from me. I imagine the vein in his forehead popping because of how much I’ve laid on him in the last half-hour I’ve been here.