I growl.
“Sawyer!” Luna calls and one glance at his face tells me he suspects the same thing I do in that moment—that Luna is getting him away from Harper and me.
Christ. The woman is always trying to play matchmaker.
But that’s not going to happen.
Harper and I are going to be co-parents—that’s all.
Except even as I cling to that thought, an inner voice is telling me I’m only kidding myself. Because the same pull I felt for Harper at Luna’s baby shower still exists.
Hell, it’s only grown.
Same as those dark circles beneath her eyes.
“You’re working too hard,” I say quietly.
Her shoulders tighten and her gaze flicks back to mine, her tone approaching flippant, her smile facsimile. “And, like I said, my bank account likes it.”
I don’t like the way she says that—or maybe it’s that I don’t buy the casual spin she’s trying to put on it.
“Are things tight?” I ask. “I can give you?—”
“No,” she says fiercely.
So fiercely a little blip of alarm sails through me.
“I’m fine.” She exhales. “I promise, I’m fine. You’ve already bought—” A shake of her head. “Anyway, I don’t need any more charity.”
“It’s not?—”
A muscle flickers in her jaw, and she looks away.
I lower my voice. “Babies are expensive.”
“I know,” she replies just as quietly. “But there haven’t been any expenses yet.” She touches my arm when I open my mouth, and the feel of her fingers, even through my equipment, is so intense that I’m momentarily mute. “When it comes to that point I promise we’ll talk about it,” she says. “Okay?”
My gaze searches hers as I process her words, as I try to decide if she’s telling the truth.
But the stubborn set of her jaw, the tenseness of her frame make it clear it doesn’t matter if she’s telling the truth right now.
She’s set on doing this alone.
Why does that burn like acid through my veins?
Because of that vision of her in the stands, my mind whispers. Because I want it to be her holding my son’s hand as they cheer for me.
I close my eyes for a second then peel back my lids and nod, forcing my own smile. “Okay,” I say. “If it gets there, we’ll talk about it.”
“Thanks,” she whispers.
“Are you going to stick around?” I ask, wanting that more than I can express.
She hesitates, swiping at a strand of her hair as though it’s itching her. Then she nods. “Yeah, I think we’re going to watch for a bit.”
I touch her cheek, snag the errant lock between thumb and forefinger, and tuck it behind her ear.
“Good,” I whisper. “I’ll see you after.”
