“True…”
She juts her chin out as if to tell me to shut my trap until she’s finished talking. “But you should know this about me—I’m a planner. I don’t rush into things without considering all the angles and possibilities?—”
I can’t help raising a skeptical brow. “Seems like ‘not thinking’ was exactly what we did on your birthday.”
She presses her lips together. Undeniable that I’m right. And also that I’m trying her patience.
“Yeah. I wanted to feel carefree for one night, and look where it got me. That was a one-off, but I think you’ll find that my proposal is an excellent example of a good plan.”
“Proposal? Is there a ring?”
She lets out a cackle that seems to surprise her as much as me. “Not that at all. I’m not trying to trap you into a relationship. I have a full life and a career in LA. I don’t expect you to jump in and be involved if fatherhood isn’t your jam. I’m fine doing this alone. Totally fine.”
“My ‘jam’?” She’s too much. This conversation sounds like we’re discussing decor for a dinner party, not how to navigate a surprise pregnancy. It’s taking all my self-control not to get on Dolly and ride like hell to a quiet mountaintop so I can think this all through. I’m no good at thinking on my feet. And despite the circumstances, I’m still wildly distracted by her.
“What if I want to be involved?” I ask.
She goes so still I can see her pulse beating under the pale skin of her neck. “Do you?”
I choose my words carefully. “I don’t know.”
This whole conversation has me feeling gut-punched. The last thing I need is one more person depending on me, one more person I could let down. But there’s something else in the muddy fog. Something like a tiny glimmer of excitement.
“I get that. It’s fine,” she says.
“It’s not fine. It’s complicated, though, and if you’re looking for a relationship, I’m not your guy. I want to be clear. I am not boyfriend or husband material, and I won’t budge on that. But I have a large capacity for taking care of people. It may actually be my most redeeming quality.” I stare at her flat stomach beneath her skirt and try to imagine her round and pregnant with a baby. Our baby. A hard lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to keep talking because it’s important. “I’m not gonna be someone who runs away from either one of you. So…yeah, I want to be involved.”
“Oh,” she says, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Okay, then. I’d welcome a father figure.”
I slap a hand against my forehead. “You’d welcome a father figure? Did you really just say that?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s so…emotionless.”
“Well, I think it’s smart to keep emotions out of it. We barely know each other. You just said you don’t want a relationship and neither do I. We live separate lives in separate worlds. We made an impulsive decision one night, but we can behave like grown-ups and be good parents. If you’re interested.”
I let out an agonized huff that doesn’t capture half of my frustration. “Can you…give me a minute? Just…stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I need to think without her doe eyes pinning me down like a taxidermized animal.
As I stride down the next block, I rake a hand through my hair and try to unclench my jaw. My mind floods with the information she just laid at my feet.
She’s pregnant. I’m the father. I will have a child in seven months, give or take. She doesn’t want anything from me, but she’s willing to have me act as a co-parent. A father figure. Like a business deal.
What the actual fuck?
I’ve never met anyone so disinterested in emotional ties of any sort. Other than myself, I guess. I’m sure she has her own baggage, and God knows I’m never far from troubles with Chad and my employees depend on me for their livelihoods. It’s not about watering a few plants. It’s about people.
And a new one who will be my son or daughter within the year.
When I reach the grocery store, I walk through robotically, grabbing a couple of items and nodding with glassy eyes when asked if I’d like a bag.
Mentally rehearsing what I’ll say to Tessa when I get back, I try to take slower, calming breaths. I don’t have time to work through every emotion that comes with the idea of parenthood when I’ve rounded the final corner, but I’ve worked through enough.
Tessa sits patiently on a bench with those worry lines etched across her forehead. They don’t disappear until I drop down next to her and offer her my hand.
“Okay, Duchess. You and me. We can do this,” I say, handing her the bag.
