Page 35 of Fall Love

“Ten o’clock. I’ll send you the address.” I reach for my phone and pull up my contacts. For some reason, I type Driver for his name, then add the digits he gives me for his phone number. He takes my number as well.

Almost instantly, I get a text.

Hi.

“Hi.” I glance up at him, catching him watching me.

He looks around the room. “You’ve got a nice place here. It’s cozy.” He glances at the low couch and a woven rattan wingback chair with a cushion on the seat. From where he’s standing, he’s getting the grand tour. My bedroom can be seen through the open door to his right.

“It’s small,” I say, as if reading what he isn’t saying.

“A bit tight for two.”

“It’s only me,” I counter.

He nods toward my belly. “Not for much longer.”

I glance down at my stomach and run my hand over it. “We’ll manage,” I say quietly, speaking more to my belly than to him.

I have just enough space to put a crib near the foot of my bed. I had to forego a changing table. I’ll set a waterproof pad on the bed for diaper changes. The house is not really one we can grow in, so eventually, this place might be one more thing I need to give up.

But that is another day’s problem.

“So, I guess I’ll see you on⁠—”

“What are you baking?” He steps closer to the island table, ignoring my rather blatant attempt to nudge him out the door.

“A pie.”

He stares down at the ingredients and containers on the butcher block. He nods, his head wobbling back and forth like he’s trying to think of something to say.

“It didn’t work,” I blurt, saving him from having to force a compliment.

“I can see that.”

“You don’t need to be so critical.”

His head pops up. His eyes worried until he sees me smiling back at him.

“I’m teasing,” I clarify.

He meets my smile, cautious and uncertain, before he says, “Maybe we could start over. With the pie,” he rushes. “Start from scratch.”

I snort. “Do you even know how to make an apple pie?”

He shrugs. “I can learn. Plus, how hard can it be?” Then he eyes the mess in front of me. “Okay. Well, even if it is a bit difficult, we could figure it out. Together.”

Somehow, I’m no longer certain we’re discussing pies or how to make them, but he continues.

“Let’s start with fresh apples.”

I glare down at the ones I’ve cut. They’re already browning from sitting in the bowl for hours.

“What’s wrong with these?” Maybe they’ve lost their freshness, but⁠—

“Honeycrisp work great in a pie. And I know where we can get the crispest ones.”

“Where?” I tilt my head in disbelief.