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“Text me the address,” I mutter. “I’m on my way.” I hang up before Veronica can respond, the petulance clear in my voice.

“We’re expected at your parents’ in an hour,” I tell Blaire, trying one last time to avoid leaving her.

She sets the curling iron down and comes to me, hands settling on my chest. “It’ll be fine. I’ll tell them you had a work thing. They won’t ask questions.”

I shake my head, gripping her hips. “No. I don’t want you lying to your family.”

“Then we tell them what’s going on when you get there later. Either way—if something’s happening with the baby, you need to go.”

“She just wants my attention because she knows I spend holidays with you and Theo.”

Blaire shakes her head. “I know. But you should at least check.”

“She’s not even at the hospital. Her family could take her—”

“Would you have wanted my dad to just text you updates when it was Theo?” she cuts in, fire in her eyes.

I grit my jaw. “It’s not the same.”

“It is.” There’s no winning this argument, not when it circles back to how absent I was during her pregnancy. Especially now, when history is repeating and she’s seeing exactly how bad I could have been.

I finally relent, shoulders dropping. “Fine. Fuck. Fine.”

I pull her against me, squeezing harder than necessary. She giggles and shoves lightly at my chest.

“Go,” she says, softer now. “Make sure Theo found some shoes, load the eggs into my car, and then go check on her. I’ve got things handled until you’re done.”

I cradle her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re too fucking good a person.”

She giggles again. “Don’t say that. You don’t know all the shit-talking I’m doing in my head.”

“Oh, I can imagine I’ll hear it later once your sister gets some wine in you.” I lean down and capture her mouth with mine, the kiss starting slowly before deepening into something far more sensual than we have time for.

Her lips part willingly, warm and inviting, and I taste the faint sweetness of her as our tongues meet in a slow, lingering glide. Heat builds between us, her body softening into mine, and for a moment I forget everything else.

Until she pushes my chest back, her face flush and pupils blown. Her fingers linger on my shirt for a second before she lets me go. “Go,” she says softly. “Get Theo ready, I’m almost done.”

I groan and go to follow orders.

Soon enough, Theo’s shoes are on—the wrong feet, but on—and the deviled-egg trays are in the passenger seat. I stall at Blaire’s car, double-checking the car seat straps even though they’re already secure, rearranging the eggs like they might suddenly fit better. Blaire watches from the driver seat, one eyebrow raised.

“Simon,” she huffs, not unkind. “You’re stalling.”

I sigh, the sound heavy. “Yeah. I know.”

She gives me a small, encouraging nod. “Go. We’ll be fine.” I nod, leaning down to give her one last kiss before I head out. “Drive safe, I love you.”

“I love you too.” She says fondly.

Followed by Theo loudly yelling, “I love you daddy!” From the backseat. “I love you too buddy! I’ll meet you at Mimi and Papas.”

I turn towards my truck and pull up the address Veronica sent as I climb in the cab. The screen glows in the dim light, the Thanksgiving traffic already thick on the road ahead.

***

I pull up to the curb outside Veronica’s parents’ house and drum my thumbs on the steering wheel.

This is stupid.