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“You’re late,” I tease.

“I have a good excuse.”

“And what’s that?” I fold my arms across my chest.

“I was prepping for our baby shower.”

“You’re such a control freak. I thought you were going to have your chefs prepare the food.”

“But I’m the best.” He takes his sunglasses off, and I’m instantly drawn to his eyes.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t deny his culinary skills. “I guess fifteen minutes late is better than your usual tardiness.”

“Usual tardiness? I think you have me confused with you. I’m always on time.”

I lean against the doorjamb. “Now, I know you’re lying.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“Good idea.” I’m getting lost in his eyes. Something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. “Do you want to come in?”

“I’d like that,” he says, like he did the first time on his doorstep.

He passes me through the doorway, and I get a whiff of his scent. He smells like freshly baked bread and aftershave. I also check out his butt—something I did seven weeks ago when he walked through the door for the first time. It seems so long ago, but it’s really not. And in just a few more weeks, there’ll be three of us.

* * *

After leaving Niko’s place with all my stuff, Hunter stops at his favorite food truck for street tacos. We eat them on location in the car.

I finish my last taco. “How have we not been here before?”

“You want my last one?” he asks.

“Are you sure?” I ask, and he sets the taco on my baby bump. “If you insist.” I make quick work of the foil and waste no time scarfing down the taco.

Hunter looks down at his watch. “I think that was a world record.”

“Ha ha. Hilarious, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?”

“You know you’re pretty.”

“I prefer ruggedly handsome.”

I roll my eyes. “So cocky.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And you keep proving me right.”

With his head against the headrest, he looks over at me. “And you keep pretending that you don’t like it. But I know you do.” His eyes drift to my lips. My throat becomes parched as he leans toward me. “You have something …” He reaches his hand out and wipes sauce from the corner of my mouth.

“Thanks.” I lick my bottom lip. His eyes drift there again, lingering. “We should go.”

“We should.” But he doesn’t move.

Neither do I. My eyes are fixed on his—the dark blue of his irises swallowing up the light blue surrounding them. I can see the want, but I can also see the struggle. It’s wearing him down.