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“Let’s not overwhelm her,” Jazz insisted. “She’s already trying not to catch feelings and failing miserably.”
“He bought you a car to protect your baby,” Brielle said. “How can younotcatch feelings?”
“Okay, I think I’ll go inside now,” I said. “See you guys later. Thanks for driving the van over.”
“No sweat.” Brielle nibbled her lip and looked at me directly. “Congrats, by the way. As far as biker clubs go, the Blue Angels are family oriented. If they consider you one of them, you’ve got a family for the rest of your life.”
“Slash is a Nomad. He’s been on the road for fifteen years, and from what I understand, you don’t just suddenly become a stable biker dad and stick around just because you knock up a stranger.” I rubbed my temple. “I’m trying really hard to be positive, but I have my doubts about how this is going to work out. I’m just so hormonal right now…”
“That’s kind of why she’s resisting the whole dating-the-father-of-her-baby thing,” Jazz said to Brielle.
“Yeah, we so need a girls’ night,” Brielle said with a smile.
I grinned. “You know what? I’d really like that.”
“I think you need it,” Jazz said. “Like,reallyneed it.”
Brielle looked at Jazz. “Can you give me a lift back to Dad’s garage? I left my car there.”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
The two of them climbed into Jazz’s car and left.
I went back into the bakery, put the finishing touches on Linden’s cake, and then got ready for the party.
* * *
I slid the mascara wand through my lashes as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were naturally flushed, and my eyes sparkled.
What the hell was I doing?
I was going to a party with Slash. As in, we were taking the same car so I could hold the cake while he drove. We were going to arrive together.
We were defined by the boxes we put ourselves in.
Slash was the father of my child.
He’d bought me a car.
He’d held me while I cried.
He hadn’t asked me for anything.
He hadn’t pushed or inserted himself into my life…he’d just been there when I needed him.
My phone chimed. I looked down at the sink counter.
He was downstairs.
I closed the mascara and then quickly glided some gloss onto my lips. I grabbed my shoulder bag that rested on the bed, made sure I had my keys and cell, and then locked up.
My black ankle boots clunked as I went down the stairs. When I reached the back door, I paused and took a breath.
I opened the door. “Hey,” I greeted, hoping my voice didn’t sound breathless.
His eyes drank me in from the top of my styled dark hair to the floral print dress I’d decided to wear.
“Hey,” he said slowly.
