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“Agreed.” A semi-spoiled little monster will be just fine. “Now, about living arrangements-”
“I’m not moving in with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.” Her infuriating shrug disagrees. “C’mon, there’s no room in that apartment for a baby.” I only got a glimpse of it but if the bedrooms are as small as the living space, I’m right.
The defensive set of Sunday’s shoulders confirms it. “We’ll make room.”
Where? Beneath the floorboards?“What if I help you get your own place?”
I know I’ve hit a sore spot the second the words leave my mouth and she twists so I bear the full force of her scowl. “Is this gonna be your parenting style? Throw money at all your problems? Because I want a co-parent, not a sugar daddy.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“That’s what it feels like.”
“Okay.” I swallow the bone-deep urge to argue because that’s not how this is gonna work. I repeat, “That’s not what I’m doing. I just want you to be comfortable.”
“Living with you would make me uncomfortable.”
“Living with me?” I quirk a brow. “Or relying on me?”
Stormy eyes narrow to slits. “Two months ago you were accusing me of selling stories about your life, Cass. You can’t honestly suddenly be completely okay with me—and my child—moving into your house.”
I am. I really, really am. But I don’t know how to explain it—I don’t know if I want to explain it—so, for now, I let it go. Move onto the next problem; a much more prominent one. “I don’t think we should tell anyone. Your family or mine.”
Thick brows furrow. “You’re okay with that?”
Not particularly. But, “I think the more people who know, the more likely it is that someone we don’t want to find out will find out.”
“Will they believe it?”
Gut instinct? “They’ll believe it.”
To my surprise, only a handful of seconds pass before Sunday nods slowly. “I don’t wanna tell August either. Mostly because I have no idea how to explain it to an eleven-year-old. And if he’s not okay with us…” she clears her throat, “dating, then we don’t do it. He comes first.”
Is she… saying yes? I’m almost afraid to ask. “And if he is okay it?”
Sunday sucks in a breath, gaze dropping to her hands. “I think it makes sense. We have to get to know each other anyway, right? That’s what we’ll be doing. Just with an audience.”
“Right.”
“And it’s not forever.”
My stomach turns—I ignore it. “Right.”
“It’s for the best.”
Now that, I agree with.
19
CASS
There’sa cat sleeping on my lap.
