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Pete
“Ohplease,” Moira quipped from the other side of the table. “You three act like we just walked up and decided we were going to marry you one day.”
“Don’t include me in this.” I chuckled with my hands crossed over my chest. I leaned back in my chair, my legs splayed. My knee brushed against Sierra’s thigh as she picked at the dessert Keely had laid out on the table over an hour ago.
“You think these ladies ever planned to settle down with old men like us?” George argued, chuckling as he roped his arm over the back of Keely’s chair.
Grant raised his brow, looking from face to face. “Just seems to me that three out of three is… less than a coincidence. Well, two out of three. I know Moira only married me for my money.” He gave his wife a teasing look as she playfully glowered at him over her wine glass.
“There’s only an eight-year difference between you two,” I said, pointing at Grant. “And George and Keely only have a seven-year difference. That’s not an age gap, or whatever you girls are calling it.”
“According to our book club,” Keely cut in, “itisan age gap.”
“Your smut book club?” Grant chuckled, and Moira punched him playfully on the upper arm.
“You and Sierra have the biggest gap of all,” Grant teased, glancing between me and Sierra. “What is it, eleven years?”
“God damn cradle robber, Pete.” George grinned.
Sierra, to her credit, was thoroughly enjoying watching me get ribbed by my friends. I’d been the target the entire dinner, likely because they knew I wasn’t going to snap and show Sierra who I really was, the guy I was trying to keep hidden from her.
I stretched, my arm resting over the back of Sierra’s chair. Something about this evening had made a funny feeling spark in my chest. I didn’t think I’d ever let myself enjoy spending time with George, Grant, and their families like this. But with Sierra here I felt like I suddenly belonged.
And that was new.
I absently rubbed that tight spot over my sternum where that flicker of warmth had gathered.
It was getting harder to deny my feelings toward Sierra, especially now that my friends and family were welcoming her with open arms.
It was getting late; the sun having set at least an hour ago, and Grant and Moira’s kids were asleep upstairs. I glanced over atSierra, who was in an animated conversation with Keely and George. I caught Grant’s eye and he tilted his head toward the kitchen. It was a summons, and even though Grant was the youngest out of the three of us men, he somehow wore the pants in this group.
I reluctantly removed my arm from the back of Moira’s chair and gathered a few empty plates before following him into the kitchen. I set the dishes on the counter and turned to face him. “What, Grant?”
“How’re you holding up?”
I leaned my weight on the counter and crossed my arms over my chest, thankful for the voices lifted in chatter in the dining room to drown out our conversation.
“Just fine,” I replied.
Grant leaned on the counter on the other side of the kitchen, mimicking my stance. “I was a mess when Moira found out she was pregnant. Terrified.”
“I’m sorry about that—”
“All I’m saying is that you have our support. Both of you. All three of you will, when that baby comes.”
“I don’t know if it’s mine—”
“Does that matter?”
There was that question, the one that nagged me as the days ticked by. Did it matter if Sierra’s child was mine?
It didn’t. Even though we were in an incredibly weird place in our relationship—if I could even call it that—I didn’t want her toleave, and she would want to leave eventually. She’d either move on or go back to the life she was trying to escape.
“I don’t have much to offer her,” I admitted, biting down my lips once the words fell from my tongue. “I live in an apartment. I never set myself up to support a family—”
“None of that actually matters, Pete.”
“Easy for you to say,” I argued. “You have a life up here—space, land, extra bedrooms. I have money, sure, but that’s it. I own a bar. I work all day and all night. I never, ever, planned on settling down.”
