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I chuckled. “I'm too old to run.”
Her gaze roamed hungrily up my body, contradicting my statement. But she didn't comment. “And I'll be too big to run in a few months.”
She rubbed her belly.
A couple of seconds passed.
“So, we're telling him.”
I leaned forward and held my left hand out. She placed her right one in mine. “Are you okay with that?”
She squeezed my hand and nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.”
“When?”
“He invited me over for dinner on Sunday.”
“This Sunday?” Her chest started to rise and fall under her pale pink blouse.
I nodded and firmed my hold on her hand. “The sooner the better, don't you think?”
She swallowed. “I guess.”
“If we don't do this, we'll never stop looking over our shoulders.”
“I'm not ready.”
“Well, there are four days to get ready.”
Ava eyed me. “You’re way too calm.”
I smiled. “I'm not.”
She smiled back.
“What if we put that on a back burner for now? We're miles away from Hannibal and it's a lovely evening. No need to worry ourselves sick tonight.”
She smiled and extracted her hand, resuming her eating. “Okay.” Her eyes went to my plate. “Let's play a game. First to finish eating wins.”
I chuckled. “And what's the prize?”
“The winner gets the other person's leftovers.”
“Wait, you said you'd feel queasy if you ate too much.”
“I'm having a good day.” She tapped her stomach. “Are you scared? Trying to wiggle your way out?”
I raised a brow.
She was already halfway done. But I was also very competitive.
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay, ready?”
I nodded.
