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I sigh.

“The fact is, that baby comes in eight months,” she says. “So hear me out on this, okay? Your place is falling apart. And Lorraine’s not getting any worse these days, thank god, but she’snot really getting any better, either. So, the sooner you can get settled and comfortable before the baby comes, the better. And whatever he offers you in the way of support, just know that you deserve it.”

I take that in, my chest flooding with affection. I blink back tears. I’ve been extra emotional lately. “Why can’t I just have a baby with you?”

“Oh, no. Don’t get it twisted. This is just cool aunt energy.”

“I totally thought you were going in a different direction with all this.”

“What direction?”

“The one where you tell me he’s not good enough for me, because he didn’t immediately get down on one knee and put a ring on it.”

“That is true. But Quinn, you’re pregnant. All that matters right now is you and that baby, and that baby’s grandma. If he doesn’t want to join the most beautiful family ever, it’s his loss.”

My eyes sting, listening to her speak. But I’m pretty sure I hear Harlan coming.

“I should really go, Dani. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, babe. We’ll come over around noon with those samosas.”

“And Dani? I love you, you know.”

“You stop it,” she says, and hangs up, just as Harlan steps into the room.

He looks sharp as hell in his black suit. It’s pretty much the same as he always looks, but I don’t know… maybe it’s just my squishy, pregnant heart and all the hormones that are making me think he looks better every time I see him.

“You look nice,” I tell him.

“You, too. Too nice for someone who’s been slaving in a kitchen all day.” As he moves toward me, his gaze skims down my dress again. My hair is partially up, too. I even curled it a bit.

I want to look nice for his family. Especially Savannah.

I really want her to like me.

“Thank you. I’m almost ready. What time do we need to leave?”

He stops a few feet away from me, glancing at the cake. I haven’t writtenHappy Birthdayon it yet. I’m not sure if I’m going to.

“For what?” he says.

“For your birthday dinner.”

He stares at me. And I know exactly what he’s going to say.

I feel it sinking through me like an anchor.

“I… was planning to go alone.”

“Oh.” I blink at the cake, suddenly struggling to pipe on the pattern of yellow buttercream pearls up the side.

“Quinn.”

I blink at him. “I just assumed…”

“Assumed what?”

“I thought when you told me about the dinner, that we were going.”