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She slides her hand to my cheek, lifting my face so our gazes meet. “Yeah. I think we can. Together, right?” A question dances in her eyes along with her words, but God. Yes.

“I want us together.” It’s not even about the baby. But I put the force of my conviction into my statement, into my expression, so she can see everything, every way I feel about her, to leave no doubt.

She drags her teeth across her bottom lip and her fingertips skim across my cheek, down to my jaw. Her touch is feather light and heavy all at once. “Me too.”

Thank fuck.

I have to get to work, and as much as I don’t want to bring up another argument, it still needs to be said.

“After dinner tonight, I want you to call me. Immediately.”

Her expression dips, like she’s forgotten about it. “I’m serious, Cara, I won’t be there to hear the shit they pull, but I want to be there for you after. Promise me.”

“Of course. Nothing bad will happen. They’ll either accept this, or they’ll insult me and I leave. I promise.”

There’s nothing but honesty and determination in her eyes. I bend down and brush my lips against hers, grabbing her hips, and help her off the counter, not letting go until I’ve gotten my fill of her and she’s steady on her feet.

I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to throw her to the wolves without someone at her back.

But she needs this.

And I really am late for work.

“I gotta go,” I groan, pulling back from her.

“I know. I’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll see you back at home when I’m done, okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, unable to stop smiling like a goof. I don’t think she realizes she called my place home. “I’ll see you back at home.”

I kiss her again and leave, tossing her a grin over my shoulder when she stands in the doorway, shoulder propped up against the doorframe while I wait for the elevator. Her hair is still messy from sleep and sex, the T-shirt plenty long enough to cover all the important parts of her.

And I want this. Her. Standing right where she is, every morning, waving me off to work.

Damn. When did I become so traditional?

—

“What is your problem?” Stella snaps, slapping down a stack of folders. “You’re being a dick.”

“I’m not a dick.” I’m not, I’m on edge, knowing any moment Cara is going to get into the Uber I called for her to take her to her parents’ house.

Her night from hell without me is about to begin. I hope I’m being overdramatic, that everything will be fine, but I doubt it. There’s no way her parents are going to accept me being the father of Cara’s baby, or her baby.

They give too many fucks about perfection.

“You’ve been an ass all day and Tim doesn’t look that thrilled with you.”

“My work ethic is fine.” Tim and I are taking a ten-minute smoke and bathroom break. I needed the time to stretch my hands as much as he did his muscles. We’ve got at least another hour to go before we reach a stopping point. Hopefully by then, Cara will be on her way to me. “And Tim is fine too. Just leave it, Stella.”

“Talk to me.”

She crosses her arms, taps her Doc Marten boot on the tiled floor, and glares at me.

“God, you’re a pain in the ass.” I toss a pen across my desk and sit back in my chair. “Cara’s having dinner with her parents and I’m concerned it won’t go well, that’s all.”

“Why won’t it go well? Too afraid Cinderella is going to discover she belongs in a castle and not a parlor?”

“The hell? What’s your problem?” Stella’s rough around the edges. Her life was just as tough as mine, but she’s never been an outright bitch like this. Not to me.