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“Wow, I may not let you leave,” I say, gliding my arms around his waist, and I press my head against his back.

“That’s the point.” He grins, kissing me on the cheek as he glances over his shoulder. “I want you to rely on me and I want to cook for you and the baby.”

“What’s in it? It looks delicious.”

“Steamed potatoes on the bottom, whipped eggs with a little cream, garlic, onions, and roasted cherry tomatoes on top.”

He slices it like a quiche and places it on my plate. “You know those are Mamaw’s dishes. When she died, I wanted to have things to keep her memory alive, so I got the afghan she knitted when I was in middle school when she would be watching Corbin or me in the stands. And the dishes because she always made sure we were fed before or after practice. My mom learned from her, and I hope I gathered some tips and tricks from them both.”

“They’re beautiful. Heavy but beautiful.”

“Mamaw always said that.” I laugh. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to.”

He cuts off a piece, brings it to his lips, and blows on it to cool it off. “No, they don’t. You’re one of a kind.”

We sit at the island bar, and I open my mouth, allowing him to feed me. It’s not erotic, just sweet. The flavors meld together, and it melts in my mouth. I moan and every time I do, it seems to fuel his addiction… to me. “So good. Maybe you should open your own restaurant.”

He props his chin on his palm, his eyes sparkling from the compliment. “I might. It may be sooner than later. What time do you need to leave for work?”

“I’m going to call in sick so I can spend the day with you.” I hadn’t planned on it, but I have five sick days and two personal days left this year. Rules were made to be broken after all. A grin sneaks onto my lips as I take another bite.

His eyes open wide, and his expression is somewhere between shock and delight.

“Mamaw would be jumping for joy, seeing you let loose.” He chuckles. “I hope she can’t see the other ways you’re throwing caution to the wind.”

“Oh my God, I’m never having sex again, and you’re to blame.”

He kisses and nibbles on the sensitive skin under my ear. I can’t believe I’ve never had a boyfriend or husband fill me up with confidence and love.

“Fairly sure you won’t make it past noon.”

After we eat, I email Cecily, letting her know I’m home sick and to call only if it’s an emergency.

My condo is large, and my favorite part of the house is the balcony, especially now in early November. It’s perfect to take a glass of wine and relax on the cushy couch, so that’s where we sit and talk, minus the wine.

John’s phone buzzes with texts, and music plays each time his phone rings. He ignores most of it, although he does take a call from Reed’s dad, Mr. Cross. When he slips the phone back in his pocket, he sighs.

“I guess it’s time to tell you what happened.”

I nod, waiting for his explanation.

Intertwining our hands, he says, “At the first college I attended, I messed up. I was accused of sexual harassment. Instead of fighting the allegation, my father paid off the administration and the woman. The only caveat being that I could no longer play hockey at the college. Reed knows about it but honestly, I don’t think Corbin does. I told my dad that she was grabbing my crotch and wanted to defend myself, but he won out. But when I look back, I didn’t make a good decision. Maybe I did harass her. Where’s the line when you’re at a college party? She wasn’t saying no, even when I asked if she was sure. We didn’t have sex, but she…” He seems to think graphic details should be kept to himself. And they should.

“Dad doesn’t do anything without expecting repayment at some point, and last year was that time. He gambles more than he should and was on a losing streak, owing people money so he asked me to place a bet when we were in Vegas playing the Gamblers because he was banned. It was a a large bet on the Gamblers. Dad claimed ‘someone’ would break his legs or worse. He made me feel like I owed him.”

His head drops to my shoulder. John’s recollection of what happened settles between us. While he was talking, I searchedhis face for some glimmer of relief now that he’s told the truth to Mr. Cross and me, but all I see is exhaustion and guilt.

“John, your dad used your love for him against you. He leveraged your safety, your career, for his own twisted gain.” Anger flares inside me at how his dad guilted him into doing something that could ruin his career. I turn, grabbing his other hand too, attempting to tamp down the anger. “So, what’s the next step?”

“I have to wear a wire tomorrow night. Dad is coming to the game, and Mr. Cross is hoping he’ll admit to something or better yet, give the names of the people he owed. They brought in the FBI because they believe it’s a money laundering scheme and maybe racketeering, but I promise all I did was place the bet for my dad.

Without warning, my breakfast climbs up my throat, and I know I can’t make it to the bathroom, so I run to the kitchen sink. I gag repeatedly as John holds my hair back, wets a kitchen towel, and dabs my face.

Just as the color returns to my face, he says, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.” John’s words are soft, but it’s hard as it’s a reminder of those few days of needing him so much when I was scared and felt all alone.

Now that he’s come clean and trusted me with his secret, our bond won’t break. Not over having a baby. Not over a salacious headline. We will have our happy ending even if we go through a few bumps.

“It’s not like you ghosted me for a month. You’re here now, and that’s all I need.” I nudge his arm with my shoulder, my voice playful when I suggest, “We should tell my brother that we’re engaged and maybe leave out the part where you proposed while in our birthday suits.”