Page 55 of Full Out Fiend

Fielding: I’m not trying to crash your sleepover. I just wanted to drop something off for you.

I glance up to find Serena completely engrossed in the episode ofGilmore Girlswe’re watching.

“Um, so Fielding just asked if he could stop by,” I offer, snapping her out of her Jess-obsessed reverie.

“Here?” she demands. “Like, now?”

I wince. I don’t think he has any intention of staying, but if she doesn’t want him here…

“He says he has something to drop off. But if you don’t want him to stop by—”

“Daphne,” she deadpans. “I know you haven’t been in a new relationship for more than a decade, but if your gorgeous baby daddy wants to bring you something, the answer is yes. The answer isalwaysyes.”

I give her a pointed look and mutter under my breath about how we arenotin a relationship. But I can’t fight the smile when I reply to him with Serena’s address.

Two episodes later, the intercom buzzes.

Serena squeals and rushes to the door. I follow behind, just as excited but not willing to show all my cards or get my hopes up.

My standoffishness is in vain. As soon as Serena buzzes him in, we’re greeted by a grinning, gorgeous Fielding hauling multiple bags in each hand.

“Sleepover provisions,” he declares with a wag of his eyebrows. “May I come in?”

He ducks his head and makes his way into Serena’s studio apartment, smiling kindly at her before moving on to me.

“Hi, angel,” he greets, bending to kiss me on the cheek. “I hope this is okay. I know you had a long week at work, so I wanted to surprise you.”

“Let me guess. You brought pickles and ice cream?”

Fielding’s gone all in with the baby books and mommy blogs. Not an hour goes by that he isn’t sending me an article to read or a morning sickness remedy to try. It’s not a stretch to think he’d bring something related to pregnancy cravings. Trouble is, I haven’t had many of those.

“Something like that.” He smirks as he takes me in from head to toe, amping up that electric connection that’s always raring to go between us. I admittedly feel anything but sexy right now with my sweats rolled low and my end-of-the-day messy bun securely in place, but when this man looks at me…sheesh.

“Wait until you see this spread.” He sets the brown paper bags on the counter and whips out an actual cloth tablecloth. He drapes it along the two-person kitchen table before setting a few candles in the middle.

Serena snaps her head in my direction, but I refuse to meet her gaze. If I do, I’ll laugh. Not at Fielding, per se. Just at the absurdity of the situation.

“I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for,” Fielding offers in my direction, “so I brought a little of everything.”

He pulls things out of bags, one after another, and lines them up on the table. “Green juice. Kale chips. Protein bars…”

Serena catches my eye with an apprehensive grimace. Annoyance and something akin to concern passes over her expression. We’ve both been subjected to this game before: being offered health foods and green juice by my pushy mother—this move is a little too familiar.

But I don’t think that’s his intention here. He probably just wants what’s best for the baby. Hopefully Serena can see Fielding’s delivery for what it is: a thoughtful gesture, even if it does scratch at old wounds.

I step forward and place one hand on her elbow just as she defensively crosses her arms over her chest. Before she can say anything or I can intervene, Fielding continues.

“Oreos. Chinese food. M&Ms. Gummy bearsandgummy worms, since I didn’t know your preference. Fresh bagels for the morning. And, of course, the traditional pickles and ice cream.”

He arranges the last of the items proudly before turning back to us, beaming.

A moment of silence passes—then Serena giggles, I burst into a grin, and Fielding glances between us like a little kid waiting for approval.

“Worms,” Serena declares. “The answer is always worms.” She practically skips over to the table to dig into the spread.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I insist, stepping in front of Fielding. I reach out tentatively, prepared to give him a one-armed hug. Unsurprisingly, he pulls me in and holds me close, enveloping me in both arms and running one big hand up and down my spine.

“I wanted to,” he muses, his words whispered softly just for me. “I want to do everything I can to support you and make you feel good.”