Page 13 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

Three days later, I've looked at fifteen apartments, filled out eight applications, and been wait-listed for every single one. The few available places were either absurdly expensive or looked like they'd been the site of at least one crime scene documentary.

I'm sitting in my office at Cascade, surrounded by listings and rental applications, when Kieran walks in with coffee and an expression that tells me he has news I won't like.

"That place on Hawthorne?" he says, placing the coffee on my desk. "Just got rented to a tech bro from Seattle who offered six months' rent in advance."

I drop my head to my desk with a thud. "Of course it did."

"How are you holding up?" Kieran perches on the edge of my desk, concern clear in his voice.

"I'm fantastic," I mumble into the stack of papers.

"You know my apartment?—"

"Is too small, and you know it." I lift my head. "I love you, but we’re not sharing a bed.” My nose wrinkles, and he smirks at me. “But thank you."

“Fair enough. If I told you about my hookup last night, you’d want to even less.”

I shudder. “Lucky girl.”

“I like to think so.”

“That was sarcasm.”

He shrugs, but then turns serious. "Have you considered other options?"

"Like what? Living in my car? Squatting in the warehouse?"

"Like Kasen's offer."

I sit up straight, staring at him. "How do you know about that?"

Kieran gives me a look that says I should know better.

"You've been puking in the office bathroom for weeks.

You burst into tears when the coffee machine was out of caramel syrup yesterday.

And you fell asleep during the Orson call and I had to cover for you.

" He ticks off each point on his fingers.

"That doesn't explain how you know about Kasen's offer.”

"You left your phone on the conference table when you ran to the bathroom." He at least has the decency to look slightly guilty. "A text from 'Beanie Boy' asking if you'd made a decision about his offer to move into his spare room popped up.”

I drop my head into my hands. "God, you’re annoying."

He ignores me. "You need to do it. Take it from someone who’d rather lose all my hair than knock a girl up, if he’s stepping up, you should let him.”

And that’s how I know he means what he says. Kieran’s a vain asshole when it comes to his hair.

"I don’t need him to take care of me," I say, sounding defensive even to my own ears.

"No one said you do, but what about the baby?"

My head snaps up. He might’ve implied he knew, but he’s never outright said it and I’ve never confirmed, so hearing him say the baby is weird.

I cover my face with my hands and groan. "This is a disaster."

"Is it?" Kieran's voice turns surprisingly gentle. "Look, I'm not saying marry the guy?—"

I choke out a laugh because yeah, I did that already.

"—but consider the offer. Set ground rules. Whatever you need to do, but if you don’t text him and accept, I’m going to do it for you. You’re too pretty to live on the street."

I scoff because he’s being an insensitive asshole, but that’s kind of part of his charm.

I stare out the window at the warehouse floor below, watching my team moving kegs and loading cases onto vans for delivery.

Everything is in its place, neatly organized, exactly as I designed it.

My life used to be like that, too. Now it's a chaotic jumble of pregnancy hormones and complicated feelings for the man who used to be just someone I hated.

"The best I can do right now is think about it," I say finally. All I’ve been doing is thinking about it. “And don’t you dare text him or I’ll shave your head myself.”

The text comes that evening as I'm attempting to pack my apartment. So far, I managed to fill exactly a box and a half before collapsing on the couch, exhausted beyond anything that’s normal. I barely have the energy to pick up my phone.

Kasen: Have you decided?

Straight to the point. I can appreciate that.

Me: Not yet.

Kasen: What's holding you back?

I stare at the screen, trying to articulate the tangle of reservations in my head.

Me: So many things.

Me: My independence.

Me: The fact that we've spent years trying to destroy each other.

Kasen: Slight exaggeration, but fair.

Me: What would people think?

Kasen: Since when do you care what people think?

He's right, and it irritates me. I've never given a damn about others' opinions.

Kasen: Let me be clear. This is about giving our kid the best start and getting to know each other. Not about me trying to control you or your business. We can set whatever ground rules you want.

The sincerity in his text catches me off guard. Two months ago, I would have dismissed anything Kasen said as manipulation or trying to fuck me over. Now, I'm not so sure.

Before I can overthink it, I text back,

Me: Fine. But I have conditions.

Kasen: Name them.

I think about everything that could possibly go wrong, and just let my fingers fly across the screen without stopping to think about how wrong some of them feel. I’m not going there.

Me: This is only until I find something else.

Me: We keep separate spaces.

Me: No business talk at home.

Me: We're roommates, not husband and wife. No touching.

I hesitate, then add,

Me: I pay my way. Rent, utilities, groceries—we split everything.

Me: I don’t need you to take care of me.

Kasen's reply is immediate:

Kasen: Is that all, Pink?

Kasen: Easy.

Kasen: You’ve got yourself a deal.

Kasen: When do you want to move in?

I look around at my half-packed (okay, barely packed) apartment, at the life I've built that's now in boxes. Maybe this isn't giving up control. Maybe it's just adapting to circumstances.

Me: This weekend?

Kasen: That works.

Kasen: And Wren?

Me: Yeah?

Kasen: This might not be as terrible as you think.

I can almost hear the dry humor in his text, can almost see that little half-smile he gets when he's being unexpectedly charming.

And that's the problem, isn't it? I'm starting to know his expressions, his tones, his moods.

I'm starting to see Kasen James as a person, not just an asshole who makes me want to punch him.

Me: Right.

I set my phone down and lean back against the couch, one hand resting on my still-flat stomach. In the span of eight weeks, I've gone from single to pregnant, accidentally married, and about to move in with a guy I can’t stand.

Couldn’t stand?

Whatever.

This is not the life I planned. Not even close.

But as I look at the ultrasound picture on my coffee table—our tiny bean with its fluttering heart—I can't bring myself to regret any of it.

Well, maybe the part where I agreed to move in with Kasen. I might live to regret that.

Or not.

Guess we’ll find out.