Page 15 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

The rice is nearly done. I add a knob of butter, letting it melt into the creamy mixture before folding in the mushrooms and a handful of fresh herbs. The kitchen fills with the rich aroma of wine and stock and thyme.

"That smells amazing," Wren admits, leaning forward to look into the pan.

"Don't sound so shocked." I nudge her leg with my elbow and there it is again, that little spark where we touch. "I do occasionally know what I'm doing."

"Occasionally being the operative word." But there's no bite to it, just a little grin that’s all trouble.

I dish up two plates, adding a sprinkle of parmesan to each. Wren slides off the counter and moves to the dining table, where I've already set water glasses and napkins.

"This feels weird," she says as we sit across from each other. "Like we're playing house or something."

"It's just dinner, Pink." I know the nickname annoys her, but it slips out anyway. I can’t help it and honestly, I don’t want to. Say what you want about what we’re going through, but getting under her skin is still one of my favorite things. Maybe just in a different way now.

She narrows her eyes at me. "Call me that again and I'll put this risotto somewhere very uncomfortable for you."

I grin. "Noted."

She takes a bite, her eyes widening. "Holy shit, this is actually good."

"Your faith in me is overwhelming."

"Well, you've never given me reason to believe you could cook." She takes another bite. "What other hidden talents are you hiding behind that grumpy exterior?"

"If I told you, they wouldn't be hidden. And I’m not grumpy."

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the small smile she tries to hide behind her water glass. Something loosens in my chest. Maybe this won't be a complete disaster after all.

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and the soft music playing from the speaker on the kitchen counter—one of my playlists I put on without thinking.

"So," Wren says after a while, breaking the silence. "What are the house rules? Besides the ones I already laid out."

"House rules?" I shrug. "Don't burn the place down? Clean up after yourself? I'm not big on micromanaging."

"Says the man who just deep cleaned every surface in this house." Her gaze is knowing, a little smug.

"That's different," I mutter, focusing on my plate. "I wanted to make sure you didn't have another reason to complain about living here. I’m easy to live with."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"What about you? Any roommate habits I should know about? Sleepwalking? Snoring? Secret passion for blasting death metal?"

She laughs, the sound surprising both of us. "No death metal. I do tend to work late, though. And I'm not exactly a morning person."

"Noted. I'll try to keep the power tools to a minimum before noon."

"Power tools?"

I gesture toward the back of the house. "I have a workshop in the basement. I build furniture sometimes. When I need to think or work through things."

Her expression turns thoughtful. "Huh. I had no idea you had more to your personality than making beer. You remind me of that guy Teddy from Brooklyn Nine-Nine who’s obsessed with Pilsners and so boring.”

I glare at her, gritting my teeth. "I think we both know how not boring I can be, but if you need a reminder of all the other things I’m good at, I’d be happy to provide one.”

She just grins and takes another bite of her dinner.

“Not everything's about the brewery,” I feel the need to add for some reason. Why do I care that she sees there’s more to me?

"Could've fooled me." She sets down her fork, her expression shifting to something more guarded. "Speaking of which, we should probably talk about how this is going to work. Professionally, I mean."

And just like that, the easy atmosphere fractures. "I thought we agreed to keep business and... this... separate."

"We did. But we're bound to run into each other. People already saw us together in Vegas. They'll talk if we're suddenly living at the same address."

I doubt anyone will even care what we do, and she’s so hung up on that shit. "How would they even know? And if they did, who cares?"

She scoffs.

“What? It's nobody's business but ours what we do."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one people will assume slept her way into—" She cuts herself off, flushing.

"Into what?" I ask as something hot and uncomfortable twists into knots in my gut. "What exactly do you think people will assume, Wren?"

"You know how this industry works. A woman sleeps with someone, she must be trying to gain some advantage. Meanwhile, the guy gets high-fives and attaboys."

"That's bullshit." My voice comes out harder than I mean for it to. "Anyone who knows you knows you've built Cascade on skill and hard work. No one's going to think?—"

"Of course they will!" She pushes away from the table, irritated now. She can join the fucking club. "Do you have any idea how hard I've had to work to be taken seriously? How many times I've been patted on the head and told to leave the real decisions to the men?"

Something in her expression sets my blood on fire and not in the good way. "I never did that to you."

"No." She deflates slightly. "You didn't. You've been a pain in my ass for other reasons."

"I've always respected you professionally," I say as I try to let my anger go and relax. "Even when I wanted to strangle you after what you did with the airport."

A small smile flickers across her face. "That was a good day. Your face when you found out..."

"Don't push it."

She runs a hand through her pink hair. "Sorry. Old habits."

"Look, I get it. The industry's not always fair to women. But anyone who matters knows what you've built with Cascade. They're not going to think less of you because of..." I hesitate, not sure how to categorize what's happening between us.

"Because I got drunk-married and knocked up by some random asshole?"

“Hey.” I scowl at her, but put like that, it does sound pretty bad. "We'll figure it out. Keep it private as long as possible. And when people do find out, we’ll handle it."

" We’ll handle it," she repeats, eyebrows raised. "That's a big shift from our usual dynamic."

"Yeah, well, things change." I gesture toward her stomach. "We've got more important things to think about now."

She goes quiet, her expression thoughtful. "You're really all in on this, aren't you? The baby, I mean."

"Of course I am." I meet her eyes, letting her see exactly how sure I am. I don’t think she’s ready to see that I don’t just mean the baby. "I don't half-ass important things, Wren."

Something flickers in her gray eyes, like she’s surprised I told the truth. Or maybe it’s that I’m not being a complete dick. "Good to know."

The moment stretches between us, charged with things neither of us is ready to deal with. I'm the first to look away, clearing my throat. "Ice cream? I got a few options. Not sure what you're into."

She perks up. "You have ice cream? What kind?"

"Mint chip, cookie dough, and vanilla." I shrug like it's no big deal that I stocked my freezer for her. "Figured pregnancy cravings might hit, and I wanted to be prepared."

"Mint chip sounds amazing right now." Her eyes light up in a way I've never seen. I’ve made this woman come. Repeatedly. And that had nothing on this. Shit, she might give me a complex. "How’d you know?"

"Lucky guess." I try to play it cool, but the smile spreading across her face is lighting me up inside.

"Well, your lucky guess just earned you major points, Beanie Boy."

Later, after ice cream and a surprisingly easy conversation about everything except business and babies, Wren's energy crashes abruptly. One minute she's animated, telling me about a disastrous brewery tour she took in Belgium; the next, she's struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Hey." I nudge her foot with mine where we're sitting on opposite ends of the couch. "You should get some sleep. You look ready to pass out."

"Mmm?" She blinks slowly, like she's coming back from somewhere far away. "Sorry. It’s a pregnancy thing. The sleepiness hits like a truck sometimes."

"No apologies needed." I stand, offering her a hand up. "Come on. Let me show you how to work the shower. The hot water knob's a little tricky."

She takes my hand, letting me pull her to her feet. Just like every other time, the feel of her smaller hand in mine sends an electric current up my arm. For a second, we're standing too close, her face tilted up to mine, her gray eyes dark in the dim living room lighting.

All I’d have to do is tilt my chin down a little more, and we’d be?—

I drop her hand like I've been burned. "Right. Shower."

In the bathroom, I show her the counterintuitive way the shower knobs work—cold is actually on the right, despite the label—while Wren watches, arms crossed over her chest. She looks small and tired in her oversized sweater, vulnerable in a way she never lets herself be at work.

She also looks soft and sleepy, and I want to take her to bed and not to fuck.

What the hell is that ?

"Got it?" I ask, shutting off the water.

She nods. "Think so. Left for hot, right for cold, middle lever for pressure."

"Exactly. Towels are in that cabinet. I put some of those... I don't know, bath bomb things? In there, too. Reed suggested them. Said they might help with relaxation."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "You bought me bath bombs?"

"Reed said?—"

"I heard what you said." A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "That was thoughtful. Thank you."

The sincerity in her voice makes my chest squeeze and I tuck my hands into my pockets, immediately finding the wedding ring in my left one. "It’s not a big deal."

I step back, giving her space. "I'm usually up around six, but I'll try to be quiet. Sleep as long as you need."

She nods, suddenly looking uncertain. "This is weird, right?"

"Definitely weird," I agree. "But maybe not terrible?"

"Maybe not."

"Good night, Pink."

"Night, Beanie Boy."

Back in my room, I lie awake for hours, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of another person moving through my house—the shower running, the soft pad of bare feet down the hallway, the quiet click of her bedroom door closing.

The knowledge that she's sleeping just down the hall, in sheets I chose, in a room I prepared, does something to me I'm not ready to face.

Fuck.

Banks is right. I like her. Not just because she's carrying my child, though that connection between us is undeniable. I like her sharpness, her ambition, and the way she never backs down. I like the softer side I'm just beginning to glimpse beneath her professional armor.

I'm so fucked.

Rolling onto my side, I stare at the wall that separates my room from hers. I promised her boundaries. Promised I wouldn't touch her.

But lying here in the dark, with her scent lingering in my house and the memory of her smile fresh in my mind, I know those promises are going to be hard as fuck to keep.

For now, though, I'll try. Because it’s what she wants.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to come. Tomorrow is day two of our bizarre living arrangement. Tomorrow, I'll figure out how to be just Wren's roommate, just the father of her child, nothing more.

Yeah, right.

Even in my own head, I don't sound convinced.