Page 123 of Rockstar Baby

I looked down at my overalls. “Are you making a crack?”

His almost smile vanished. “No.”

I shrugged. “It was almost a good joke.” I sighed. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?”

“You could put me to work.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Sure about that?”

He lifted his chin. “I want to help.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important to you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t talk sweet, L—Rory.”

His eyes flared to life, then shuttered. “I’m not. I swear it. I’m proud of all of this. Proud of you for what you’re doing.”

I didn’t want the flare of pleasure to hit me so hard, but it did. It was amazing, and I’d done it on my own after saving for years. A bit of help from friends and family—even Caleb had helped me scrub the insides after a freezer malfunction.

Everyone was behind me.

It was the only thing that had kept me sane after I’d found out I was pregnant. But now here was my other half of this baby-making craziness. I didn’t want to rely on him. Not again. Not anymore.

I had more than enough people in my life. “I don’t need your help.”

“Of course you don’t. Doesn’t mean I won’t be giving it. No matter what you want.”

I stalked toward the door. “This is my truck. What I say goes.”

He took a step closer, but didn’t come up the stairs yet. Our gazes met, and I glimpsed all the different shades of blue in his eyes. All the pieces of him that I’d just started memorizing before he left.

Again.

I had to remember that part.

He always left.

But at least he could help me paint in this blasted heat.

“Suit yourself.” I toed the paint can tucked under the small seat just inside the door. “Touch up all the royal blue paint inside the truck.”

He came up the stairs. I moved back immediately as he peered around the truck. “That’s a lot of blue.”

“Can’t handle it?”

“Got another one of those hats?”

I opened a cabinet under the customer window and took out the rainbow cap with my new logo on it. “Sure do.”

He paused ever so slightly, then took the hat and set it on his head backwards. “Where are the paintbrushes?”

I expected him to balk. Moreover, I figured he’d be a crap painter. I wasn’t sure he’d ever picked up a paintbrush in his life.

I was very wrong. He was meticulous and methodical. He even asked me if he could add a white pinstripe around the cupboards. He used my chalkboard paint on the inside of the door to keep track of supplies.

When he was done with that, he disappeared. I figured that would be the last of him. Nope. He came back with a light lunch that wouldn’t be too heavy in the heat and a large reusable cup full of lemonade.