Page 12 of The Billionaire's Paradise

“Processing what?”

He hesitated. “You know.”

“Ah. Rashida told you.”

“Yes. She did. About the appointment.” He took a breath. “Tomorrow. How did she even know we were thinking about it?”

I shrugged innocently and mumbled “I don’t know” so incomprehensibly it came out as a single, slurred word.

“Ten a.m. at a place calledTrue Path Family Planning,” he continued. “It’s not a cult, is it? Do you think it’s a cult?”

“I don’t think so.”

“God, I really don’t want us giving our sperm to a cult,” he muttered absently. “That would really suck.” He opened the kitchen cupboard and searched the shelves. “Do we have any calming tea?”

“You’re drinking calming tea now?”

“Do we own calming tea?”

“No.”

“Can we order some?”

“I don’t think Uber Eats delivers emotional stability.”

He turned, braced both hands on the counter, and looked at me. “This is happening.”

“I know.”

“We’re really doing this.”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow morning.” He stared at me, and for a second I thought he might actually sit down on the floor.

I walked over and rested my hand on his chest. “You’re freaking out.”

“I’m freaking out,” he admitted.

“That makes me feel so much better.”

He smiled and pulled me into a hug. “I thought you’d be the wreck and I’d be the one calmly reminding you to breathe.”

“You are reminding me to breathe. But you’re doing it while chewing your lip and sweating through your shirt.”

“I am not sweating.”

I reached behind him and touched the back of his shirt. “You’re absolutely sweating.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I won’t be like this tomorrow, I promise. I’m just having a moment. I’ll be fine. You know I want this.”

“I know.”

He looked at me. “Do you?”

“Absolutely.”

Cal wrapped his arms around me again. We stood in the kitchen like that for a while, holding each other, hearts racing in weird harmony.