Page 37 of Coming Up Roses

“Yeah, darlin', it sure is.”

Missing the feel of her, I press a hand to the small of her back and guide her inside. We both stop to take it all in—marbled bamboo flooring, sage green walls, and wrought iron chandeliers.

Yeah, this is a place I’d love to do some work for. Maybe I’ll try to snag a meeting with the owner.

The hostess leads us to a small two-seater in the back, which I requested when I called to make our reservation. Just like the other day at Dream Beans, I pull out her chair for her before taking the seat across from her. My hand feels empty and cool, instantly missing the heat from her body.

The hostess rattles off the specials and leaves us to look over our menus. I’m leaning toward the filet mignon served over broccolini, topped with truffle butter and a poached egg, when Myla Rose announces she wants the same thing. Girl’s got good taste.

“I plan on having the filet as well. Must be fate.” I waggle my brows at her, and she giggles at my joke, and goddamn, I’m intoxicated by the sound.

We place our orders and munch on some of the housemade rosemary bread while we wait. During this time, she asks me about the work I’m doing for Dream Beans, and I ask her about the salon. I’m impressed as hell that she owns a business at only twenty, and I tell her so. Her eyes shine with pride at my compliment, which only serves to make me want to compliment her more.

It's moments like these that really hit home for me what a rarity she is. Most women expect to be doted on, but Myla Rose takes nothing for granted—she's appreciative of even the smallest of things.

Our server places our meals before us and we waste no time digging in. The food is phenomenal. Even better? The little noises of delight she makes while eating it.

"So." I clear my throat before asking her, "How far along are you?"

I know most men would be put off by the fact that she's pregnant—and I'm not gonna lie, it threw me for a loop at first—but at the end of the day, the way she's making the best of being a young, single mom and her steadfast dedication to doing what's right for her baby only add to her appeal.

"Seventeen weeks, so almost halfway." She sounds less sure of herself now, like she isn't used to talking about her pregnancy—but with friends like Azalea, Simon, and Drake, I know that isn't the case. They may be more excited about the baby than she is.

"Have you always wanted kids?" I regret the words the second I speak them, and the pained look on her face only firms up my regret.

"Don't you go thinkin' I'm not excited for this baby because of what I'm about to say. Because I'm over the damn moon excited." Her expression is fierce.

"I'd never, darlin'."

"Things just aren’t going as I always imagined they would, you know? Back in my skinned knees and pigtail days, I wanted the fairytale. I wanted to wear white and say, ‘I do’ with my very own Prince Charming. We were going to have it all . . . a picket fence and a porch swing. We were going to sip sweet tea and watch the sun set while our little ones played in the yard. In fairness, I’ll still have most of that. My Prince Charming will just happen to call me 'Mama’.”

"So, it's a boy?" The thought of a boy growing in her belly makes my heart beat a little faster. I'm instantly hit with visions of teaching him how to ride a bike and how to shave. The fuck?

"Yeah, a boy." Her eyes go all soft and dreamy—her love for this baby is palpable. I can feel it clear across the table.

"Got any names picked out?"

"Honestly? No. I didn't want to get too attached to a certain name and then meet my baby and have it not fit.” She snorts out a laugh. “Wow, I sound a little crazy, huh?"

"Not at all, Myla Rose. Not one bit."

Our server comes back with the dessert menu, and we decide to share a slice of strawberry cheesecake.

I cut into the desert with my spoon, but before I can eat it, Myla Rose plucks a whole berry from the slice. I stare, transfixed, as she wraps her lips around it, a little juice dribbling down her chin.

“Mmmm,” she moans, causing the spoon to drop from my hand and clatter to the table. The noises this girl makes are seriously lethal, and I don’t even think she knows it.

I'm so enraptured with that little trickle of juice that it's literally like a bucket of ice water when she asks me, "So, what exactly was your deal the other day?"

I drop my head to my hands. I should have seen this coming a mile away. I was an idiot, thinking I could just sweep my behavior under the rug with no explanation.

"Ugh. This is harder than I thought." Massaging my temples, I try to relieve some of the tension that's accumulating. This is the first time I've really talked to anyone other than Jake about it. "My ex, Kayla, cheated on me. For almost half of our relationship. You're the first . . . anything since her."

Her eyes are wide with shock, and there may even be a little sympathy in there too.

"Cash, I am so, so sorry. I thought it was because of my being pregnant. But I think that'd make just about anyone gun shy."

"I hate that you thought it was you. You're so far from a problem, darlin'—baby and all."

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