Page 5 of One Week With My Dad's Best Friend

But I can’t. Not like this.

I swallow hard. “You are welcome in my home. You deserve to have someone look after you, and that is what I’m going to do.”

Her breath catches, a small sound that nearly breaks my resolve. I force myself to release her arms, step back, putting space between us before I do something we’ll both regret.

But the way she looks at me—like I’ve given her the world with those simple words—makes me wonder if either of us would regret it at all.

I turn back to the stove, stirring the pasta. “How’s your studying going?”

“Good, I’m on track. Though I want what Jade has too.”

“Oh?” The wooden spoon circles the pot.

“I want a baby.”

The spoon slips from my grip, clattering against the pot. Heat floods my body at her words, at the image they conjure. “What about law school?”

“That’s Dad’s dream, but I can have both.” Her wine glass clicks against the counter. “And I’m scared I’ll find it hard to conceive.”

“You’re only nineteen. You’ve got plenty of time to worry about that.”

“I overheard Mom talking to Jade a couple of years ago. Telling her she needed to get moving with a baby because of her struggles...”

I nod, trying to keep my hands steady as I fish out the spoon.

“Mom... she struggled to have us. Multiple miscarriages before Jade until they were successful conceiving her via IVF. Then I was their surprise baby, four years later, after giving up on more children when IVF treatment never worked again. She pushed Jade to start early, worried the same issues might run in the family.”

My throat tightens. “And you’re worried?”

“Terrified.” Her voice cracks. “What if I wait too long? What if I can’t... And why hasn’t my mother had the same conversation with me? Don’t I matter?”

I abandon the stove, turning to face her. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and my chest aches.

“Do you want them?”

She nods. “Do you?”

“Of course I do.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

“Then why did you never have any?” she asks.

I smile. “I’m still young enough.”

As the pasta bubbles behind me, forgotten, her question stirs up the dreams I’d pushed aside, waiting for the right person.

Her eyes lock with mine. “You’d have gorgeous kids.” There’s no mistaking the heat in her gaze. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

I swallow, and turn away as my pulse thunders in my ears. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.” I busy myself with plating, but my hands shake.

As we sit at the kitchen island, her fork twirls pasta with deliberate slowness. But it’s when a small sound of pleasureeludes her throat as she takes her first bite that I think her mother is right—I need her to stay with her friends as much as possible.

This is torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.

“This is amazing.” She leans closer, and her scent overwhelms me. “You’re full of surprises. I never thought you’d cook from scratch.”

“Thanks,” I grunt in response, forcing myself to focus on my plate as she makes more murmurs and I wonder what other noises she’ll make.

God, I’m screwed.

---