Page 28 of Tangled Desires

“Yeah, I bet. But look, I think you should message her.”

I blink at her. “Should I? She said she doesn’t need help.”

“Trust me, she’ll appreciate it. Deep down, anyway.”

“Right,” I mutter. “That makes me feel better.”

“Just message her!”

With a sigh, I pull out my phone. Keep it simple. No emojis. Definitely no hearts. Maybe just one? No, no hearts. This keyboard is slow as fuck. The text box mocks me, waiting. One quick message. That’s all.

Me:Hey. Just wanted to check in. How you going?

It’s... weird, but not bad. She texted me the other day—out of nowhere—to say Isla gave her my number. She could’ve just asked me directly. That would’ve been better. Personal. But no, she went through Isla. Not like I’m mad or anything, but it bugged me. It would’ve been nice to know she wanted my number enough to ask. I’m lucky she even reached out.

The door swings open, and Xav stomps in, lugging one of those flatpack boxes like he’s the star of some action flick. He drops it on the floor with a grunt so loud it’s a miracle Callie doesn’t freak out.

“Don’t mind me,” Xav huffs. “I’ll just carry all this crap by myself. You stay comfy, mate. It’s fine.”

I laugh, turning to Isla. “And he says I’m the dramatic one.”

Isla’s shaking her head with her hand on her hip. I push off the stool and head outside to grab the last of the boxes from Xav’s truck before he decides to lecture me about pulling my weight.

“Don’t hurt yourself, pretty boy,” Xav shouts behind me.

“Fuck off,” I shoot back, grinning as I heft a box onto my shoulder.

We lug the rest of the flatpacks upstairs, dumping them in the spare room before heading back down. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and as soon as I pull it out, her name flashes across the screen—Imogen. Her name does things. Can’t explain it. Just… does.

Imogen:I’m fine, Harrison.

Imogen:FYI, baby is the size of a raspberry, apparently. Seven weeks in, in case you forgot how to count.

Seven weeks. Makes sense. Her sass pulls a grin from me, wide and stupid.

Me:Oh, I can count. Just wondering how a raspberry’s living rent-free in there.

Imogen:Better a raspberry than you.

Cute. Real cute. She wasn’t complaining when we christened the seat of my car. That memory crashes in hard—the way she soaked the leather, the sounds she made, the absolute mess we left behind. Yeah. I’d relive that night in a heartbeat.

Me:Harsh. You’re gonna scare the baby, talking like that.

Imogen:Please. If this kid has half my attitude, you’re screwed.

She’s not wrong. Not even a little. I’m so far out of my depth, it’s almost funny.Almost.

“What’s got you grinning like that?” Isla’s voice snaps me back to reality again. Both she and Xav are watching me now, eyebrows raised, like I’m the entertainment.

“Uh… Imogen says the baby’s the size of a raspberry. Seven weeks.” My hand drifts to the back of my neck. “Wish I knew this stuff without having to ask her all the time, though.”

Xav smirks. “There’s an app for that, mate. Isla made me download it when she was pregnant with Callie. Tracks the whole thing.”

An app? Seriously? Of course, there’s an app. There’s an app for everything. Pulling up the App Store, I start scrolling.“Alright, let’s see.” The first preview loads, and holy shit—there’s thisgiant blinking baby head,all creepy smiles and oversized eyes. Straight-up nightmare fuel.

“What the fuck is this?” I hold my phone out for Xav. “Is this supposed to help or just haunt me forever?”

Xav leans in, grimaces, then shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not what it looks like. Isla, help him, please.”

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