Page 95 of Tangled Desires

“Oh, stop it.” I pop the heart into his mouth mid-sentence. “You’re such an idiot.”

He chews dramatically, grinning. “You’re the one who loves this idiot.”

“Unfortunately,” I drawl, doing my best to fight the smile creeping up.

“Oh, you know you’re obsessed with me.” He bumps my shoulder with his.

“Don’t push your luck,” I mutter, nudging him back, but even I can tell there’s no bite in it today. I sink back against the pillows with a sigh, watching as he scrolls through his phone, muttering something about finding the perfect song. After a few seconds, he tosses it aside, all nonchalant, and settles down next to me. The first notes of a soft, unfamiliar tune fill the air, and I raise an eyebrow, watching him curiously. He flashes me that grin—the one that makes my heart do a little flip—and squeezes my hand. Then, without any warning, he starts singing.

“Well, I’ll be your rainy day lover…”

His eyes flick between mine and my belly. I try to focus on the words, but it’s hard when everything about this moment feels like it’s meant to be.

“If you’ll be my fire when it’s cold. And whatever the season, well, we’ll keep on breathing…”

“And I’ll hold you. And I’ll sing…”

By the time he finishes with, “I wanna spend all of my days with you,” his gaze locks with mine, so intense it feels like the world around us has quieted down, like we’re the only two people left in it. He squeezes my hand, and I’m not sure when I started holding it so tight, but I don’t let go.

“I’m never gonna leave you, Immy-girl,” he whispers.“Not ever.”

“Me neither, Harrison.”

34

“Think we’ll finish these before they go off?” She holds up a box of strawberries, considering it like it’s a life-or-death decision. I chuckle, reaching for it.

“Knowing you? They’ll be gone by tonight.”

“True.” She smirks, nudging me with her elbow. “I could probably eat a whole farm’s worth of fruit these days. Baby Price has a thing for strawberries, apparently.”

Baby Price.Hearing that is like a jolt through my system. This woman, the one I never thought I’d get so lucky to have, is standing here, talking about our child, and for a second, I almost forget how to breathe.

“Smart kid,” I say, tossing a few extra punnets into our basket. “Just like their mum.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a soft smile there, like she’s trying not to let me see. We keep moving, stopping every nowand then when something catches her eye. Every time she slows down, her hand automatically goes to her back, rubbing at the ache. Without even thinking, I step up behind her, pressing my hands there, rubbing in slow circles until I feel her muscles relax. I try to help whenever she lets me—rub her feet, bring her water, run those hot compresses.

She lets out a low, grateful sigh, tilting her head back to look at me. “You’re getting good at that, you know. Should make a career change—Masseuse Extraordinaire.”

“Only for you, sugar.” I can’t help leaning down to kiss her cheek.

We reach a stall with handmade baby blankets, and she runs her fingers over a soft, knitted one. She lifts it, smiling, and looks up at me. “This is cute, don’t you think?”

I take it from her hands, holding it up. “If I say it’s cute, are you gonna think I’m soft?”

“Definitely.” She grins, reaching up to pat my cheek. “But it suits you.”

I roll my eyes, tossing the blanket into our basket. I’ve been to see Dr. Lowe twice since the Gary incident. She’s been solid—gave me a few tricks for when the frustration creeps in: deep breaths, counting back from ten, finding something to focus on. Even gave me tension exercises; clench, release. Surprisingly, they’ve helped. Bradley’s team had Gary arrested after that night—got him for drunk driving. License suspended, but we both know that won’t stop him. As for the guys at work, they’ve been asking around, trying to track him down. Nothing yet. No sign of him at the pubs, the shops, or anywhere in town. Maybe he’s finally taken off. God, I hope he has.

Imogen’s on leave now, much to her annoyance. She still insists she could’ve “pushed through” another couple of weeks, but she’s almost thirty-seven weeks, and the doctor’s insisted on rest—nesting, they call it. I won’t say it to her, but I’m nervous.Wrecked, really. If I’m like this, I can’t imagine what’s going on in her head. She’s been quiet, keeping everything inside like I tend to do.

We head over to Isla and Xavier’s stall. They’ve set up a neat display of fresh milk, eggs, and hand-knit baby stuff from Isla. Grace and Dominic are there, too, chatting with a couple of locals, while little Callie totters around, clinging to her grandma.

“Oh, there’s our gorgeous mama-to-be!” Grace exclaims, giving Imogen a huge hug. “How are you, love? And am I allowed to give this bump a little pat?”

“Of course. Bump’s happy to see you.” Imogen chuckles, leaning into Grace’s warmth. “Starting to feel like a hot-air balloon, honestly.”

“You look amazing. Just a few more weeks! Have you felt any little kicks today?”

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