Page 72 of The Secrets We Built Together

"Amelia and I will be fine for one evening," he said, crossing the room to us. "I think I can handle a bottle and a diaper."

"See?" Delaney looked smugly triumphant. "Doctor Dreamboat has it covered."

I rolled my eyes at the nickname, even as a flush of warmth spread through me at the gentle way Xander's hand came to rest on the small of my back. We'd been careful around others, maintaining our "just for show" story, but these little touches had become so natural that sometimes I forgot we were supposed to be pretending and which version was supposed to be pretend.

"I don't know..." I hesitated, looking down at Amelia's peaceful face. She'd fallen asleep against me, her tiny rosebud mouth slightly open, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. The thought of leaving her, even for a few hours, made my chest tight with anxiety.

Xander must have sensed my apprehension because he leaned in, his voice for my ears only. "You deserve a break, Blake. You've been amazing with her." The warmth of his breath against my ear sent a shiver down my spine. "Trust me, we'll be okay."

Trust me. Two words that should have been insignificant but somehow carried the weight of everything between us.

"Fine," I relented, carefully transferring Amelia to Xander's arms. She stirred but didn't wake, instantly settling against his chest like she belonged there. The sight made something inside me twist with an emotion I wasn't ready to name. "But I'm keeping my phone on, and you better call if anything—and I mean anything—happens."

"Scout's honor," Xander said with mock solemnity.

"Were you even a Scout?" I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

"Not even close." His grin was unrepentant. "But I'll still call if she so much as hiccups wrong."

"Great!" Delaney exclaimed, already pulling me toward the bedroom. "Now go get dressed in something that doesn't have baby spit-up on it. Reece and Emma are meeting us at Willowbrook Tavern in an hour."

I looked down at my clothes. She wasn't wrong—there was definitely a suspicious stain on my shoulder. When had that happened? And more importantly, when had I stopped caring?

"Do I even own clothes without baby bodily fluids on them anymore?" I muttered.

"I did laundry yesterday," Xander offered helpfully. "Your black top with the..." he gestured vaguely around his shoulders, "...flowy bits is hanging in the closet."

Delaney raised an eyebrow, looking between us with undisguised interest. "Well, well, well. Doing laundry now, are we? How domestic."

I shot her a warning look that she completely ignored.

"Go," Xander said, gently turning me toward the bedroom with his free hand. "Have fun. We'll be here when you get back."

We'll be here. The casual way he said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like we were a real family—it did things to my heart I wasn't prepared for.

So I did what I always did when emotions got too big. I deflected.

"I expect hourly updates at minimum, Farrington," I said over my shoulder.

His laugh followed me down the hallway, warm and rich, like everything about him. God, I was happy and I was starting to wonder why we were hiding it.

#

The Willowbrook Tavern was exactly what you'd expect from a small-town bar—rustic wooden furniture, a jukebox that hadn't been updated since 1997, and the faint smell of beer that had soaked into the floorboards over decades. But it was also cozy, with string lights crisscrossing the ceiling and booths tucked into corners that offered the illusion of privacy.

Reece waved us over to a corner table where she sat with Emma, a pitcher of something fruity-looking already between them.

"She's alive!" Reece declared as I slid into the booth. "We were beginning to think you'd been absorbed into the cottage, never to emerge again."

"It was a near thing," I admitted, gratefully accepting the glass Emma pushed my way. "I actually had to dust off these jeans. I think they've developed sentience in the back of my drawer."

Emma laughed, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I can't imagine going from free-spirited artist to instant mom. You're kind of my hero."

I nearly choked on my drink. "Hero? I'm just trying not to screw up too badly."

"Isn't that what parenting is?" Delaney said, pouring herself a glass of what I now noticed was non-alcoholic punch. "A series of attempts not to screw up too badly, punctuated by moments of sheer terror?"

We all laughed, and I felt the tension I'd been carrying around for weeks start to loosen its grip. I checked my phone for the third time in ten minutes, but no messages from Xander.

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