Page 46 of The Secrets We Built Together

"Huh, I hadn't thought about that." I considered the question as I moved toward the coffee pot. It was a good one—something I probably should have considered before now. "It doesn't feel right to get her to call me mommy. Is that weird?"

"I don't think you need to decide right away," he said, his voice soft.

An awkward tension filled the room, the memory of last night's almost-kiss hovering between us.

"There's coffee in the pot," he offered, saving me from standing frozen in the kitchen doorway forever.

I padded to the counter and found my favorite mug from Delaney's sitting next to the coffee pot. I didn't remember packing it and realized that Xander must have grabbed it for me. Something about that tiny thoughtful gesture made my chest tighten.

When I turned around, I caught him watching me. Amelia was staring up at him, completely fascinated. I laughed at the picturethey made—this big, strong man cradling this tiny baby who seemed utterly captivated by him.

"I gave Amelia a bottle when she woke up about an hour ago, but there's not much formula left," Xander said, breaking the spell.

"Dang it, I need to go to the store. And I need to drop Delaney's SUV back at her ranch too." I realized I had no idea how I was going to transport Amelia around or how I'd get to the store. Normally, I'd take Delaney’s bike, but even I wasn't going to stick a baby in the basket on the front of a bicycle.

"Perfect," Xander said, bouncing Amelia gently in his arms. "We can put Amelia in the truck with me, and I'll follow you back to Delaney's. Then we can head to the store together. I've got a list of stuff I need to pick up anyway. We were just waiting for you to wake up so we could finish it off, weren't we, little bug?"

A moment of panic washed over me as I started thinking about the cost of everything and the small amount of savings I had left. Factoring in groceries and baby supplies, I probably had enough to last a couple of months if I could thrift some more clothes for Amelia and keep using the stuff I'd borrowed from Delaney. But after that...

"How are you doing financially?" Xander asked suddenly, as if he'd read my mind.

I tried to evade the question with a shrug and a vague "fine," but his steady gaze wore me down. With a sigh, I sat down at the table and laid it all out for him—the rapidly dwindling savings, the lack of income, the mounting expenses.

"I can help," he said simply.

I cringed at the thought. I hated money and hated having to talk about it with anyone, even Delaney.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked gently instead of trying to pressure me into just blanket accepting his offer.

"I've got to get a job," I replied, staring down at my coffee. "It's not like I'd be the first person in the world that had to do it."

"What does that mean for your art? For the show?"

I shrugged, trying to seem casual about something that felt like a knife twisting in my gut. "I guess I'll have to cancel it."

"I could cover you and Amelia until after the show," Xander offered. "You could pay me back when you sell your work," he added quickly when he could no doubt see me about to turn him down.

I laughed, but it came out hollow. "I haven't painted anything in years, remember? I've got to cancel anyway."

The spark I'd felt earlier flickered again, a little voice urging me forward, but I shoved it down. It would only go the same way that every other time I'd tried to sit in front of that easel. I wanted to shake myself because even I could see what I was doing. It was my fear of failure that was holding me back. The voice that said when I failed I'd be proving to my parents that they'd been right all along.

At least this way, if I never tried, then the failing wouldn't feel all that bad. Life had just got in the way. I'd finally had to grow up. I'd finally come to my senses. But wasn't that what they'd told me all along? And wasn't that failing in an even worse way?

"Give it a chance, Blake," Xander said, his voice soft but firm. "Ride the current, remember?"

Every part of me wanted to say no, to retreat to the safety of low expectations and the comfort of never having to face potential disappointment. But when I looked at him, at the confidence he seemed to have in me, I felt something new. If someone like Xander could believe in me, maybe I could do it. Maybe Icouldpaint again.

I studied him across the table, the way the morning light caught in his dark hair, the careful way he cradled Amelia against his chest. Last night's tension lingered between us—unresolved, unspoken—but somehow in this morning light, it didn't feel like a barrier.

It felt like possibility.

"I'll ride the current if you will," I said, the challenge clear in my voice.

He squinted at me, then reluctantly nodded. "Deal."

For a moment, I thought we might be talking about more than just my art or his recovery. That maybe we were agreeing to see where this current between us might lead. His eyes held mine a beat too long, and I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach.

"There's something in town I want to show you," he said finally, breaking the moment.

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