Page 90 of Accidental Mile High Daddy
Sienna blinked at me. The words settled in for both of us, the air shifting, not tense, awkward, or startled, butfull.
It didn’t scare me like I thought it would.
We sat in the quiet for a long moment, everything shifting, everything almost slotting into place. I’d always been afraid of this, offamily, of depending on someone else and letting them depend on me. No escape hatch.
But now, looking at her, seeing the way her lips twitched up, the way she sank into the idea like it feltright… There wasn’t a hint of fear in me. The thought of her being Zach’s mom was easy.
She leaned back against the headboard again, fighting a grin, staring up at the ceiling. “Don’t get any stupid ideas that I’m in love with you or anything just because I’m becoming his mom.”
I laughed, quiet and low, and took her hand in mine. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good,” she smirked, eyes closing. “Because it’s definitely not true.”
My mouth scrunched as I fought back another chuckle. “Of course. You just moved into my house, are helping raise my kid, and are carrying two more of mine. Very normal,platonicarrangement.”
“Exactly.You get it.”
Chapter 31
Sienna
Iwas starting to feel like a whale. A sarcastic, mildly charming whale with excellent taste in maternity loungewear that I didn’t need to pay for, but a whale, nonetheless.
Seven months in. I’d officially reached the point where rolling over was a three-step process and putting on socks felt like scaling Everest, and my stomach was the size of a normal full-term pregnancy — maybe bigger. Bedrest hadn’t beenthatbad the first couple of weeks. I’d at least been able to coordinate shifting my job to a maternity cover hire and talk lesson plans and course material from bed, but once the handover was done and the forced relaxation, naps, snacks, and endless hours of streaming lost its luster, I well and truly felt like I was inching into prison territory.
Still, though, I masked the restlessness as much as I could with Zach and let it out around Matt instead — with sass and sarcasm and a revolving door of threats about Matt eating his packed lunch.
But just after nine, with the house quiet, Zach tucked in upstairs, and Margot off for her usual couple of days, I wasn’tasagitated as usual. I scrolled through my phone, half-watchinga baking competition rerun, waiting for Matt to finish whatever business call he’d said he needed to take over an hour ago.
But then he was there, filling the doorway, his eyes a little brighter than usual as he watched me. “Put your phone down,” he said softly, his lips twitching upward. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I raised a brow at him. “If it’s another pair of those socks with the rubber grippies on the bottom that make me feel like a mental patient, I’m staging a coup.”
He snorted and crossed to the bed. “It’s not. Promise,” he grinned, leaning down and hooking an arm under my legs. “Come on.”
“Oh, my God, you’renotcarrying me,” I laughed, trying to squirm away from his arm, but I was too goddamn big to move easily. His other came around my back. “Matt, I’menormous?—”
“You’reglowing.”
“I’m the size of a fucking sedan.”
In one quick movement, he hoisted me up against his chest without so much as a grunt. “Then let’s take you for a test drive.”
I snorted. “Romance truly isn’t dead.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to let you penguin-waddle across the floor in your non-grippie socks,” he smirked, turning sideways to get us out the door of the downstairs suite. “Just keep thinking of it as romantic.”
“You’re deranged,” I said, letting my head fall against his collarbone.
“Just humor me, sweetheart.” His lips pressed against my temple, quick, fleeting, as he carried me through the kitchen and toward the already-open back door.
I blinked at the change. The usually quiet, secluded back patio had been transformed — blankets and cushions spread out across the floor, twinkling fairy lights strung along the railing, soft music playing low from a hidden speaker. There was acandlelit tray with an assortment of desserts, and a bottle of chilled rosé sitting in an ice bucket in the center, a little bouquet of white tulips sitting in a vase next to it. The bite in the air was minimal tonight, the southern swing of cold tofreezinghaving swung back to almost-spring temperatures.
“Is that non-alcoholic?” I asked, blinking at the setup.What is he planning?
“Obviously.”
“Can’t believe you went with the picnic theme again.”
