Page 31 of Oops Baby for the Billionaire
“Oh, that’s…I may have copied in the wrong list.” He pulls out his phone. “Okay, that can get put away until the end of your pregnancy. But you’ll find a variety of those products, because the Personal Support Obstetrician sent me a list for pregnancy. I dumped that into an app I built that cross-references all the grocery delivery services.”
“Efficient,” I mutter.
He circles the island and grabs the strawberries. After giving them a quick rinse, he crosses to me and holds one out as a peace offering. “Open.”
I part my lips and let him feed me the lush, tart fruit. “Delicious,” I mumble. I swallow, then lick my lips. “Thank you.”
He opens a few drawers, pulling out a cutting board, a knife, and a large bowl. “Tell me what you like in a salad.”
“Lettuce?”
“Good start.”
“I dunno. Whatever you make will be good.” I flush with embarrassment. “I can help, too.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’ll put this stuff away, then.” Which is an overwhelming task, because there’s so much. “For the record, pickles are okay, but I haven’t had any of those cravings. At least not yet.”
“Okay.”
“You didn’t need to buy all of this.”
He puts down his knife and comes closer. “Yes, I did. I need…” He takes my hand and rubs his thumb over my knuckles. Then he tugs me closer still. I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “I need to take care of you. Both of you. I know I may have gone overboard?—”
“May have?”
“I’d rather you have too much than risk you going hungry for even a minute.”
My throat gets tight. “I haven’t been hungry. Just... frugal.”
“You’ve been sleeping on a couch and eating ramen, Willa. Let me overcompensate for a while.”
“With artisanal almond butter?”
He squeezes my hand, then lets go and steps back. “You never know. It might be good.”
I grab the jar, then a spoon from the drawer. “Only one way to find out.”
I take a deliberately large spoonful while maintaining eye contact with him. It’s actually amazing, not that I’m going to admit that immediately.
“Well?” he asks.
I shrug, sliding closer to where he’s working. “It’s acceptable.”
He grins. “Liar. You love it.”
I look at everything he’s put in the salad bowl. Lettuce. Green Onion. Celery. Red Cabbage. Corn. “It’s fine. That’s a complicated salad!”
“You’re a complicated girl.” He pushes the cutting board aside and yanks me in between him and the counter. “Tell me more about how that almond butter isjust fine.”
“Yeah, it’s…” I trail off. Words have failed me, because suddenly I’m staring up at the man who I fell for, hard and fast, four months ago.ThisRoman I know.
He’s right. We aren’t strangers. Not exactly.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“You hate crowds.” My voice shakes. “You love looking up at the night sky. You’re a big fan of breasts.”
