“Can I sit down with him?” Alex asks, glancing around.
“Take the recliner. It’s more comfortable, and you can prop your elbow on the armrest.” Ashtyn helps get her brother settled in the chair before stroking her finger across the baby’s forehead. “He should sleep for a little while longer.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and eat?” Alex instructs. “Tate, will you take that food in the kitchen?”
I reach for the bags and head for the kitchen. It’s easy to find, just off the main living area. The counter has a small pile of drying dishes, a small stack of mail, and some fresh garden vegetables. I start to pull the food from the bags and can feel her presence behind me. I choose to ignore her, focusing on sorting lunch. I figure it best to let her sweat for just a little longer.
“What are you doing here?” Ashtyn whispers harshly.
“Grabbing sandwiches,” I state politely, pulling two BLTs and a ham and cheese from the first bag and two orders of onion rings and a bowl of chicken and rice soup from the second.
“No, Tate, what the hell are you doing here?” she asks with venom. As she steps up beside me, her rich vanilla scent slaps me right upside the face, eliciting all sorts of dirty memories that are better left where they were.
I pull off the lid to her soup and hold it up in front of her nose. “Here, it’s like a Snickers. Maybe you won’t be so crabby.” Yeah, I know I’m poking the bear, but dammit she so fucking sexy when she gets all pissed off.
Her heated eyes narrow before they drop to the bowl in my hand. “What kind is that?”
“Chicken and rice. Alex says you love soup,” I start, but am cut off from saying anymore when she grabs the Styrofoam bowl directly from my hand. Her stomach growls loudly the moment she turns her back to me and grabs a spoon from the drawer.
I turn and watch, slightly mesmerized by her beauty, as she drops down on one of the chairs and takes a spoonful of creamy soup. “Oh God,” she moans, closing her eyes as she swallows. My cock, however, is suddenly very enthralled by the innocent sounds she’s making, which only reminds it of what she sounded like coming on said cock.
It’s like heaven and hell all wrapped up in one.
With my hip propped against the counter, I watch in odd fascination as she devours her soup. She’s not messy or gross about it, just takes big bites, as if she knows she’ll be interrupted at any moment. Like warm soup is a luxury she’s not accustomed to.
Realizing I’m staring, I grab the second BLT and take it to her, setting it on the table beside the almost-empty soup container. Ashtyn glances at the package before slowly opening it to reveal the sandwich inside. I pop an onion ring into my mouth and say, “Soup is an odd choice for summer, isn’t it?”
Ashtyn takes a bite of her sandwich and chews. When she swallows, she replies, “I could eat soup year-round. It’s my favorite.” She doesn’t even glance up as she’s talking, but at least she doesn’t seem as hostile.
I carefully open up my own sandwich and take a hearty bite of bacon, lettuce, and tomato on whole wheat. No, a BLT isn’t my favorite, but when Alex ordered it for his sister, it sounded damn good. When was the last time I had one? Two, three years? Probably longer. My parents used to make them for lunch on Sundays when I was growing up, and it was always one of my preferred meals.
I spy the veggies on the counter once more. “Do you have a garden?” I ask between bites.
Ashtyn shakes her head. “No. One of my regulars at the library has a greenhouse and grows things year-round. He brought those over to me yesterday.”
He.
Something prickles at the base of my neck. Annoyance, maybe? Who is this guy and why is he delivering food to her house? How does he know where she lives, and what about the baby? A weird sensation blooms in my chest. Something foreign. I haven’t felt it since…well, ever, maybe.
Jealousy.
It burns deep and spreads like fire.
Before I can stop myself, I ask, “You have a male friend who delivers vegetables to your home? Do you regularly give out your address to random men?”
She glances up, her beautiful brown eyes wide from my insinuation. “Yes, actually, I do, not that it’s any of your business. Gary is seventy-two and lost his wife a few months ago. She loved to garden, which is why he has a small greenhouse. He’s trying to keep it going in her memory.”
My heart starts to settle from its rapid beat, and I keep myself occupied with finishing my sandwich. The moment the wrapper is balled up and tossed in the trash, I turn my attention back to her. Her soup is gone, and only a few bites remain of her BLT. I make myself at home, grabbing three glasses from the cabinet, and filling them up with water. I set one down in front of her, and she eyes it warily as if it might jump up and bite her.
Finally, when I settle back against the counter, I ask one of the many burning questions bouncing around in my head. “What’s his name?”
She glances up, confusion written all over her face. “Gary, I told you that.”
A smile cracks across my lips. “Not Gary, Sweetness. Your son.”
Her face freezes in horror as if she doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s a cross between irritation and disbelief, like before, when she saw me standing on her front lawn. Ashtyn clears her throat and swallows hard. “Rowan. Rowan Alexander Harris.”
“He’s named after your brother,” I respond in observation.
She nods. “Yes.”
Our eyes meet and we just stare at each other. There’s so much to say, so many questions to ask and get answered, yet all I want to do is kiss those lips. Even if it’s true, if Rowan is my son and she’s kept it from me, I still want to take her in my arms and hold her.
Why?
I should be outraged. I should be pissed the fuck off she didn’t tell me about him. I should grab my phone and call my lawyer. I always wondered what I’d do if one of these damn fake pregnancy claims actually turned out to be true. I’ve never seen myself as a father, at all, but right now, if Rowan is my son, I want to hold him too and learn how to care for him. I’ve gone to great lengths to make sure I’m protected from the very issue, yet here I am with the prospect of having a child, and suddenly, it’s not as terrifying as I expected it to be.
Because of Ashtyn.
Even though I should have kept my paws off my oldest friend’s twin sister, I’m wildly attracted to her and feel oddly settled when she’s near. Crazy, right? I can probably count on one hand how many times I’ve been around her. We didn’t go to the same college, and her school visits were usually short. She stayed with her parents at a hotel, saw a football game, and went to dinner with them after. I, on the other hand, went out after a game. There was always a party to attend, always a group of girls ready to spend a little time with the quarterback.
Now, all I want to do is sit beside her. She’s tired and stressed, and I wonder what I can do to help her situation. A situation she doesn’t want me to be involved in, but still. If Rowan is my son, I want to step up and do what’s right.
Alex is going to be so fucking pissed.
“Ash,” I whisper, taking a few steps over to the table where she sits. Her eyes widen as I approach, but she doesn’t say anything as I pull out the chair beside her and sit. I keep my voice low so her brother can’t hear. “Who’s Rowan’s father?”