I spent the early morning cleaning the guest room and bathroom before I drove to Magnolia’s apartment. She’ll have plenty of room for her stuff since these duplexes were designed for two ranch hands, and each bedroom has its own master suite. The only thing we’ll share is the kitchen and living room, but I’m hoping she won’t mind considering she lived by herself. Growing up in the big house with four siblings, I’m used to sharing everything, so when I moved in here at the beginning of the year, it felt strange to have so much extra space.
It’s only a matter of time before my brothers find out she’s living here, so I plan to tell my parents this weekend before they hear it through the rumor mill. Especially the being pregnant with Travis’s baby part.
By dinnertime, Magnolia’s fully moved out of her apartment and into my place. Once she went through everything that wasn’t salvageable, not much was left. She packed up her clothes, toiletries, and everything else she’d need for the foreseeable future.
I cleared a space in the kitchen for her espresso machine and supplies. My fridge is typically only half full, so she can add in whatever else she needs. The linen closet has two empty rows for towels, blankets, or storage.
There’s still plenty of room for her and a baby if she decides to stay longer.
Which I hope she does.
Even though I knew she’d fight the idea, I wanted her to be as comfortable as possible without feeling like she was invading.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when she curls up into a ball on the couch with one of my fuzzy blankets.
“I dunno.”
“Thirsty?”
“I dunno.”
“Tired?”
“Yes,” she mutters.
“I can make you a coffee…or attempt to?” I tilt my head at her machine and all the buttons. I’m sure I could find the instructions online.
“I’m not supposed to drink caffeine, which is why I’m draggin’ so much ass.”
My brows pop up. “None at all?”
“I think there’s a recommended daily limit, but I’m a go big or go home kinda coffee girl, so it’s just best if I stick to decaf.”
That’s going to be torture for her to work with coffee all day long.
“Okay, do you have any of that?”
“Not here.”
I pull out my phone and click on the notes app, then add to my Magnolia notepad I created earlier when she mentioned needing a specific kind of detergent I didn’t have.
Can’t drink caffeine – get decaf.
“Alright, so no coffee. What about tea?”
“I only like lavender tea. Have any of that?”
Opening my cupboard, I look at the variety box with green, black, and white. Fuck.
“Nope.”
Back to my notes app I go.
Lavender tea – her favorite.
“I’ll take you grocery shoppin’ tomorrow so you have everything you need.”
“I gotta get back to work, so I’m going to do the farmer’s market in the mornin’.”
“That’s fine. We can go afterward. Or if you aren’t up for it, just text me a list, and I’ll go.”
“You really don’t have to be this nice to me. I’m fully capable of feedin’ myself.”
I smile to myself. “You’re so used to assholes, you can’t even see when someone is just being a decent person. I’ve never been mean to you, so why would I start now?”
“Because you should hate me. Why you don’t is makin’ me question your mental state.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Sunny, but I could never hate you.”
She stays quiet, and I don’t push her to talk. I know she’s had an emotional day between throwing out so much of her belongings and moving into a new place that doesn’t quite feel like hers. I’m determined to make her feel at home as much as I can.
Instead of asking what she might be hungry for, I decide to cook something and pray she’ll like it.
Digging through my cupboards, I find a box of bowtie pasta and a jar of Alfredo sauce. Mom would kill me for not making it from scratch, but I could never make it as good as hers anyway. But luckily, I have the ingredients to thicken it up and add in a healthy dose of fresh parmesan.
“You can eat chicken, right?” I ask before grabbing some from the fridge.
“Of course.”
“Okay, just checkin’.”
I’m not sure what all the pregnancy food rules are, but if I’m gonna take care of her, I need to know as much information as possible. So I make a new note.
Order pregnancy books.
Look up foods to avoid and a nutrition guideline.
Once the garlic toast is done, I add it to our plates with the chicken alfredo pasta and then bring them over to the coffee table. I make two glasses of ice water and then sit next to her on the couch.
“This smells so good.” She sits up and gets a better look. “Wow, you made this?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty easy and is my go-to when I don’t have much else. Nothin’ fancy.”
She gives me a look as she stabs her fork into the food. “Your nothin’ fancy is my idea of an over-the-top dinner date.” Then she takes her first bite and moans. “Oh my God. This is delicious. If I wasn’t already pregnant, I’d have its babies.”
I chuckle, dipping my toast in the sauce. “Gotta up those standards, Sunny.”
Though I do love that she appreciates my cooking, it beats eating by myself, too.
“Yeah, well, they’ve been in hell for so long, I’m not sure they exist.”
There’s sadness in her tone, but I don’t pressure her to talk about it when she stays focused on the TV screen.
“What’re you watchin’?”
“Hart of Dixie. It’s my comfort show. I can change it to something else if you want.”
I smile at her offer, but I rarely watch TV to care that much. “Nah. It’s fine.”
As we eat, I notice her mouthing the lines.
“How many times have you seen this?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Hmm…the limit doesn’t exist.”
I chuckle at her blunt honesty. “So, a lot.”
“Noah and I used to watch it religiously and fight over who Zoe should end up with.” Then she chuckles. “We still do.”
“Based on the twenty minutes I’ve seen so far, I can make an educated guess on your pick.”
There’s no way she’d be rooting for the beloved town lawyer. Wade’s the guy from the wrong side of the tracks and sleeps with half the town.
“What’s that mean?” she asks, almost offended that I can read her as well as I can.
“It means you have a type, sweetheart.”
“That sounds offensive.”
“Are you tellin’ me Wade ain’t yours?”
“See, this is where you’re wrong.” She shoves a forkful in her mouth.
“About what? Educate me, then.”
“Me liking Wade better isn’t because he’s who I’d go for. It’s because he’s way better for Zoe than George is. She just doesn’t know it because she’s blinded by his shiny job and good hair.”
I snort. “Is that the priority for choosin’ a life partner?”
“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt, but no. George is known as the nice guy. The good family man. His family is wealthy and well-known, so everyone adores him.”
“Sounds like a decent catch,” I say.
“Except he’s a cheater. He finds Zoe on the side of the road and offers to drive her into town. Doesn’t know much about her, just that she’s pretty and obviously not from around there. Which would be fine and all except he conveniently forgets to mention his fiancée—his high school sweetheart—and low-key flirts with her. He leads her into thinking he’s available and interested. Which means Zoe has to later find out he’s engaged to the wicked witch of the South. A woman who’s nothing but catty to her for no reason besides her being an outsider and a well-educated woman.”
“When does he cheat?” I ask, feeling like I missed a chapter.
“Emotional cheating. Instead of being upfront with her and making it clear he’s taken, he catches feelings for her. But Zoe’s to blame, too. Even after she knows, it doesn’t stop her from being flirty. But it should’ve been his responsibility to stop it from the start.”
I nod, agreeing with her because if a woman approached me, I’d make it crystal clear I wasn’t available or interested.
“Meanwhile, Wade never pretended to be anything he wasn’t. What you see is what you get. No surprises. He’s a manwhore, but you know that from the beginning. Hell, he lives on the Mayor’s Plantation where she can see women coming and going because they’re neighbors. It’s almost all sexual attraction between them at first, but the more you see ’em together, the more you realize they’re way more compatible.”
I soak in every word she says, even if I’m trying to wrap my head around the storyline. I’m going to have to watch this from the beginning to properly understand the characters.
“That’s quite the assessment for a TV show,” I half-tease.
“Well…the men in this show aren’t bad to look at. Wait till you see Mayor Hayes. Former linebacker in the NFL. Won two Super Bowls. Built like a tree I’d fall on my ass tryin’ to climb.”
Now that cracks me up. “You’re tellin’ me a two-time Super Bowl NFL player decided to retire and become the mayor of some small town in Alabama?”
“Yes, why?”
“I mean, sure. That’s realistic.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Judgy. You don’t watch these shows for the plot.”
I furrow my brows. “Then what’re you watchin’ it for?”
Just then a shirtless Wade appears with sweat dripping down his six-pack abs, and she points to the screen with a grin.
“Ohh, so this is like porn for women disguised as a CW show.”
She smirks, shrugging. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”
We get through two more episodes before she passes out with her feet in my lap. I figure she wouldn’t like me carrying her even though I’m tempted to so she doesn’t wake up, but I softly brush my thumb across her cheek and whisper her name.
“Hmm?” she mutters with her eyes closed.
“Let’s get you into bed. You’ll be more comfortable in there,” I tell her, moving so I can help her up.
“I’m fine right here.” She snuggles deeper into the couch.
So damn stubborn.
“C’mon, or I’m throwin’ you over my shoulder and puttin’ you into bed myself.”
She manages to glare at me with one eye open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, roomie.” Then I flex my arm and waggle my brows.
“Ugh, you’re insufferable.”
She takes my hand, and I pull her up until we’re both standing.
“I’ll be up at six, but I’ll keep it down so I don’t wake you,” I tell her as we walk to the hallway.
“I’m gettin’ up at six-thirty anyway, so no big deal if you do.”
“Okay, well, good night.” I kiss her forehead, then turn to go toward my room.
“Wait.” She wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek on my back, and my breath hitches at the intimate touch.
“Thank you for givin’ me a safe place to stay. I know I fought you on it, and I probably will continue to, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” Her soft voice is filled with remorse and it has me fighting the urge to spin around and claim her mouth.
Instead, I rest my palms against the back of her hands and hold her to me for a moment.
“You’re welcome, Sunny.” Then I pat her knuckles. “Sweet dreams.”
“Night.” She releases me, and it’s not until I hear her door shut that my feet finally move.
As I lie in my bed, it feels wrong.
Wrong that she’s across the hall instead of next to me.
But if I’m going to stay true to my words and be respectful of her boundaries and wishes, I’m not going to steal her from her bed and put her in mine.
Even as much as I want to.
