Page 88 of The Coach

I exhale sharply, pushing that thought aside. I’m not here to control anything. I’m here to show up.

I grab the groceries from the passenger seat, step out of the car, and walk toward her.

She looks up at the sound of my footsteps.

Her breath catches.

I stop a few feet away, watching her face shift from shock to something unreadable.

“Hey,” I say, holding up the bags. “Figured you could use a few things.”

She stares at me, and for a second, I have no idea what she’s thinking.

Then, she sighs, shaking her head with the faintest smile.

“You bought me food?”

I smirk. “You gotta eat, right?”

Her eyes soften just a little.

I take a step closer.

“So…can I come in?”

Ivy steps aside, letting me into her apartment. It’s cozy—small, but warm, lived-in. A bookshelf filled with paperbacks, a candle burning low on the counter, a throw blanket draped over the couch. It smells like vanilla and something floral.

I set the grocery bags on the counter. “Figured you might need a few things.”

She raises an eyebrow, peering inside. “What, exactly, did you get?”

I smirk. “Healthy stuff. You’re eating for two now.”

She pulls out a bag of baby carrots and holds them up, her expression deadpan. “Carrots?”

“They’re good for you.”

She digs deeper, pulling out almond milk, protein bars, and a bag of quinoa. She lets out a soft laugh. “Did you Google ‘pregnancy superfoods’ before this?”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. “Maybe.”

She shakes her head, but I catch the tiny smile she’s trying to hide.

I watch as she moves around the kitchen, pushing up the sleeves of her flowy dress, putting away what she can fit in her cabinets. The space is small, too small, but she fits into it perfectly.

Still, something in me doesn’t like the idea of her staying here, carrying my kid, with no extra space. And all alone.

I push that thought away. Not my decision.

She pauses, turning to me. “So… are we eating these superfoods, or are we ordering a pizza?”

I glance at the clock. It’s late—and dark outside.

“I’ll cook.”

“You really cook? That wasn’t just for show when you made me breakfast?”

I smirk. “I have to survive somehow.”

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