Page 110 of Mended Hearts

His eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Leighton. No. I don’t think you orchestrated this.”

“But—”

“That kiss was too sloppy to be planned.”

“Hey!”

“It was the hottest moment of my life,” he said, completely unapologetic, “but entirely… well,you.Us. Unplanned. Con-artists are usually more subtle.”

“But Carly…”

“Taught me some very hard lessons,” he said, voice low and steady. “This is why I’ve paid a small fortune to my therapist, Leigh. My ex is a textbook narcissist. Luckily for me, money can buy the best shrink in the city—and I never loved her. She was a necessity. Nothing more.” He took a breath, then added, “Which brings me to my next question. Who do I need to call?”

“Ollie—”

“And don’t tell me you’ll handle it alone. That phase of your life is over. We do this together.”

“It can take months to get into a cardiologist,” I hedged, the weight of reality settling on my shoulders.

“For…?”

I cleared my throat. “I had a mitral valve prolapse. Collapsed on the soccer field junior year. It was… a whole thing. Surgery, lots of flights to Anchorage and Seattle, specialists—zero out of ten, do not recommend.”

“But you’re okay now?” His voice softened, but the tension in his jaw told me he was cataloging every word.

“I should be. I’ve been asymptomatic since the surgery six years ago. My annuals have looked great. But with the pregnancy—and the hormone issues—they’ll probably want to keep a close eye on things. I think.”

“Okay,” he said immediately, no hesitation. “I’ll get you the best people.”

“Kai already started digging.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“She found a few she liked.”

“I’ll take her research into consideration while we do our own.”

We. Our.

He said it so easily. Like we were already a team.

“The family is going to riot,” I murmured, finally admitting the fear that had me wringing my hands raw.

“Then they’ll have to deal with me,” he said flatly. “Because no one—no one—is doing or saying anything that stresses out my baby’s mama.”

“You’re insane, you know that?”

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” I admitted with a watery smile. “I do.”

I loveyou.

I love you.

I love you.

It sat right there on the tip of my tongue. But saying it now—after this week, this morning, that test—it might feel like I was saying itbecauseof the baby. Because he showed up. Like he’d earned it by swooping in wearing his Oliver Hart super suit, or because I was pregnant and scared.

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