Page 41 of The Secrets We Built Together

I wasn't thinking about a drink.

I wasn't clawing my way through the evening, counting down the minutes until I could numb the nerves. I felt everything—nerves, stress, want—and still, the craving hadn't come. That was new.

That was... good.

No, I wasn't fixed. I'd never be fixed. But maybe I was stronger than I'd given myself credit for. Maybe I was learning how to feel uncomfortable without needing to run from it.

I glanced at the clock. 8:03 p.m.

We probably needed to eat something.

I looked toward the kitchen and immediately kicked myself for not thinking about groceries earlier. The fridge held a sad bottle of mustard, half a lemon, and what I was fairly sure used to be cheese. I didn't even remember buying a lemon, let alone what had happened to the other half of it. I hadn't planned for this. For Blake. For Amelia. For a life that didn't revolve around keeping my head above water one day at a time.

My impulsive proposal had turned the life I was clinging to upside down, and yet I didn't regret it—not even slightly.

And suddenly, the cottage felt too empty. Not in the quiet way it had just this morning, before they moved in, but in the practical, oh-shit-we-don't-have-anything kind of way. No diapers, no wipes, no baby bath, no—

This was what Reece had meant.

I hadn't realized how much a baby needed, or how quickly the expenses could pile up. Blake hadn't said much, but I'd seen the worry in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. I didn't know what she had saved, but I was willing to bet it wasn't enough.

And I also knew she'd rather chew glass than let me help her outright.

So I needed to get creative.

I sagged back against the couch with a sigh. First step? A grocery run. Tomorrow. I could tell her I was waiting to find out what she liked. It was a lie, but not the worst one I'd ever told. Better than admitting I was a grown-ass man with a fridge that looked like it belonged to a college freshman.

A knock at the door startled me from my depressing thoughts.

I crossed the room, opened it, and blinked down at a checkered picnic basket on the step. A folded note was tied to the handle.

Feed the girl and try not to be an ass.

Of course.

Reece.

I was going to have to talk to my meddling family again.

"Was someone at the door?"

I turned around, and the words caught in my throat.

Blake stood there in threadbare sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, pink hair piled on top of her head like she'd just survived a tornado. She was barefoot, a little flushed, and completely breathtaking.

"Uh… yeah." I held up the basket. "It's a delivery from the meddling committee. Otherwise known as Reece."

Blake stepped forward, eyes lighting up when she read the note. "Oh, we could have so much fun with this," she said, grinning. "But I can't think of a single clever prank. I'm too tired. And hungry. And pretty sure Amelia just threw up in my hair."

She looked exhausted. But she also looked... radiant.

She hadn't given birth to Amelia, but somehow, motherhood had wrapped itself around her like it had always been waiting for her to show up. She wore it in the way she held that baby, how she shifted to meet every need without thinking. Maybe itwas Amelia. I seemed to be powerless to her draw as well. What could I say? The kid was cute.

I cleared my throat and offered her a smile. "Tell you what. Let's raid this basket, and then I'll keep an ear out for Amelia while you take a hot shower and maybe even get some sleep."

"I will definitely take you up on that," she said, her smile soft and real in that way that made my chest ache.

We unpacked the basket together and sat cross-legged on the couch with a spread of sandwiches, pasta salad, fruit, and cookies between us. Reece might be a menace, but she had excellent taste.

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