Page 59 of The Baby Bargain
I need to trust my gut.
And I should always follow my heart.
It's what I'm doing. Mostly. There is something in my gut begging me to stay here. Demanding I writeChase, I have another thought. How about I delete my dating profile, you head to the clinic for a test, and we rendezvous at your place for some baby making?
Though I won't actually be fertile until next week.
We can start now anyway. Practice.
Practice makes perfect, you know.
The logical part of my brain pushes it aside. There are so many reasons why I can't ask him that. More every day.
The more I see Chase, see how much he needs to take care of other people—
I can't deprive him of that.
I really can't.
I sign the noteAriel Ballard, leave it on the counter, collect my stuff.
Okay, so I do check out his bookshelf for way too long.
No surprise, Chase favors the brooding martyrs. (He has so many issues ofDaredevil).
But there are quite a few dysfunctional teams too.
He makes a huge point of severing ties with people who hurt him. If he wants this kind of connection—
There must be this well of emptiness in his gut.
Which is another reason why I can't ask him.
He'll think this will fill him, but it won't. And you can't fix other people. You certainly can't fix damaged boys.
Even if Chase is twenty-nine and a man in every sense of the word.
And, uh—
I'm leaving. I am.
I hug my bag to my chest, slip into my shoes, lock the door on my way out.
Then I drive home, shower, fix breakfast, head to work.
I barely think of Chase.
I mean, I think of him when Spotify plays one of those songs he loves (I just happen to be in the mood for pop-punk music). And as I drink my chai. And the second chai.
And when I catch sight of students' tattoos.
And when I close my eyes.
But that's only every free moment in my day.
I barely think of him at all.
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