Gracie Ruth Mitchell

There’s nothing wrong with finding joy in watching characters grow together. Those just aren’t weird things to enjoy, so I don’t know why we get a bad rap. Shouldn’t we be worrying about the people who voluntarily read horror, with all the mass murders and weird alien monster things?

What kind of absolute nonsense is that? Universal law decrees that the one day your baby will have a major blowout is the day you don’t have diapers, wipes, or spare onesies.

Everyone knows this. Everyone.

I don’t pretend to understand my brain sometimes

Loneliness is as powerfully painful as heartbreak, in my experience. It’s an aching emptiness, a space in my chest that sucks in every other emotion and turns it to ash.

“Maya, you’re perfect,” I say, my voice hoarse. I lean in, pressing my face into her hair, her ear, the side of her neck. I don’t know what I’m doing, only that I need to do it, that I need to make sure she knows this. I inhale deeply, catching some of that vanilla scent, feeling the silk of her hair against my skin, against my lips. “You’re gorgeous. You have a ‘mom bod’ because…well, you’re a mom. Your arms rock Archer to sleep. Your legs carry you through the world so that you can be everywhere he needs you to be. Your softness, your curves—” I swallow. “They just show that your body sustained a life for nine months.” I shake my head, pressing a kiss in her hair. “You’re perfect,” I repeat. Then, more hesitantly, “I thought that from the second you burst into my office—and I’m just your fake boyfriend

fascinated by how she’s still looking at her baby.

I guess you don’t get tired of staring at someone you love, though—not like I’d know.

If I can get through this evening without kissing this woman, it will be a freaking miracle.

“All right,” I say, nodding. “You’re on. Thirty seconds?”

Jude smirks. “Twenty seconds.”

And then he begins counting, speaking quietly so that only we can hear.

When he reaches ten seconds, nothing has happened. And when he reaches fifteen seconds, I’m starting to feel pretty smug, if not a little disappointed.

But when he reaches seventeen seconds…a hand clamps down firmly on his shoulder.

And by second eighteen, Dex’s voice, low and commanding, is saying, “I think that’s enough for today, Jude.”

Jude gives a loud, completely fake, completely over-the-top gasp. “Dexter, what a surprise,” he says sarcastically. “I had no idea you would turn up like this—”

“Shut up,” Dex mutters, glaring at Jude when Jude grins. “Get out of here.”

“I know this is just a fake date and all,” he murmurs, “but watching my brother put his hands all over you isn’t my idea of a good time.”

His arms tighten around my waist, pulling me closer, and my breath hitches in my chest.

He notices.

“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes dancing. “You like being this near to me?”

“I’m neutral,” I say, but I can’t quite manage the careless, unaffected tone I’m going for.

Dex laughs. “I think you’re lying, sweet Maya.” His eyes rove over my features again, and he leans in so close that when he speaks, I can feel his breath on my lips. “I think that if I felt your pulse right now,” he whispers, “it would be racing.”