“Yes, of course.” Her tone softened again. “You sure you feel all right?”

“I’m okay. Honest.”

“Well, don’t overdo it. And let me know if you need more time.”

“I’ll check in Monday afternoon to tell you how it goes,” I said firmly because I would be working. But I also understood she needed reassurance.

It was a risk.

A big change.

And there’d been a lot of that in my life.

We clicked off, but I didn’t leave my spot at the window. Everything looked normal. Living alone in a new house, in a new state, I knew I was being paranoid. And yet…

I could’ve sworn I heard something…

With a sigh of frustration, I went to the door and cracked it open.

No one.

I was about to close it when I saw the folded paper taped to the wood. I snagged it to see Mac written in unfamiliar handwriting. My shoulders loosened as I opened it. An equally unfamiliar phone number was followed by a short note.

Call or text if you need anything, neighbor.

-Ward

Ward.

Not Hollywood.

When he’d left the day before, I hadn’t meant to call him by his real name since he’d said everyone called him Hollywood. But it’d just slipped out.

It suited him.

But the nickname did, too. He had movie-star good looks. Not the classical kind of someone who’d always play the hero.

He was too rough. Too masculine. Too dangerous.

He’d be the villain. Or maybe the antihero.

Yeah. The antihero.

In the fictional movie I casted in my head, he’d be breaking bottles in a bar fight to protect his woman.

And I’d be asleep in my bed across town.

Because even in my imagination, I was pregnant, exhausted, and had no interest in bars, fights, or men of any variety—hero or antihero.

I was about to toss the note out because I wouldn’t need anything. If I did, I’d get it myself. Or have it delivered straight to my front door by any of the million delivery services. But I couldn’t make myself crumple the paper.

He said he has a friend who is a nurse, so I should keep this.

Just in case.

“It’s the smart thing to do.” I put my hand to my stomach. “What do you think, Squish?”

As usual, Squish added little to the conversation, but that was okay.

I loved them anyway.

Squish may not have answered, but my stomach did by rumbling. Loudly.

Because all of a sudden, I was starving. Ravenous.

“That’s what I get for using food as an excuse to end the call.”