I was about to take a bite of my food when I caught muffled voices. They quickly grew closer as whoever streamed into his backyard.

I needed to haul my pregnant ass up.

I needed to go inside.

I didn’t.

I was too entranced.

It was just general greetings and talk about the food and drinks, but there was so much laughter. Comradery.

Happiness.

Keeping silent, I picked at my food and continued to eavesdrop. I couldn’t make out the specifics with separate conversations happening at once, but that was fine. I just wanted to hear the tone. The vibe.

And Hollywood’s laughter.

I had no clue how I knew it was his, but I could isolate it. It was so genuine, hearty, and carefree, it made me smile.

If only my food would make me do the same.

With the help of the barbecue-scented air, I managed to choke down a few bites, but I was throwing in the towel.

It was that or throw up everything.

I was about to stand when it happened.

I sneezed.

Loudly.

6. Laughter. Comradery. Happiness. Cheese

CHAPTER 6

LAUGHTER. COMRADERY. HAPPINESS. CHEESE

MAC

All laughter on the other side of the fence cut off, and I cringed.

I would’ve run inside if I was capable of getting up quickly. I was tempted to crawl my pregnant ass across the overgrown lawn, but I was too slow.

And it was too late.

“Mac?” a deep voice rumbled.

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t move.

I barely breathed.

Maybe he’ll think it came from a different direction.

Or it was the wind.

Or a bird.

The Massachusetts Sneezing Weirdo bird, of the Tit family.

“Mac,” he said again, just with no question in the tone. And from much closer.

Way too close.

I tipped my head back and brought my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. It was unnecessary. The handsome wall peering over the fence did a good job of blocking out pretty much everything.

“Oh, hey,” I said, playing it cool. As cool as lava. “What’s up?”

“The fuck you doing?”

I held up the plastic container. “Eating lunch.”

“On the ground?”

“Have you never heard of a picnic?”

He raised a brow. “On the ground right next to my fence?”

“Back support. It’s important for pregnant women.”

That time, he didn’t verbally speak. But the pointed way he looked toward the garden bench, the small patio table and chair, and then back to me said everything.

I cringed.

“I’ll ask again, Mac… The fuck you doing?”

“My food tastes awful—”

“I can believe that ’cause it looks like shit, too.”

“And whatever you’re cooking smells so good,” I continued like I hadn’t heard his insult—however truthful it may have been. “I thought if I was smelling your food, I could choke down mine.”

He stared down at me, blinking once. Twice.