It was hesitant and small, but she smiled at me. A long moment later, she went to sit while I threw out almost every spice in the house before raiding her fridge.

What the hell?

I went into the living room to see her sitting on the couch, a medical drama on TV. It’d been a while since I’d caught the reruns in the middle of the night, but I remembered it having a wordless theme song. Yet as it played, she quietly mouthed along.

“What’re you singing?” I asked, making her jump.

She opened her mouth, the denial on her tongue before she shook her head. “Whatever, this night can’t get any more embarrassing.” With a sigh, she paused the show. “I made up lyrics about touching butts for the song. Any further questions?”

Yeah.

Why the fuck are you so goddamn cute?

I didn’t think she’d appreciate the question or my word choice, so I kept it to myself. “Thought you said you just went shopping.”

“I did.”

“Then where the hell’s the rest of your food?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “I’m one woman, Ward.”

“A pregnant woman.”

Not that I knew what that meant beyond the pickles with ice cream cravings they showed on TV.

I thought it was all about moderation and shit, but I must’ve been wrong. Her fridge was nothing but lean meats, vegetables, and more vegetables.

She did have the pickles, but no ice cream in sight.

“I have to eat healthy.” She put her hand on her stomach and looked down at it, her face solemn and her voice soft. “Squish counts on me.”

Fuckin’ hell, damn, shit.

The wind was knocked from my lungs, my chest tightened, and my gut twisted like I’d gone four rounds with a kicking donkey.

I bottled all that shit up and focused on what was important.

Finding Mac and Squish something healthy to go with our greasy pizza.

10. Payback is a Bitch… Or a Steak

CHAPTER 10

PAYBACK IS A BITCH… OR A STEAK

MAC

Something smelled good.

With one foot still in the Uber, I inhaled again as my mouth watered.

I was wrong.

Something smelled amazing.

And I bet I knew who was responsible.

Climbing out of the Uber, I closed the car door and walked toward my house. Every step was a battle, and not just because my muscles ached from overdoing it.

I was fighting the urge to veer into my neighbor’s backyard where the delicious scent was undoubtedly emanating from.

Between the barbecue feast followed by pizza the night before, Ward had fed me enough. More than enough. I had leftover slices for at least a couple of days. I wasn’t going to intrude again.

I had plans, anyway.