Okay, and the fact he looked like a male model who’d stepped off the cover of a magazine—insanely tall, even more insanely muscular, with mussed blond hair and mesmerizing blue eyes.

Maybe not a magazine. Since he wore one of those leather vest thingies, maybe off the set of a gritty motorcycle TV drama.

The wall’s gaze moved to my house before returning to me. “Where’s he?”

Is there another model running around here? Because that’s the kind of scenery I’d enjoy way more than the rose bushes.

From a distance, of course.

“Who?” I asked.

“Your man.”

Caught off guard by his blunt and presumptuous question, a pang hit my chest. It knocked the air from my lungs and the sense from my head. I didn’t stop to think before saying, “It’s… I… He’s… gone.”

As soon as the words left my mouth like water rushing past a broken dam, regret followed.

It was stupid.

I was stupid.

Not just because of the unintentional show of emotion that suddenly clogged my throat.

But also because of how careless my admission had been.

It wasn’t that he was a wall of muscles. His visible tattoos didn’t make me jump to conclusions. It was that he was a… well, a he. A giant stranger, and I’d just blabbed that I was completely alone.

That no one would notice me missing.

I have no sense of self-preservation.

I’m a walking true-crime podcast in the making.

I opened my mouth to lie and say someone was just getting lunch, but my missing verbal dam suddenly decided to repair itself. I couldn’t push the words out.

It didn’t matter anyway. There was no malice on the wall’s expression as it softened in sympathy.

The way he looked at me was almost worse than if he’d been evil or skeevy.

Not really, but it didn’t feel great.

His voice was even gentler than the look on his face. “Go sit down, Mama.”

“Why?”

But rather than answer, he continued giving options to an order I didn’t understand. “You don’t feel comfortable inside, you can chill at my place while you wait. I’ve got a helluva setup in my backyard. Or sit in your van. Doesn’t matter, I’ll be fast.”

I was lost. Completely. I blinked up at him, trying to piece together what the hell he was talking about. “Fast with what?”

“Unloading your van.”

I jerked back in surprise even as a swirl of warmth twisted in my chest at his kind offer. Still, I couldn’t accept. “I’m already doing it.”

“But you shouldn’t be.”

The friendly warmth cooled to iciness, and I shot him a glacier glare. “I’m pregnant, not incapable. I can carry boxes.”

Kind of.