Ever since Brock, I’d been telling myself I wasn’t allowed to feel anything beyond lust, not with Kash and not so soon after the way things ended with Brock.

I hadn’t even realized I’d been hiding behind that lie.

The twist in my chest unfurled with the permission to care about him. “I … I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You seem convinced there’s something in the way, but what if there isn’t?”

“And what if it’s not that easy?”

“And what if shrimp learn to whistle and chickens grow teeth? If you want to really live in the moment, stop worrying so much about what if and just go for it. Living in the moment means damning the consequences. It’s about choosing what you want instead of what’s safe.”

“And what if I’m not ready to choose?” I asked, knowing that if I did, there would be no turning back.

But with a knowing smile, she said, “Pretty sure you already did.”

A laughed touched with surprise and relief and a healthy amount of fear shot out of me. Because she was right, and it was a bare and honest truth. I’d already chosen. And I’d chosen Kash.

“When did you get so smart?” I asked.

“When I fell in love and got knocked up. As dumb as pregnancy has made me, I feel super freaking wise. Ask me about preeclampsia or mucus plugs. Go on, ask me.”

I made a gagging sound around my laughter. “Mucus is just as bad as moist.”

“Worse. At least moist can be associated with happy things like cakes and vaginas. There is nothing happy about mucus.”

I turned for the door, shaking my head, scooping up my bag on the way. “I love you, weirdo.”

“Love you too. Have fun on your date.”

With a parting rolling of eyes over my shoulder, I said goodbye and trotted down the stairs, musing over the revelation.

I wondered when it had happened. In the small hours of some long night, wrapped in his arms. Eating takeout in bed for dinner every evening—me in his T-shirt, him in nothing but sweatpants and a smile. The night he’d first kissed me and promised he’d give me all I wanted. Or was it before? Had I known before I’d recognized the feeling? Had I leaned into him instinctively, knowing without knowing that he was good for me?

With some certainty, I realized that I didn’t want him to be my rebound or fling or distraction. What I didn’t know was whether or not he felt the same.