Sonia and I spend the rest of the day beautifying me. We talk about everything under the sun, laughing at corny jokes and just having a grand old time.

We stop to get coffee when Sonia asks me, “When are you going to tell him?”

Startled, I spill some coffee on the front of my shirt. “Tell who what?” I ask.

Sonia just raises an eyebrow. “Tell Landon whatever it is that you aren’t telling me.”

I stare at the ground uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I know I should I just…can’t. We’re just starting to get along. What if it changes things between us? What if he gets mad?” I confess.

Sonia grabs my hand and squeezes it gently. “Sweetie, I don’t know what it is, but I do know that Landon is a practical guy. If you just tell him, I am sure he will understand. Help even.”

I say nothing. I don’t know what to say. How do you tell someone you’re dying? I know Sonia thinks what I have not told him is about my father. I wonder what she will say if I tell her that Landon already knows he was abusive.

“Are you still going when the baby is born?” she whispers.

I swallow a sob down and nod.

Sonia gives me a small smile. “Well, then, your secret is safe with me. Just know I’m not for this.”

CHAPTER 20

Domestic

Landon

I change my shirt four times. Four! Needless to say, I am nervous for our date. It is dinner. We have had meals together before. Just not like this. This is a date. Plus, I am pretty sure Brooke has never been on an actual date before, so I want to make this one special for her.

After forcing myself not to change again, I go downstairs to pace in the living room. When Brooke comes down the stairs, I cannot breath. There are no words to describe her. She is wearing a black dress that stops just above her knees. It hugs her figure in a sexy way. The collar is lined with lace as well as the sleeve cuffs. She looks beautiful and radiant, bashful yet glowing with confidence, nervous and excited. She looks healthy. I pause at that last thought. Did I think Brooke to be unhealthy? She is pregnant, not sick, and yet she always held this fragility about her. Always too thin, too pale, too…sad.

Pushing the thought aside, I hold up the bouquet of white roses with purple tips. “For a beautiful woman who far outshines me,” I say.

She blushes as she accepts the flowers, burying her nose in them. She turns to put them in the vase I already have set up for them on the counter. I groan when I see the back of her dress—or rather lack thereof. It has got spaghetti-thin straps crisscrossing across it, exposing large expanses of skin.

Brooke gives me a curious glance. “Everything okay?” she asked innocently.