Page 3 of Sterling Heat

“Beatles fan?” I hitch a brow, glancing at him over the rim of my mug. He shrugs, all casual coolness across from me, watching me drink my coffee. One arm rests against the back of the chair beside him; the other hand cups his mug. Silence has never been so comfortable, but I can’t keep quiet for long. I glance up at a quote on the wall.

There is NO HOLE in Kindness.

The capitalized Os are shaped like donuts.

“Strange quote.”

“This location used to be a donut shop.” He offers, as if that explains everything.

“Donuts have holes.”

He shrugs. His smirk matches my smile. “Bundt cakes do as well.” He tips his head to read the quote himself. “It was here when I bought the place. Figured it brought the previous owners thirty-two years of business luck. I left it on the wall.”

Taking a second glance, a faint outline surrounds the quote, as if fresh paint didn’t match the original color.

“Maybe it’s a metaphor. Like kindness is cyclical.”

He shrugs again and scoffs while lifting his mug. “Maybe it was a nicer way of saying don’t be an asshole.”

Glancing back at the quote, I mutter, “Maybe.” Unfortunately, I’ve known a few assholes in my thirty-eight years. Lowering my gaze, I look at him again. “Got any other quotes for good luck?”

His lip quirks up on one side and he tips his chin. “What do you need luck for?” Those heavy blue eyes scan my face.

Do I need luck? I should already feel like the luckiest woman in the world. But my eyes instantly well. Damn my emotions.

“I’m pregnant.” Saying the words aloud for the first time feels strange. A little unreal. A lot exciting.

His arm along the back of the chair slips to the seat. His hand on the handle of his mug flattens on the tabletop. His entire demeanor shifts, and that hint of danger becomes more apparent. An invisible wall goes up around him. He leans forward.

“Husband must be happy.” His rugged tone, which once sounded friendly, is now jagged.

“No husband.” With my gaze aimed at the table, the wood surface blurs from the threat of tears.

“Boyfriend, then?” His voice croaks on the term.

I shake my head. How do I explain my situation to a stranger?

“You’re the first person I’ve told.” A sour lump fills my throat when I’m actually ecstatic deep down.

“Shit.” The gruffness filters into my ears, but all I really hear is the pulsing of my own heart.

I’m going to have a baby.

Suddenly, I’m hefted off the bench and wrapped in thick arms. My head is pressed to his chest where the rapid rhythm of his heart is a steady song. Thrown off guard at first, my arms are trapped between us, but slowly, I loosen them and circle his waist. Tears slip down my nose.

I don’t know why I’m crying. This is what I wanted.

Still, I’m scared . . . and his simple questions remind me I’m doing this alone.

“Want me to kill the bastard? I know people.” The ferocity in his question tells me he isn’t joking but there’s no one to harm.

I shake my head against his solid pecs, anxiously giggling despite the flow of tears. “I’m good.”

His hand glides down my back, pausing just above my ass. His other hand cups my head, holding me against him. I close my eyes, inhaling the vanilla and motor oil scent of him. We stand like this for long enough the awkwardness of hugging a stranger should settle in, but I don’t want to move.

And I don’t know why I told him this monumental truth.

As I pull back, his hand at the base of my spine keeps me close to him. His eyes search mine and I wish I could read his thoughts. I wish I could tell this stranger all of mine.