Page 46

His low voice rolls through the quiet kitchen and settles into my bones. I set the piping bag down and wipe my hands on my apron. When I turn around, Thane is leaning against the cooler door with his arms crossed and his dark hair damp from the walk over. Whiskey eyes move from my face to my belly and stay there, softening at the edges the way they always do when he registers how much I've grown since this time last month. I swear if he could he’d measure me daily and write the numbers down. But no way I’m letting that happen. It would give away how many tarts I eat a day and that is my secret to keep.

I lift a brow. "You're staring."

"I'm appreciating."

Heat creeps up my neck. Months of this and the man still makes me blush by breathing in my direction. "Appreciating or assessing? Because last time you were assessing, I ended up with a six-thousand-dollar mixer I didn’t ask for."

His mouth twitches. "Nine thousand. And you did ask for it. You swore at the old one, kicked it twice, and called it a corroded piece of garbage. I took that as a formal request."

I press my lips together to keep from laughing and lose the battle immediately. "Fair enough."

He pushes off the cooler and crosses the kitchen, settling his hands on my hips and guiding me backward until I'm resting against the counter. His palms slide around to the curve of my belly and he spreads his fingers wide, covering as much of me as he can reach. The warmth of his hands cuts through the thin cotton of my apron and the tank top underneath. My skin prickles from the contact.

"Good morning, baby." His voice drops low, meant only for the two of us and the little life between my hips. "Your mama is already baking. You don't stand a chance. She’ll be teaching you by the time you can walk."

My throat tightens. I thread my fingers through his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp, and the deep sound of contentment he gives me vibrates through his chest and into mine.

“You can count on it. From mafia to bakers. Sounds legit, right?”

“It does to me.” Thane kisses the tip of my nose.

I lean back and look up. "By the way, your brother texted again."

Thane settles his forehead against mine and sighs softly. "When?"

"Last night. While you were in the shower." I pull my phone from my apron pocket and hold up the screen.

The message is short. Very Ryth Cross.

Baby is crawling. Nyx says hello. Come for dinner. Bring your baker.

Thane reads it twice. His jaw works on something he doesn't say right away, and I wait because I've learned that the words he takes longest to form are the ones that matter most.

"I haven't had dinner with my brother in six years."

"I know." I offer softly.

"He'll be insufferable. He'll hold the baby and give me that look."

"The look that says he's happy you're alive and done being a ghost?"

His mouth curves against my hair. "Yep. That one. And he’ll tell me all about midnight feedings and diaper changes."

I laugh a little. I can’t wait to see Thane covered in baby powder and asking what to do with a messy pamper. "You’re going to be a great father, my love. And frankly, you deserve that look. And I want to meet the family who is going to spoil our kid rotten."

He breathes in slow, pressing his lips to my temple. "I'll text him back and tell him this Saturday."

"Good. Tell him I'm bringing apple tarts."

"He'll love you forever."

I lift the edge of Thane’s shirt and slide my hands over the bumps and ridges of his abdomen. "I'm very lovable."

His laugh is warm and I want to bottle it and keep it on a shelf beside my vanilla extract. I cup his jaw, running my thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone. The scar along his hairline is faded to silver and the shadows beneath his eyes have lifted since he stopped sleeping in four-hour rotations with a gun under the pillow. He sleeps now. Deep, heavy, wrapped around me with his face buried in my hair and his hand resting on my belly. He sleeps like a man who finally has something worth waking up for.

"I need to tell you something." His expression shifts, guarded and tender at the same time.

My thumb stills on his jaw. "Okay."