“You’re the first.”

“Good to know.”

“This whole thing is a first,” he admitted, following her as she carried the kid upstairs. “I’m not...used to kids. Except my niece, but she’s seventeen now, and when she was that little, I didn’t spend much one-on-one time with her.”

“Yeah, well, this is all new to me, too. Before I started working here I’d never been around kids. Never babysat or had friends with younger siblings.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Guess we’ll figure it out together.”

“Should you be carrying him up the stairs like that?” he asked.

“As opposed to having him tossed over my shoulder or dragging him up by his feet?”

“No. I meant, is it safe for you to be carrying something so heavy at all, especially up the stairs?”

“As far as I know. Again, this is my first time. But I do know that women all over the world have kids—often times more than one—and that they probably have to carry the older one during pregnancy, so I’m guessing it’s fine. My doctor says I’m perfectly healthy, and since I’m beyond the first trimester, she thinks things should go smoothly.”

C.J. shoved his hands into his pockets as they reached the second floor. “Good. That’s...good.” And made sense. He was just so out of his element here, felt so helpless, and he hated it.

“Yes. It is.” Ivy studied him, since he was just standing there. “I suppose you’ll want to go to your room, get working on those papers you have there,” she said with a nod at the envelope.

He stared at the envelope having forgotten about it. Now he wondered what to do. He didn’t often feel guilty about his decisions, wasn’t usually this indecisive. “I do have work.”

He always had work. Always had responsibilities and people counting on him.

She shifted the boy to her other side and he smiled, patted her cheek. “Love you, Ivy.”

She kissed the top of his head. “Love you too, buddy. You’re my favorite guy, you know that?”

He nodded and went back to singing a song and playing with her hair.

Something tightened in C.J.’s chest, as if she’d reached inside and squeezed his heart when she’d smiled so softly at the little boy, when her expression had softened with so much love. Who the hell was she? Why couldn’t he get a read on her?

“I’m going to call my doctor,” Ivy said to C.J., drawing his thoughts back to their conversation. “See if I can get an earlier appointment, maybe even today. If I do, you can come with me. We’ll have her do an ultrasound in the office. I’m not sure about the paternity stuff but you’ll get to hear it straight from her how many weeks along I am.”

He nodded. “I appreciate it.” He wouldn’t apologize for wanting proof. They didn’t know each other. Every time they were together that fact was brought home yet again.

“I’ll come get you when I find out what time,” she said before walking away.

He stepped into his room, shut the door behind him. Stared at the envelope. Thought about how she was letting him go to the doctor with her. How she’d admitted she was new at this, too. And he tossed the sealed envelope on his bed and crossed to the desk to get some work done.

* * *

AS SOON AS Gracie stepped out of Bradford House onto the back patio, the heat hit her, like a slap to the face. She turned right around, ready to go back inside and tell Fay she couldn’t possibly take Luke a glass of lemonade. It was too hot out. And did Fay have any idea what the humidity did to hair like Gracie’s?

She’d likely give Luke—used to looking at his pretty girlfriend with her smooth, shiny hair—a heart attack.

And thinking of Kennedy only reminded her of how the other girl had treated her that day in school last fall. Nothing could have shored up her resolve better. No way was she going to let Kennedy scare her off.

Especially when the redhead wasn’t even here.

She shut the French door with a soft click, feeling defiant. Rebellious. Ha. Take that. She may not be popular, may not be beautiful and golden, but she wasn’t a coward. And after Luke had been so nice about her brothers Saturday, after he’d walked her home from Andrew’s, she’d decided there was no reason for her to continue being so standoffish. Then, at some point in the future, after they’d gotten to know each other better, if they’d discovered they had enough common interests and views on certain subjects, then they could possibly become friends.

It wouldn’t be the same as it had been with Andrew, she insisted to herself as she walked across the patio, the smooth stones hot under her bare feet. She and Andrew hadn’t been friends. Hadn’t taken the time to get to know each other. Everything between them had happened so quickly. One day they were neighbors who’d never even spoken to each other, and a few weeks later, she’d slept with him.

She switched the sweating glass of lemonade to her other hand, wiped the moisture from her fingers on her jean shorts. Her own fault for being so needy. For falling in love with him after such a short time.

Her fault for believing it when he’d said he loved her, too.

All in the past, she assured herself. She was over it. Mistakes happened and, honestly, if you couldn’t make a few during your teen years, what was the point of adolescence?

She followed the low rumble of the lawn mower around the back corner of a shed on the far side of the yard. Watched Luke push the machine, his shirt damp and clinging to his broad shoulders, the width of his back. She’d been unfair in assuming Luke was just like Andrew. Unfair and judgmental, which stung.

She hated being judged, and yet she’d done it with Luke. Had assumed, since he and Andrew were best friends, since Luke was an athlete and good-looking, that he must be a user. A liar.

Of course, she wasn’t ready to swear a blood oath that he wasn’t either of those things. She was just willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

Luke turned the corner, started back toward her, nodded to let her know he’d seen her, then finished the row and shut the machine off. He went to the side of the shed, turned on the hose and took off his hat before aiming the water at himself, soaking his hair and the back of his neck. Gracie thought it was a bit strange that he left his sunglasses on, but maybe the sunlight bothered his eyes. Who was she to judge? After shutting off the water, he straightened, shook himself pretty much like Sauron had done yesterday and put his hat back on.

He walked toward her, his eyes still covered by those dark sunglasses, the upper half of his shirt now completely wet and molding itself to his muscular chest. Oh, my. Her throat went dry. Her face got hot. Well, it was over ninety in the shade today, but she doubted that was the reason for her reaction.

Stupid, fickle hormones. Always getting women into trouble.

“Hey,” he said when he reached her, his brows lowered, his mouth a flat line.

No happy greeting, no asking how she was. She’d gotten used to his good moods, his affable nature and friendly personality, so his grim expression and decidedly cool greeting had her frowning.

Her eyes widened. Did he...did he suspect that she’d been ogling him, like the freshmen girls who all giggled and batted their eyelashes when he passed? Now she gave an inner eye roll. Talk about egotistical. He probably wasn’t thinking about her at all. Why assume his mood had anything to do with her? Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe he was just overheated and cranky, like Chandler after being in the sun too long.

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t jump to conclusions about him anymore, that she’d give him the same chance she’d want someone to give her and that was what she would do.

“Fay thought you might like a drink,” Gracie said, holding out the glass.

“Thanks.” He took it and drained the liquid in four deep gulps.

“Didn’t you bring a water bottle with you?”