Tangled Desires (Wattle Creek #3)

29

I ’m falling for your mama, too.

The words have rooted themselves in my brain, making it impossible to just brush it off like I usually would. I can’t deny how he’s changed, softened even. And here I am, practically dissecting every smile, every touch, every lingering glance, questioning if I could really let myself fall for him. The thought alone makes me feel restless.

It’s infuriating, really, this unexpected ache, the fact that I’m actually considering what it would mean to let my guard down. He’s trying to act all casual, but I can see the way he watches me. Suddenly, every smile, every brush of his hand feels heavier, more complicated, like there’s a door I’d be insane to open, but I can’t stop standing there, hand on the handle, wondering if it would be worth it.

The sun’s out, but it’s chilly, barely sixteen degrees, so I’m bundled up to meet Isla at the shops to grab supplies for Michael’s birthday BBQ tonight. Isla waves me over, already clutching a basket. “About time you showed up. I was starting to think you’d decided to leave me to this adventure alone,” she teases, looping her arm through mine as we head inside.

“Oh, please, you’d last five minutes without my stellar advice on snack selection. You’d be picking out carrot sticks instead of chips.”

“Sure, because you’re the authority on fine dining. Anyway, how’s your week been?”

“Nope, we’re not talking about me yet. How was your week?”

She sighs dramatically, tossing a bag of chips into the basket. “Oh, you mean my full-time week at my part-time job?”

I chuckle. “But you love it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do, but it’s pure chaos. Just the other day, this pug came in—had somehow managed to eat an entire block of cheese and was, predictably, sick everywhere. Poor Molly—she’s a saint, I swear—was running around with cleaning supplies.”

“I don’t know how you can deal with all that chaos.”

“Honestly, it’s a good break from being at home with Callie. Having a baby really is the biggest blessing, and I’m so grateful for Callie and Xav, especially after I lost Dad—but it can be a lot sometimes, you know?”

“How?” I ask, genuinely curious. Soon, this’ll be my life, too.

“It’s just a lot to juggle sometimes. Especially now that Xavier wants another baby. Bloke’s been hornier than a teenager on spring break,” she says with a sly grin. “And I’ll admit, the sex has been phenomenal, but I’m just not sure if I’m ready to dive into all that again yet.”

“Have you actually told him that?”

“Of course I have! We’re staying somewhat safe.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, I believe that.”

We turn down the freezer aisle. “Enough about me. How’ve things been with you and Harrison? You two looked downright cosy at the last get-together, like a cute, domesticated couple.”

“Domestic? Us? He’s still a pain in my ass.”

“Oh, please. I saw the way he kept checking on you, making sure you were okay. Looked like someone’s nesting to me.” She raises an eyebrow. “Are you still calling it ‘playing house,’ or is it real life now?”

I try not to let her words affect me, but it’s impossible not to think about how attentive Harrison has been lately. “He’s just… you know, being a good guy. He knows I’m in my third trimester. I think he’s more worried about me than I am.”

Isla smirks, picking up a pack of napkins. “Sure sounds like someone’s smitten. Admit it—he’s grown on you.”

“Maybe.”

“More than maybe,” she says, laughing. “I’m already picturing you guys married with a house full of little Harrisons running around.”

“God help me,” I say, shaking my head. “A house full of mini Harrisons running around? The world is not ready for that chaos.”

“Oh, come on. It doesn’t sound that bad.” I don’t answer as we keep walking down the aisle, but I catch myself grinning like an idiot, the idea refusing to leave.

I lean against the verandah railing, the cool breeze rustling the trees below. The scent of eucalyptus drifts through the air, familiar and grounding. Dad stands next to me, adjusting his hat like he always does. His silence isn’t awkward—it never is. Just comfortable, like everything else about him.

I take a sip of my tea, the mug warming my hands, as we both stare out at the bushland stretching beyond the backyard. The sky’s turning that soft pink it gets just before dusk, and for a second, it feels like nothing’s changed. Like I’m still that kid who sat here with him every night, talking about nothing and everything.

“Miss you around here,” he says quietly, though his words carry just enough weight to hit me in the chest.

“I miss you, too.”

The words come easy because they’re true. It’s strange, trying to settle into a life without him always in reach. No more lazy chats on this verandah or quick calls to fix whatever’s gone wrong. Just me, figuring it out.

“You doing okay?” His eyes stay fixed on the horizon, but I know he’s watching, waiting.

“Yeah—”

He cuts me off, shaking his head. “Because if he’s not treating you right, you let me know. Pack your stuff, come back here. No questions.”

I smile, the warmth from the tea spreading further than it should. God, I love him. Always have. For years, I thought no man could come close. But Harrison? He’s been proving me wrong. Showing up in ways that matter. Like last week, when he sat on the floor for an hour rubbing my swollen ankles, even though it was obvious he hated every second of it. Or that time he hunted down that ridiculous ice cream flavour I couldn’t stop craving, just because. Thirty-three weeks. Not long now. This last stretch has been rough, but Harrison’s been there . Steady. Relentless. Just like Dad.

“He’s been a good dad,” I say quietly, staring down at my belly. “He… he treats me well.”

“Good.”

The baby suddenly kicks, a slow roll against my belly. I shift, cradling the mug closer to my chest.

“Want to feel?” I glance over at him, a grin tugging at my lips.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Sure.”

I wait, holding still, until another jab makes itself known. Carefully, I grab his hand and place it over my belly, right over the thermal. We stand there, waiting. And then—bam. A solid kick, right under his palm. His whole face lights up.

“Well, would you look at that,” he whispers, almost to himself. His hand stays there, like he’s afraid moving will scare the baby off. “Did this a few times with your mum,” he adds, eyes distant, lost in some memory. “Best thing I ever felt. Every damn time.”

The lump in my throat grows heavier, but I push it down. “She walked out on a man who’s been nothing but solid his whole life—her loss, not ours.” I look at him, forcing the words out before they choke me. “You didn’t deserve that, Dad. You’re—you’re the best damn dad anyone could ask for. She didn’t even know what she was giving up.”

His eyes gloss over, he doesn’t say anything. Just leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, like he’s done a million times. “I’ll always love you, pumpkin. You’ll never not be my little ribbon-loving, bullheaded girl.”

A laugh bubbles out as I blink back my own tears. “Bullheaded? Really?”

“You know it.”