Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Suzie
I groan as sunlight sneaks through my curtains, tugging me out of sleep. For once, I have the entire day off—a rare gift. I roll over, grabbing my phone off the nightstand, and see two unread messages waiting for me.
The first one is from Dexter.
Dexter:
Good morning, sunshine. We're coming over. Hope you like pancakes.
The second one arrives right after, from Pete.
Pete:
And bacon.
A flutter dances in my chest. I haven't seen either of them since my date with Dexter a few nights ago. Things at the museum have been crazy—which loosely translates into the muse struck and I had to follow the rabbit down the hole. They’ve been texting, but I haven’t been the best at getting back to them, responding only sporadically and usually late at night . But today, they're coming over.
And apparently, they're cooking for me.
Before I can even process what that means—two gorgeous men in my kitchen, making breakfast—a knock sounds at the door. I jump out of bed, throw a sweater over my sleep-shirt and pull open the door. Dexter stands there with a grin, his arms loaded with grocery bags.
"Morning, sunshine!" he says, breezing past me and heading straight for the kitchen like he's done this a thousand times.
Pete follows behind him with a quieter smile, but something about it makes my heart feel full and warm. "Hope you're ready to eat."
I step aside, watching them unload like some sort of dream I might wake up from. Dexter rifles through the cabinets, grabbing bowls and spoons like he's lived here forever. Pete's careful and deliberate, placing everything on the counter in a neat little line. Eggs, flour, bacon, milk, chocolate chips.
"You brought chocolate chips?" I ask, tilting my head.
Dexter winks. "Pancakes taste better with chocolate. Everyone knows that."
Pete smirks as he starts laying strips of bacon on a pan. "He'll tell you it's science, but really, he just likes eating like a five-year-old."
I laugh, despite myself, leaning against the counter. It's strange how easy it feels—like we've done this a hundred times before. Dexter hums as he mixes batter, and Pete works efficiently at the stove, the smell of bacon filling the room.
When Dexter flips the first pancake, he shoots me a playful look. "You know, we could make you help instead of letting you stand there, looking cute."
"Oh, no," I say, grinning. "I'm the guest. I thought the whole point was for you guys to impress me."
Pete shakes his head, amused. "You've got it all figured out, huh?"
"Obviously."
The smell of food is warm and comforting, and the easy banter between the three of us feels... right. It's like the missing puzzle piece I didn't even know I was looking for. Dexter sets a stack of pancakes on the counter, and I push off to grab a plate—but just as I take a healthy inhale, the scent of the dough fills the air around us.
My stomach rolls violently.
I swallow hard, blinking back the wave of nausea. No. Not now.
"Everything okay?" Pete's voice cuts through the fog in my head, soft with concern.
"Yeah." I force a smile. "Just... dizzy for a second."
Dexter frowns, setting down the spatula. "Come sit down, Suzie. You probably just need some breakfast."
I nod and shuffle to the table, doing everything I can to appear normal. But the nausea twists harder, making my hands tremble. I grip the edge of the chair, silently willing my stomach to settle.I don’t want to throw up with them here. That will bring up questions I’m not ready to answer.
Dexter drops to a crouch beside me, his blue eyes scanning my face. "You sure you're okay? You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," I lie through my teeth. "Probably just too hungry."
Pete's at my side in an instant, pressing a cool hand to my forehead. "You're clammy."
I bat his hand away with a shaky laugh, before taking a seat. "Guys, seriously. It's nothing. I just need a minute."
They exchange a look—one of those wordless conversations that only people close to each other can have. And then, without waiting for my protest, Dexter is sliding a glass of water into my hand while Pete pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.
"You're not getting out of this that easily. And you're not getting rid of us, either," Dexter says, his grin soft but determined.
I roll my eyes. "I didn't say I was trying to get rid of you."
Pete leans in, his gaze steady. "Then tell us what's really going on."
My heart stutters in my chest, and for a second, I think about confessing—about telling them the truth. Morning sickness. The positive test results hidden away. The secret that's been gnawing at me since I first found out.
But fear knots my stomach tighter than the nausea ever could. Not yet. I can't tell them yet.
"I'm fine," I insist, plastering on a smile. "Just give me five minutes, and I'll be good as new."
Pete doesn't look convinced, but he reaches out and squeezes my hand anyway, his thumb brushing gently across my knuckles. "Five minutes," he agrees. "Then we'll feed you."
Dexter straightens, but not before shooting me a look that says 'I'm watching you'. I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs, the tension in the room easing slightly.
I sip the water slowly, hoping it'll settle my stomach enough to make it through breakfast, raising no more suspicions.
Dexter goes back to flipping pancakes, humming under his breath, and Pete stays close, his knee brushing against mine under the table—like he's anchoring me without even realizing it.
And for the first time in days, I let myself relax. Even with the secret hanging heavy between us, being with them feels... good.
Safe.
"Better?" Dexter asks, sliding my plate of pancakes in front of me again.
I nod, hoping to not make a liar out of myself.
"Now let's take care of you, sunshine."
Pete smirks, setting a fresh mug of coffee on the table. "Whether you want us to or not."
Warmth blooms in my chest as I pick up my fork, the edges of my anxiety softening under their easy care. It's terrifying how quickly these two are slipping into my heart. How right it feels to have them here.
And how much I want to keep them.
I take a small bite of the pancake, praying it stays down. When it does, I carefully take another bite, and then another. Once I've successfully eaten several bites, I look up at the two men in front of me and smile. "This is delicious, thanks."
Pete stares at the cup of coffee on the counter before looking back at me, with a slight frown on his face. "Are you sure you're okay, baby? The old Suzie would have inhaled that coffee by now."
Fuck.
Well, I can't really drink the coffee. And I already feel like crap for keeping the secret to start with.
I force a laugh, hoping it sounds convincing. "Maybe I've evolved? I could be turning into one of those people who enjoy drinking herbal tea now."
Pete raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Herbal tea, huh?"
Dexter gives me a teasing grin as he slides into the seat across from me. "I might join you, have any fun flavors to try?"
I snort, but inside, I feel like a total fraud. They're both trying to make light of things and here I am, keeping the truth locked up tight in my chest. A truth I'm not ready to face myself, let alone tell them.
Pete's gaze lingers on me for a second too long, his sharp eyes filled with quiet curiosity. He's always been observant. The kind of man who notices every little thing about me. How I liked to kick off my socks, once I was cuddled under the blankets, or how I never ever cried during sad movies, but always ended up bawling after, when no one was around to see. No one but him that is.
I pick up my fork again, stabbing another piece of pancake like it holds all the answers.
"So," I say, trying to steer the conversation to safer territory, "what's the rest of your day look like? Or is this your way of saying you're moving in and cooking for me, forever?"
Dexter winks. "Patience, sunshine. You need to convince us to marry you first."
His joke breaks the tension in the small kitchenette and we all burst into laughter.
I take another bite, slow and careful. If I can just get through this breakfast without puking or slipping up, maybe I'll have a little more time to figure out what to do.
"You know," Pete says, tapping his finger on the edge of the coffee cup I haven't touched. "You could talk to us, if something was wrong, right?"
My heart pounds in my chest, and I look down, busying myself with my food. "Nothing's wrong. I promise." It’s a lie. Not really. My baby—our baby—isn’t wrong .
Pete nods, and there's something so grounding in the way he reaches out again, this time resting his hand on my knee under the table. His touch is gentle and steady. No pressure. Just a reminder that he's here. They both are.
Tears prick the back of my eyes—damn hormones—before I can stop them. Damn it.
I take a deep breath, forcing a smile. "Now, seriously. What's the plan for the rest of the day? You have me all to yourselves."
Dexter smirks. "A little birdie told me you haven't done too much sightseeing yet. So today, we're playing tourist. I hope you have comfy shoes, sunshine. You're going to need them."
I huff a small laugh, shaking my head. "I told you that!"
Dexter shrugs. "I guess that makes you a little birdie then, doesn't it?"