Twenty-Four
ALLISON
W hen the Angelo Taylor asked Allison to move in with him, she felt nothing but disbelief. How big were this man’s balls, that he asked her something like that with her brothers still in the building?
She should’ve kicked him out the second he suggested such a wild idea, but… she didn’t. After her phone call with her brother Johnathan—who she fully intended to cockblock in retaliation—she mumbled an excuse about needing to help him and promptly bolted out of her apartment.
Yep. You read that right.
Allison was in such a daze that she left her own apartment with Angelo still inside.
Yay, pregnancy brain.
Now, two weeks later, she found herself huffing and puffing while pacing in her living room, trying to make sense of it all. She was officially past twenty-two weeks pregnant, and soon her baby bump would be massive. Her ankles? Swollen. Showers? Probably going to need assistance for those.
Originally, she thought her brothers could help out, but Angelo was right—they’d be too busy, and honestly, she didn’t even want to ask.
She could turn to Amira, her recently-reconnected best friend, but burdening her with all these pregnancy problems seemed unfair.
That left Angelo. The only person available 24/7. And she hated that he was right.
Her mind was a chaotic mess of “what ifs” and scenarios she needed to shut down, fast. There was only one person she could turn to when her brain spun out like this:
Amira Davis.
Allison
Hey, you free?
The reply came almost immediately.
Amira
For you? Always
What’s up babe?
Allison
I need your help with something. Can you be at my apartment in 30?
Amira
I’ll be there in 15 ;)
Allison let out a huge sigh of relief. One problem down.
Next up: food.
After a quick call to her doctor and a thorough Google search, she had officially found out the trick to keeping food down a few days ago: small, frequent, protein-packed meals. The only downside? Her cooking skills were lacking.
But since it was noon and she had company on the way, she was determined to try making something semi-edible.
Keyword: try .
Fifteen minutes later, true to her word, Amira was buzzing Allison’s door. The not-so-delicious chicken stir-fry Allison had attempted was nearly done, meaning they’d be eating soon—whether or not it would be good was another story.
She wiped her hands on a pink kitchen towel, her trusty sidekick in all culinary misadventures, and buzzed Amira in. As she waited for her friend to trek up to her floor, her mind whirled.
Shit. How did I get here?
A year ago, life was simple: stable job, nice apartment, and no surprise nights out. Now? Pregnant, half-cooking something that might qualify as a fire hazard, and contemplating the insane idea of moving in with Angelo fucking Taylor.
What the hell happened?
A knock yanked her out of her thoughts. She rushed to the door, revealing Amira standing there looking like her usual beautiful self, all smiles, holding a bottle of sparkling water and a bag that suspiciously looked like it held emergency snacks.
“So,” Amira said, breezing past her and kicking off her shoes. “I brought reinforcements. Figured we might need them.”
“You have no idea.” Allison closed the door and followed Amira into the living room.
Amira sniffed the air dramatically, her eyebrow arched. “So… what culinary adventure are we embarking on today?”
Allison groaned. “Don’t ask. It’s supposed to be chicken stir-fry, but the chicken looks like it’s seen some things. If it’s terrible, I won’t be offended.”
Amira grinned. “Hey, at least you’re trying. That’s more than I can say. Last week, I burned hot chocolate. Hot chocolate , babe.”
Allison laughed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay, I officially feel better.”
Amira plopped her bag on the couch and sat cross-legged, giving Allison a pointed look. “Alright, spill it. What’s got you summoning me with your ‘help me before I lose my mind’ tone?”
Allison sighed, collapsing onto the couch. “Angelo asked me to move in with him.”
Amira blinked, leaning in as if she misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Yeah,” Allison said, rubbing her temples. “He just tossed it out there like it was no big deal. ‘Oh, hey, move in with me, no pressure—also, your brothers are still around.’”
Amira’s eyes widened. “Wow. Bold. And you haven’t told him to shove it yet?”
“I don’t know what to do. The worst part is… he’s right. I’m going to need help, especially in a few months. But it’s Angelo. I’m not sure I’m ready for that—or if I even want it.”
Amira leaned back, chewing on her lip. “Let me get this straight: you, Allison Lockwood, who never asks for help, are hesitant because a man is offering it. And Angelo—who is basically a Greek god—is that man?”
Allison gave her a weak smile. “Pretty much.”
Amira tilted her head, grinning mischievously. “Girl, you know you’ve thought about it. The man’s built like a tank—and probably gives amazing back rubs.”
Allison burst out laughing. “Stop it.”
“Hey, I’m just saying!” Amira raised her hands in mock innocence. “But seriously, it’s not a wild offer. You’re having a baby, and he wants to help.”
“I don’t know him that well, Ami!” Allison threw her hands up in frustration.
Amira shot her a knowing look. “Not true. You’ve been talking about him for months, and don’t pretend you weren’t flirting with the idea of something more. So, what’s really holding you back?”
Allison reflected on her friend’s words. She knew the small details about him—his favorite food, a Greek-style lasagna, and his love for the music from Dirty Dancing . But she also understood the bigger, more important things—his character, his integrity.
She knew without a doubt that he was a good man.
“I… well… okay, fine,” Allison admitted with a sigh. “But this feels out of nowhere, you know?”
“Maybe,” Amira mused, “but look at it as more of a partnership. It’s not like he’s asking you to marry him. He’s offering help, and, let’s be real, you could use it.”
“I guess.” Allison paused, her thoughts swirling again. “But what if it complicates things? What if I end up—”
“—wanting him more?” Amira finished, raising an eyebrow.
Allison fell silent. Allison didn’t respond right away. That was exactly the problem. She had this nagging fear that the closer they got, the more tangled up her feelings would become. And then what? Was she ready for that kind of risk?
Amira nudged her gently. “Look, you don’t have to figure it all out today. If it gets too weird, make him sleep on the couch.”
Allison chuckled. “Yeah, the couch.”
“Speaking of weird, how’s that stir-fry? I’d prefer not to die today.”
Allison stood, shaking off the heavy thoughts. “Let’s hope it’s edible.”
They headed to the kitchen, Amira peeking into the pan with a grimace. “Well, it’s not on fire, so that’s promising.”
“High praise,” Allison said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed plates.
As they dished up, Allison realized Amira had a point. She didn’t need to make a decision right now. Maybe, just maybe, moving in with Angelo wouldn’t be the disaster she feared.
And hey, at least he could take over cooking.
Allison eventually decided Amira was right— as usual —and texted Angelo to say she had caved.
Now, a week later, she found herself doing a frantic impression of a worker bee, stuffing her life into cardboard boxes. As the reigning queen of procrastination, she had, naturally, waited until the day before Angelo was supposed to show up for the move to start packing.
Stubbornly refusing to ask for help, Allison spent the day sweating like a pig, folding her belongings—cups, towels, books —into neat little boxes. Who knew her stuff would suddenly multiply when she needed to pack?
Just as she was folding her underwear into a satisfyingly neat stack, her phone rang. Startled, she nearly dropped an entire handful of panties.
Who dares interrupt my glorious procrastination?
Without bothering to check the caller ID, she answered. “Hello?”
“Hello, sweet girl.”
This time, she did drop the underwear.
“Oh,” she cleared her throat, trying to regain some composure, “hi, Angelo. Everything okay?”
“That’s why I’m calling. Do you need help with packing?”
“Packing?” she echoed, her brain still caught up in the fact that Angelo was on the other end of the line.
A deep chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Yes, Pinkie. Packing. You know, for the move tomorrow?”
That snapped her back to reality. “Oh! Well, I’ve, uh, already packed.”
There was an audible scoff. “Right. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
And just like that, he hung up before she could protest. Allison stared at her phone in disbelief.
Did he just…
For a brief second, she considered calling him back to tell him she didn’t need his help. Then she realized there was no point. Angelo was a force of nature, and she wasn’t going to win this one.
Instead, she called in her own backup.
“Help has arrived!”
Allison scoffed as Amira burst through the door, nearly knocking her out of the way with the dramatic swish of her faux fur coat.
“You do realize this is my apartment, right?” Allison quipped.
“Don’t care,” Amira shot back, making a beeline for the living room to drop her coat and bag, revealing a pair of perfectly fitted jeans and a black crop top.
Allison raised an eyebrow, her eyes scanning her friend’s outfit. “I asked you over to pack, not audition for a music video.”
Amira glanced down at her ensemble and shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. Besides—” she paused, gasping theatrically, “there’s clearly something wrong here.”
Allison’s heart skipped a beat. “What? What is it?”
“Why are you wearing a crop top?”
Allison glanced down at her own shirt and winced. Amira wasn’t wrong. Crop tops weren’t exactly her thing, but when maternity fashion seemed determined to shrink everything but your belly, choices were limited.
“You know how slim the options are for maternity clothes that don’t make you look like a potato sack,” Allison said, rolling her eyes. “I refuse to live in sweats.”
Amira nodded sympathetically, running her fingers through her short, stylish hair. The wheels in Allison’s mind started turning. Amira had recently opened her own boutique, and if anyone could create maternity clothes that didn’t scream ‘give up on life’, it was her.
“Do you think you could—”
“YES!” Amira squealed before Allison could finish, jumping up and down like she’d just won the lottery. She twirled in place, swaying her hips in her signature victory dance.
Allison couldn’t help but laugh, feeling like she was back in college, where spontaneous dancing and goofy moments were the norm. Not that she missed college itself—the constant studying for a double major had been its own kind of hell—but she did miss the simplicity of those days. Back when her biggest concerns were deciding between a study session or a hookup.
And now I’m twenty-three weeks pregnant with a guy who’s more unpredictable than a reality show plot twist.
Her laughter faded, replaced by a sigh as her mood plummeted. Angelo was the human equivalent of a roller coaster. One minute he was sweet and thoughtful, the next he was colder than a freezer, and then, boom—he’d drop something huge, like “Hey, move in with me.” It was exhausting.
“What’s with the frown?” Amira asked, plopping down on the floor in front of her, worry etched on her face.
Allison shook her head. “It’s nothing. Don’t mind me.”
“Hey,” Amira reached out, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Talk to me.”
Despite her desire to keep it all bottled up, the words spilled out. “I just don’t want this to go wrong.” Her thoughts tumbled after one another. “Angelo’s being considerate with the move, but what if he changes his mind and kicks me out in a week? We’re not moving in together because we want to, we’re doing it for the baby. And what if I screw it up and the baby grows up without a father, and I—”
“Slow down, Allison,” Amira cut in, her voice sharp and steady, slicing through Allison’s rambling.
“But—”
“Nope.”
“I just—”
“No.”
“What if—”
“Allison. No .”
Allison finally stopped, realizing how fast her heart was pounding, how hot her skin felt. She could feel the edges of panic creeping in, threatening to overwhelm her.
No way. I’m not having a panic attack over a guy. Not today.
“Take a deep breath,” Amira said, her voice calm.
Allison did as she was told, inhaling slowly. The fog in her brain lifted slightly.
“Another one.”
The panic faded a little more.
“And one more.”
The panic finally ebbed away.
Amira had always been able to calm her down. It was like a superpower, one of the many reasons Allison loved her so much. Not many people could settle her anxiety like that—well, except for Amira and, annoyingly, Angelo. For reasons she still couldn’t fully understand, he had the ability to quiet her mind just by saying her name.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He made her feel safe one second, only to spin her around in confusion the next.
No wonder I feel like I’m stuck on a carousel.
She was not about to become Meredith Grey in that one season—dizzy, overdramatic, and in way too deep with a guy who couldn’t figure out his own mind.
But with Angelo, she might already be halfway there.
Amira, being the shorter of the two, pulled Allison into a hug, squeezing her just tight enough to be affectionate without crushing her pregnant belly.
“Can’t. Breathe,” Amira joked, and Allison squeezed a little harder just for the fun of it, laughing in her ear. She released her after a few more seconds.
“Now, I assume you need my help packing?” Amira asked, raising an eyebrow.
Allison nodded and led her toward the half-packed box she’d been working on. “Angelo called like seven minutes ago and announced he’s coming over to help.”
Amira’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “And you didn’t want to be alone and helpless with the man of your literal dreams? Shocking.”
“Oh, shut up,” Allison shot back, giving her a playful shove. They both laughed as they walked into the kitchen.
Stacks of mismatched plates were spread across the counter, and Allison couldn’t help but think how ridiculous she must seem. Moving into a house that was probably as monochrome as a moody art film, with a man who seemed to treat color like a threat to his very existence. Her love for pinks and whites was bound to clash.
Oh well, I’ll make space, she thought, her lips twitching into a smirk. My pinks aren’t going anywhere.
Seconds later, the buzzer sounded, wiping the smug smile right off Allison’s face. Sensing her dread, Amira took charge, strutting to the door like she owned the place.
“Don’t worry, I got this,” she muttered with a wink.
Angelo stepped inside in under a minute, greeting Amira with all the stiff professionalism of a CEO at a shareholder meeting. “Angelo Taylor.”
“Oh, I know,” Amira replied, clasping his hand in hers and holding it just a beat longer than necessary. She shot Allison a not-so-subtle smirk. “Amira Davis. Best friend, resident troublemaker.”
Allison watched nervously, noticing the barely-there shift in Angelo’s demeanor. She had a radar for his micro-expressions now—tiny twitches, slight posture adjustments. Right now, he was giving off nervous.
That makes two of us.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Davis,” Angelo said, his voice softening as the hint of a smile crept onto his lips.
Allison’s eyes darted between them, feeling like a spectator at Wimbledon. Please let this go smoothly, she thought, her inner monologue running wild.
Amira beamed, her megawatt smile serving as her stamp of approval. “Come on in, then. And you can call me Amira,” she said, stepping aside with a wink at Allison.
“Hey,” was all Allison could muster when Angelo finally turned his attention to her.
“Hello, sweet girl.” His voice was lower, more intimate, as he walked toward her, never breaking eye contact. “I missed you.”
Allison blinked. “You… did?” She wasn’t expecting that.
Angelo hummed in response, glancing around the room. His eyes briefly lingered on the cluttered kitchen, a trace of nervousness flickering across his face before he straightened up, smirking. “So, you were saying you’ve packed already?”
Amira’s sudden burst of laughter made Allison jump. “Packed? This woman? Please. Allison’s a world-class procrastinator. She’ll pack when the movers are knocking on the door.”
Allison glared at her, crossing her arms. “That is so not true.”
Amira raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it so is.”
Sighing dramatically, Allison sank onto the couch, propping her feet up on the ottoman. “Fine, you two can pack. Clearly, I’m just a helpless pregnant woman.”
Angelo chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Helpless? You? Not a chance.”
Allison’s jaw dropped. “Are you both ganging up on me?”
“Absolutely,” Amira said, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “You’ve been caught. It’s what friends are for.”
Angelo nodded, still laughing, and Allison rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Great. Just what I needed—two people to make fun of me.”
“Hey,” Amira said with a grin, “at least we’re entertaining.”
Allison sighed. “Fine. I’ll let you entertain me while you pack.”
Angelo chuckled, stepping further into the kitchen. “Deal. Where do we start?” He glanced at the scattered plates, bowls, and random kitchen gadgets on the counter like a man assessing a battlefield.
Allison stretched out on the couch, enjoying her new “helpless pregnant woman” role immensely. “Oh, you know, just wherever your heart desires. I trust you both to handle it.”
Amira, not missing a beat, grabbed a stack of plates and looked over at Angelo. “I’ll take the dishes, and you can tackle…” She waved a hand toward the corner, where a collection of mismatched mugs, pots, and pans sat waiting. “That disaster zone.”
Angelo gave a mock salute. “Got it, Captain.”
As they both got to work, Allison watched from her cozy spot, rubbing her belly absentmindedly. “This is nice. I could get used to this. You know, people doing everything for me while I supervise.”
Amira shot her a look. “Supervise? You mean ‘lounge around like royalty while we do all the heavy lifting.’”
“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Allison quipped, kicking her feet up a little higher. “Besides, don’t you feel like you’re getting valuable life skills from this? It’s all about perspective.”
Angelo paused mid-mug-stack. “Life skills? You mean stacking mugs and packing kitchen gadgets?”
“Exactly,” Allison said, grinning. “You’re learning how to work under pressure. And let’s face it, you’re getting a masterclass in how to navigate the chaotic world of Allison.”
Amira snorted. “Girl, Angelo’s been in that world for a while now. If he hasn’t learned by now, there’s no hope.”
Angelo raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “I think I’m managing just fine, actually.”
Allison gave him a playful look. “Oh, is that so? And here I thought you were still figuring me out.”
He stepped toward her, leaning against the counter with a sly smile. “I’ve got you pretty well figured out, pet .”
Her heart did a tiny flip at the way he said it, the low timbre of his voice making her stomach do somersaults—though it could’ve been the baby kicking. Or both .
Amira, ever the energy-reader, clapped her hands loudly and broke the moment. “Alright, let’s keep this PG, you two. We’re here to pack, not flirt.”
Allison felt her cheeks heat up as she stammered, “We’re not flirting!”
Amira gave her an exaggerated eye roll. “Sure, and I’m not standing in a kitchen surrounded by broken promises of packed boxes.”
“Exactly,” Angelo added, flashing Amira a grin. “We’re just working professionals.”
Amira scoffed. “You two are the worst. I’m just trying to help you pack, and you’re busy making goo-goo eyes at each other.”
Allison groaned, hiding her face behind a throw pillow. “Amira, please.”
But Angelo wasn’t fazed. “For the record, I’m a multi-tasker. I can pack and make goo-goo eyes.”
Amira threw her hands up in defeat, laughing. “Okay, okay! Fine. Multitask all you want. Just as long as this kitchen is packed before I lose my sanity.”
Allison peeked out from behind the pillow, a smile creeping across her face. “Deal. But for the record , you started the goo-goo eyes thing.”
Amira grinned, grabbing another stack of plates. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t blame me when Angelo sweeps you off your feet in the middle of packing.”
Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea…”
“No one’s getting swept anywhere,” Allison said, laughing. “Now back to work, both of you. This royal couch potato needs her kingdom packed.”
Angelo and Amira exchanged a glance and shook their heads, getting back to work while Allison watched with a contented smile. Maybe this moving thing wasn’t so bad after all.