Chapter 7
The diner smells like rosemary, almonds, and fresh baked bread.
It’s a bistro that thinks butter is “artisanal” if you put a sprig of thyme on top.
I picked it because it’s bright, neutral, and is known for having zero fried food.
The smell of oil at high temperatures has set my stomach into a mess lately.
Maybe if the room feels calm, I can trick my heart into doing the same.
Pregnancy doesn’t just change your body. It changes the decisions you have to make, and I’ve done a lot of thinking.
Anton being involved was never a question in my mind. I knew he wouldn’t run from this. And having grown up without my father, I’d never deprive my child of theirs.
That makes the real problem distance. Bonds don’t form through intention alone. They’re built through proximity—through being close enough to show up without scheduling it days in advance, close enough to matter when something goes wrong.
Since the baby news, being in LA hasn’t felt as solid as it once did. The job is more dangerous than I expected, and I already know what’s coming once I announce the pregnancy—desk duty, a slower pace, a version of policing I didn’t sign up for.
And if I’m going to be behind a desk anyway, then does it have to be here?
When Anton decided to race down today, it made the question impossible to avoid. If I was going to talk to him about being in the same place, I needed to know whether that was even an option.
So, while he was on the road, I bit the bullet and called Callum with a preliminary request to transfer.
It’s not a forever plan. Just a place to land while I’m on desk duty, while Anton and I figure out what it means to be in the same place.
As friends.
Our status is also something I need to clarify today.
If romance enters the picture and fails, there’s no clean break. There’s just a child who still needs us to show up. I was the kid left behind because my parents couldn’t be civil and I’ll never let that happen to my child.
Anton and I start as friends; we stay as friends.
Friends can slow things down when feelings get loud. Choose logic over pride. Stability over impulse.
This baby and I need something that holds, even if everything else shifts.
I’m not sure what happens after desk duty, when the baby is here, but if we’re at least in the same town, we’ll have time. Time to talk. Time to adjust. Time to deepen our friendship and see what actually feels right for the unconventional family we’re creating.
I look at my watch. He told me he’d be here at six. It’s five-fifty-eight. My leg is jiggling.
It’s ridiculous how just thinking about Anton can make time misbehave because I swore it was six twenty minutes ago.
Then, the bell over the door chimes, and there he is.
A six-foot-five calm storm cuts through a frilly world. His boots look too heavy for the polished floors, his shoulders too broad for the soft light spilling across the tables. But that’s what I’ve always found attractive about him—not just as a man but as a person.
I don’t really fit this frilly world either.
I’m not this dainty. I’m not this refined. I’ve never been chill enough to navigate the LA friendships that come and go.
I’ve never asked Anton, but I get the impression he’s a kindred spirit, understanding this feeling as much as I do, but he’s chasing belonging in a very different way. Me, through work, him, through finding family, even if they’re not blood-related.
But he’s about to get that now. A strange swell of calm passes through me at the thought that maybe I’m not unraveling chaos but offering him a thread to tie it all together. I hope so anyway.
He finds my eyes, and suddenly all that time thinking turns into a pile of hormonal emotion in my stomach. I want to cry.
He’s not just Anton anymore.
He’s the father of my child.
“Hey,” he says, that single syllable wrapping around me like a hug.
Now, I’m so glad he came. Suddenly, I feel like I needed him here all along.
I stand and give him a hug.
His arms wrap around me, and my body reacts before my brain can catch up—shoulders dropping, breath evening out, a sting behind my eyes I wasn’t expecting. I press my forehead briefly to his chest, letting myself take the comfort without questioning it.
When he pulls back, his hands stay on my arms, big and steady, his eyes searching my face.
“Damn,” he says. “You sure know how to make a uniform look good.”
“Thanks.” I smile, small but bashful. Somehow, I thought being pregnant all of a sudden put me in the less sexy category, but when we sit in the booth, Anton’s eyes dip just once for another peek at either my badge or the cleavage on display.
I unbuttoned because the boobs are squashed all day in this shirt. No other reason…I swear.
“You okay?” he asks.
“As okay as someone can be when life decided to rewrite itself.” I lift my water, take a sip to busy my hands. “You want coffee?”
He shakes his head. “Already had too much.”
The waitress comes over, and Anton glances at me. “What can I get you?”
And again, tears prick the backs of my eyes. What can I get you? Just a promise that we can do this. That everything’s going to be alright.
I hand back the menu that was on the table. “I’ll have the pumpkin soup, please.”
“And you?” The waitress turns to Anton.
“Make it two,” he says, not taking his eyes off me.
I get the feeling Anton doesn’t care what he’s having.
“I’m glad you’re eating,” he says. “Apparently, morning sickness can actually last all pregnancy for some.”
“Look at you…” I haven’t even bought a book for myself yet. “When you said you were all in, I didn’t think you’d get that far in seven hours.”
“Downloaded an audiobook when I stopped for gas.”
My eyes sting again, and I look down at my lap and smooth nonexistent wrinkles out of my slacks.
“Impressive,” my voice cracks slightly, but I pull it together, glancing up again when my heart settles.
His gaze is so steady, it gives me a sense of balance, too. I smile. He returns it with a furrowed brow.
“Anton, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…”
“Don’t be sorry about anything.” He folds his hands on the table, and a flash of memory from when they were on my skin bursts through my mind.
“I’ve had a lot of hours to think.” He chooses every word carefully. “I want to be around. Not in spirit. In person. For you and the baby.”
The words aren’t rehearsed, but they seem to have been with him a long time.
“This might not be what you planned at this stage of your life,” he continues, eyes locked on mine, “But somehow, it feels like the best thing that could’ve happened to me.” He’s dead serious. “Nothing about this scares me.”
His words breathe life into me.
Seven hours ago, I flipped this man’s life upside down, and he showed up anyway. He drove here immediately, stepped straight into the storm—not just to do the right thing as a baby daddy, but for me.
“I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the plan…” Being on the same page is calming beyond measure. “But it feels right for me, too. We have a lot to figure out…”
His shoulders relax slightly. “We do…”
“But I thought I could transfer to Echo Valley?” I test the idea. “For now. I’ll be on desk duty anyway, and it will give us time to settle into our friendship, figure out how we parent together…”
He interrupts. “You’d transfer to Echo Valley?”
It’s the first time tonight something hasn’t seemed to sit right with him. I thought he’d like the proposal?
He scratches his eyebrow. “I was going to offer to move here…”
“You were?” I’m surprised. “You hate big cities.”
He gazes at me earnestly. “You worked hard to get on the LAPD.”
For a moment, I actually reconsider. He would uproot himself for me. Leave the only real family he’s built—Ava, the Mendezes—without hesitation.
That kind of loyalty steals the air from my lungs.
And suddenly I understand something that scares me a little. I matter to him—enough that I need to be careful what I ask for.
Emotion pricks at my seams again, catching me off guard as it does these days.
“That means a lot”—I smile— “but if I can transfer, it makes more sense for me to head up there. Echo Valley is the safer bet…for now.”
I keep the door cracked open. “I appreciate knowing LA is an option down the line.”
I hesitate, hoping I haven’t overstepped. “But I already called Callum today.”
I didn’t tell the Echo Valley chief of police I was pregnant—just that I needed a favor. In a small town, sometimes that’s enough. “He said he’d sort it. Just say the word.”
His eyes flicker with surprise. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah.” I watch his face. “It’s the right call, isn’t it?”
He nods slowly, but his expression doesn’t ease the way I expect it to.
He hesitates, like he doesn’t want to get this wrong. “I don’t want you making choices now that you wake up resenting later.” His jaw tightens. “I don’t want you feeling boxed in.”
I tilt my head. “Why would I feel boxed in? I love Echo Valley, and my best friend is there. The Mendezes have taken me in like one of their own. It’s small, but I’m not making an enormous sacrifice…”
“I know…” His mouth tightens into a line of worry I’ve never seen before. “I just don’t want you waiting until you’re miserable to tell me it’s not enough. It doesn’t have to be.”
No one has ever talked about my happiness like that—like it’s something fragile, something worth protecting before it breaks.
I reassure him. I don’t like him thinking this way or worrying about me.
“I know I decided to leave for the bright lights, but priorities shift. We can talk about it again when the baby is born,” I say lightly, even as something in my chest tightens, wondering what has his bright blue eyes swimming with concern.
“As long as we’re open and honest, we can see where the world takes us both.
And figure out what’s best for the baby. ”
He nods, accepting that without pushing.
“I’ll aim to move before my next appointment so my OB-GYN is up there and…a place to live.” This part I hadn’t really worked out. “I could move in with Lara again…” I know she’d never say no, and we loved that little apartment above the bookstore we used to live in together.
Anton lets out a short breath that sounds like a laugh. “You know Gabriel lives there, right?”
Then, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world, he adds, “Come stay with me at the ranch.
It’s comforting in a way that makes my chest go light.
“Really?” I hesitate. “Maybe we shouldn’t…live together.”
“Why not?” He smirks, choosing ease instead of pressure. “We pinky-promised we’d always be good.”
He leans back, arms crossing over his chest in that nonchalant way that’s ridiculously sexy. “You think we can’t be under the same roof and still be friends?”
Then he adds, teasing, “I mean, you did throw yourself at me once.”
I reach across the table and smack his arm. “Stop.”
God, I appreciate the humor right now. That we can still joke.
“Seriously,” he says. “We’ve always been great friends.” He holds my gaze. “That’s a solid foundation to raise a kid on.”
Friends.
That’s exactly what I was thinking. What I’ve been telling myself for weeks. Friendship is the thing that makes all of this possible.
What I don’t quite understand yet is why it sounds so settled coming from him.
Because sitting across from him now, with his eyes on mine and his hand resting easy on the table between us, I can still feel the pull.
Maybe he really did get it out of his system. And I’m sure the longer we’re friends, seeing each other all normal and ordinary in the morning, I’ll get it out of mine, too.
I nod because the logic is right even if my body hasn’t quite caught up. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll live with you…until we figure out the next step.”
Same place.
Same goal.
Friendship as the framework.
It’s sorted. We talked it through, weighed the risks, made the calls that are right for both of us—and for the baby. These are the kind of decisions you make when you’re about to be responsible parents.
This makes sense.
Anton reaches across the table to shake my hand and seal the deal.
It’s such a reasonable gesture. Friendly.
But when the skin of his palm hits mine, electricity shoots through me. Time stretches like it always has when our bodies are near. His thumb brushes the side of my hand, narrowing the whole world to a single point of contact, and I am reeled the hell in all over again.
Eventually, I pull my hand back and offer a smile that’s meant to be normal, but it feels fake on my lips.
I sit back in the booth across from the extremely attractive man I’m about to share a baby with, and the last piece of logic slips a little.
He is not going to be ordinary in the morning.