“I will.”
“Fine,” she sniffs, moving for her suitcase. “Then I’ll unpack.”
“Let me,” he says, intercepting her before she can grab the overpacked duffel bag. “I don’t want you lifting anything heavy.”
The way her eyes widen, the look of surprise on her face gut him. Like no one’s ever offered to take care of her before.
He takes the suitcase from the floor and places it on the luggage rack next to the bed. “Jesus, what’s in here, bricks?”
She steps around him, a small smile on her lips. “No. Baby stuff.”
Solomon watches as Tessie unpacks a thick stack of baby books, all with horror movie-sounding titles that make his blood pressure skyrocket: Laboring Your Way, Breastfeeding Like a Boss, The Quickening. Then comes prenatal vitamins, sheer leggings, and an odd-looking contraption that has a wand attached to a long cord.
“It’s a fetal heartbeat monitor,” she offers, seeing his look of confusion. “A doppler. So I can listen to Bear’s heartbeat.” The tips of her ears turn an adorable shade of pink. Her hand drops to cradle her belly. “We’re on an island, and since my doctor isn’t here. . . I wanted to make sure he’s okay. Just in case, you know.”
Solomon’s mouth goes bone dry. There’s a stab of overwhelming appreciation in his chest at the thought of Tessie taking such damn good care of their son before he’s even born.
“You, uh, plan for everything,” he says, his voice extra gruff as he forces the words out around the boulder in his throat.
He’s rewarded with a shy smile. Just like the night they met. A callback to the girl, the night, that changed his world. “I try to.” She flicks her hair, beaming. “It’s my job.”
Before he can think of a response, she jerks away from him, her expression closing up, like she regrets giving him that much.
As she busies herself unpacking and neatly arranging her things like she’s moving into the room for the next two months, Solomon takes a second to study her, like he can peel off the layers and get to the bottom of Tessie Truelove. Fatigue dulls her chocolate-colored irises. Her spine is ramrod straight as she covertly checks her phone.
She turns. A long, colorful dress in her hands. “What?” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re staring.”
Overcome by the urge to sweep the hair from her face, he shoves his fists in the pockets of his jeans. “You tired?”
She blows out an aggrieved sigh. “Why? Do I look that awful?”
Awful, no. Beautiful. Fierce. Exhausted. Every yes in the goddamn book. Solomon fights an itch to make her sit down. Take off her sky-high heels. Put her in that plush bed and prop her up on silk pillows like a queen. But he holds his tongue. It’s not his place. They had one night together six months ago. This is temporary, the two of them in the same room.
They have nothing in common, except an agreement to figure out how to raise their son.
“No,” he grits out. “You look fine.”
The minute the words are out of his mouth, he inwardly groans.
Fine. Fucking fine.
Real fucking smooth.
Her expression flattens.
He sighs. “Listen, let’s get some dinner and then we can each do our own thing.”
“Dinner,” she echoes, her expression faraway.
He scrutinizes her belly. “You both should eat. Room service?”
“No way,” she argues, straightening her shoulders. “It’s my first day of vacation. We are not staying in the room. We’re going out.”
The last thing she looks like she wants to do is go out, but he holds his tongue. He’s still brooding over the dark circles under her eyes. Over the phone that’s now on mute but lights up every minute or so. A flare of annoyance has him clenching his jaw. Who the hell is bothering her on her vacation?
Tessie scrambles for her planner. A pen appears in her hand like a wand. “Let’s see. . .” Tongue poking out of the side of her mouth, she scans the page. “Tonight, we have. . .” An unearthly groan rises up in her. Plopping herself on the edge of the bed, she balances her elbows on her knees. Chin in the palm of her hand, she meets his gaze and says, “We have dinner reservations.”
He frowns down at her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is.” With a sigh, she drops her face into her hands. “A very bad thing.”
A candlelit dinner under the stars. A table decorated with a stunning tropical floral arrangement and twinkling candles. Fresh ocean air, the roar of the waves, the moonlit sky above. Perfection.
Nothing could ruin it.
Nothing, that is, except Solomon—sitting across from Tessie, his big, broad shoulders blocking her view of the ocean for the second time today. To add insult to injury, he’s still wearing that same damn flannel shirt. Clearly, the man knows nothing about chill beach vibes and instead plans to glare at her all night like a grumpy sasquatch.
It’s bad enough they’re sharing a child. Now she has to share a five-star dinner.
Tessie shifts in her seat, smoothing a hand down her belly over the neon blue maxi dress she’s changed into. She resists the urge to check her phone, nestled discreetly near the edge of her plate.
As the server adjusts the silverware, Solomon’s brow wrinkles in consternation.
Tessie inhales a breath and holds up a hand, getting ahead of his criticism. “Before you say anything, there was limited seating, okay? I paid in advance. I couldn’t cancel.”
His lips twitch. “I didn’t say anything.”
She scowls. Already, she can see those hulk-like muscles racking in silent laughter.
A whisper of annoyance flits through her. Ash was supposed to be here with her, not Solomon. Sure, it’s cheesy—candle lights lining a path and rose petals scattered on the sand—but when she booked this, she was dying for cheesy. For romance. Even if she was planning to share it with Ash.
Three days, she reminds herself. Three damn days.
Trying for casual conversation, Tessie asks, “See something you like?”
Solomon, evaluating the menu with bored scrutiny, grumbles. “At least the catch is fresh.”
She rolls her eyes to the starlit sky. Here she is with the Debbie Downer of the hour when she could be with Ash. She grips her napkin in her fist. She’s going to strangle her cousin. Preferably after the baby is born because she needs a birthing coach, but definitely, a strangling will happen.
A white-gloved server in his early twenties appears, a bottle of prosecco in his hands. Louis the gold-plated name tag on his starched shirt reads.
Before she can say anything, Solomon rumbles, “She can’t drink that.”
A shiver runs through her, Tessie’s toes curling in her heels at the authoritative tone in his voice.
The server pauses mid-throttle of the bottle, jerking his head at Solomon. “For you, se?or?”
Solomon crosses his arms, his buffalo plaid sleeves squeezing his biceps. “I’ll drink what she’s drinking.”
Tessie pulls in a surprised breath at his show of solidarity. “You don’t have to do that.”
He gives her a long broody look, his expression flat. “Tess.”
Tess. Firm. Stern. She kind of likes it.
No. Absolutely not. Because liking anything about Solomon Wilder means developing an attachment, and the only attachment she has is Bear, literally hooked up to her via umbilical cord, and that’s how it will stay. At least for the next three months.
“Oh, uh, okay.” Louis and Solomon both watch her. “Do you have those pineapple drinks? With the sunglasses and the cute umbrella?”
“No, se?orita. I am sorry. They are only at the—”
“Tiki bar, got it. A mocktail, then.” Flustered, she looks around for a drink list. “I don’t—do you have a menu or—”
“Ginger ale, lime juice, mint leaves, simple syrup,” Solomon tells Louis. But he’s looking at Tessie. “That okay with you?”