“Yeah,” he agrees after a moment, studying her face. “I think so.”
Slowly, he retreats into the fitting room. Seconds later, changing so damn fast she can’t be sure he isn’t Superman, he emerges in swim trunks and an army green T-shirt that squeezes his biceps like a python. The remaining pile of clothes stacked in his arms.
Tessie gestures to a rack of brightly colored shoes. “We need flip-flops.”
He rears back a little. “Hell no.”
She purses her lips. “Solomon, you can’t wear those boots on the beach.”
“I can’t run in flip-flops.”
“You’re planning on running?”
“Seagull attack.”
His utmost seriousness has her smiling.
“A seagull attack, really?”
“It could happen.”
She shakes her head. “Sunglasses, then.” After hunting around, Tessie snags a pair of Maui Jim’s and a baseball cap, and then she adds a pair of flip-flops to the pile anyway.
Tessie click-clacks her way to the register. She’s about to pull her wallet from her beach tote when there’s a hand on her arm.
“You’re not buying clothes for me,” Solomon says, stepping beside her.
She frowns. “I am. I suggested this. I—”
“Tess.” His voice deepens, cutting off any further protest.
She shivers. There’s that stern admonition again. Why does she like it so damn much?
“I appreciate the help. But you’re not buying these clothes.”
She pulls her shoulders back, ready to argue with him, but his expression—clenched, no-bullshit jaw, stormy blue eyes—tells her he’ll fight her. Hard. End of story.
“Fine,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
He pays, and when they’re finished, they step into the glitzy hallway that leads back to the rooms. Brightly colored fish swim in a tank that takes up the entire wall across from them.
They linger in front of the elevator. A what now expression creases Solomon’s handsome face.
Sure, they could split and do their own thing, but she wants to keep this day going. Wants to keep Solomon close. To talk about the baby. That’s it. That’s all.
Gathering courage, she wets her lips. Looks up at him, a warm flutter curling her stomach. “Do you maybe want to—”
From inside her beach tote, her phone seizes, announcing a flurry of text messages and missed calls.
Don’t answer. That’s her first thought. But the thought of relinquishing control, of saying no, has her going clammy. Fear of failure has fangs, and it clamps down. Won’t let her loose.
Won’t let her lose.
She scrambles for her phone and swipes the screen. Blanches at the all-cap text from Atlas. CLIENT EMERGENCY.
“Shit.”
“Everything okay?”
She peers up at Solomon, who’s watching her carefully. “I have to go,” she says helplessly. “I have to fix something for a client.”
His brow furrows. “Are you sure?” he asks, looking like he’s on the verge of saying more.
No.
She’s not sure.
Not at all.
“It’ll be quick. Just. . .” She forces a smile, going for reassuring. Unbothered. Because that’s what she is, right? About all of this.
Her baby, her career, her looming parenthood—unbothered.
She swipes at him like a gnat, aching to get him out of here before she combusts. “Go have lunch at the tiki bar. I’ll meet you when I’m finished.”
“Tess.”
“Please, Solomon. Go, okay? I’ll be right there.”
Then, without a second glance in his direction, she turns and strides into the open elevator, leaving the hot sear of Solomon’s dark blue eyes on her and the rest of his questions behind.
Solomon has to admit it. He’s a hell of a lot cooler.
Resting the shopping bags on the seat beside him, Solomon settles into a chair at the tiki bar-themed restaurant overlooking the water. The place is quiet. A sign advertising the bar’s famous pineapple man drink—the one Tessie’s been talking about for the last two days—hangs on the turquoise wall. A gentle breeze floats in from the ocean. The bartender mixes a tropical fruit concoction that would have Howler wincing.
Solomon orders a beer and a burger, even though hunger is the last thing on his mind.
Regret tightens his chest as he inspects the empty seat beside him.
Tessie.
She should be here. With him.
A smile tips his lips before he can smother it.
Today has been damn fun. More fun than he deserves.
He didn’t want to like their little shopping spree, but he enjoyed himself. Arguing over flip-flops, Tessie flushed and stammering, trying on clothes he never would have touched in a million years in Chinook. He hasn’t had that much fun since, hell, the night he met Tessie. The girl’s a lick of fire, burning up his bloodstream. Messing up all his plans, changing the way he thinks about life and himself.
And Christ, the way she touched him, running her small palm down his beard, the soft swell of her stomach pressing against him, the flush of her cheeks, had him sporting a hard-on the size of Texas.
He rolls his shoulders, annoyed by the thought. Annoyed by his attraction.
She’s not his problem.
So why does he feel responsible for her? Why does he want to keep her close? He’s here in Mexico to figure out the best arrangement for his son, yet since the day he met Tessie, she’s been like sunshine dancing across his skin. He wants to bask in her.
Is she relaxing? Is her asshole boss giving her a break? Did she have time to eat lunch?
Frowning at the thought, Solomon checks his watch. It’s well past one. If his stomach’s grumbling, what about Tessie? He doesn’t like the thought of her hungry. She’s pregnant. She should be eating. Resting too. The dark circles under her eyes that makeup can’t hide are still there. She was up until two last night, the telltale glow of a lamp shining from beneath her bedroom door.
He glances over his shoulder—well aware he’s acting like an overprotective bastard—checking for Tessie, wanting to see her breeze through the door, her long legs striding straight for him. He scowls, hating the damn Pavlovian response he has to the click-clack of her high heels.
“Una mas cerveza?”
“Si. Gracias.” He nods at the server who’s delivering his burger. “Can I get one of those to go,” he asks, pointing at the chalked cartoon drawing of the pineapple. “No alcohol.”
“Si, se?or.”
Solomon picks up his burger, puts it down. It feels unfair to eat when Tessie isn’t here to enjoy it with him.
To pass the time, he grabs up his phone. His big fingers swipe across the screen, and then minutes later, he’s downloading the baby app Tessie showed him. A pastel-colored app that blooms like a rose when it loads. He inputs the information he knows and is met with a variety of irritating chimes and chirps and coos. “Christ,” he mutters, ducking his head as a server frowns in his direction.
Solomon keeps swiping, zeroing in on a cheery article about preparing for baby. The overwhelming amount of information has him rubbing at a sudden ache in his chest. He doesn’t know how to do this. But he wants to do this. It’s bad enough he’s missed doctor’s appointments and choosing a name. The idea of missing any other firsts leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. But now he’s here, he knows, and dammit, he wants to support Tessie.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
As he’s scrolling through a post about off-limit foods for pregnant women, his screen lights up again.
Howler.
After a second of hesitation, he answers, thanking Christ his best friend isn’t here to see him. He’d give him shit for days about the clothes he’s wearing. But it would be worth it. Solomon fights a smile. The memory of Tessie laughing and clapping stirs something inside him.
Fuck.
“What?” he says, lifting the phone to his ear.
“Aren’t we chatty. How’s the sunshine state?”
“That’s Florida. How’s Peggy?”
Howler laughs. “Still a hound dog. Had to keep her inside the last few days, seeing as we’re having a little wildlife problem.”
Solomon tips his head back and groans. “You got bears again? I told you to put locks on those damn dumpsters.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Miller’s on it after he finishes prep.”
“Miller?”