Page 56 of Falling Together

“Are you going to make fun of me?” I ask.

“No. But I want to know what’s already worrying you so I can try and help,” he says.

I eye him warily before pulling the list out of my pocket and smoothing it out on the table and passing it over to him.

“You know we’re going to have to decide on what kind of diapers we want. And formula.”

“We do?” I ask, sipping my lemonade. The blend of tart and sweet is exactly what I’ve been craving.

“There’s cloth diapers, organic, regular.” He ticks each kind off on his fingers. “You could go any direction.”

“Are the cloth kind the ones you always have to wash?”

He nods. “Yes. I don’t recommend them.”

“Eww, no. What’d you use for Luke? Or should I just search online?”

“The Internet is going to have a million opinions on what you should do. I say maybe don’t go down that rabbit hole yet.”

“Fine. I promise not to search the Internet for opinions on diapers.”

“Or formula,” Grant points out. “Or bottles or the best kind of fabric for kids. No searching, Georgia. I mean it.”

“I won’t.” It’s weak, but I’m hoping he won’t notice.

He snorts. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Is this a super spidey parent sense I don’t have?”

Resting my elbow on the table, I drop my cheek to my fist and stare at him. At the easy smile that sits on his face.

Damn, he really is sexy. No matter how many times we come here—we’ve been doing these get to know you dates for a few weeks now—he really is delicious to look at.

“That and it’s easy to tell when you’re lying.”

“You shouldn’t be able to know that so soon.”

“I can’t help it if you’re an open book, Cowgirl.”

“Really? No one has ever said that about me.”

Grant studies me in a way that makes me want to shift in my seat. I play things close to the vest. I don’t want to tell my sad story to everyone. People in town know because I’ve lived here my whole life, but it’s not like I go telling everyone. I’ve made a good life for myself here. I’ve made it so I’ve never had to rely on anyone.

But Grant is looking at me like he knows what I’m thinking and feeling. It’s unnerving that a man I’ve only known—truly known—for a few weeks is sizing me up like this.

“There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Georgia. I know you don’t want to tell me, but eventually you’ll have to.” He sips his drink. “You know, in the interest of the baby.”

“Right. The baby.”

“I mean, I should probably tell you I used to love dropping things on the floor while eating as a toddler because it got attention. My parents loved to remind me of that growing up.”

I smile at him. “Oh, good. We’ll have a kid that will be an attention hog.”

“Our kid is going to be really fucking cute,” Grant says. “I mean, how could they not be?”

“They will be.”

Damn. He really is good at reading me. It’s like he knew I needed the out and steered the conversation back to safer grounds.