Page 60 of Come Find Me Tonight

“I’ve been looking forward to this part,” Appa says when we get to the wall of color options.

“I’m going to go grab the caulk,” I say, breaking my hand away from hers.

“Okay.”

She’s already fixated on the color options, and with her style, I’m sure she’ll pick out something that’ll complement her bathroom well. It only takes a minute to grab a tube of white bathroom caulk and a caulk gun because I’m sure she doesn’t have one lying around in her garage. I round the corner, and she’s viewing the yellow color options. I pause at the end of the aisle, and my fingers grip the tube tightly.

Appa reaches up for a yellow card with one hand, the other braced on her rounded baby bump that looks too big on her tiny frame. Picking out nursery colors. A normal thing for an expecting mother to do to give her baby’s father a weekend project. But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life painting baby nurseries if Appa was the mom. And we lived in Napa. Sunday night dinners spent with my mom and dad, Mom gushing over an expected grandchild, Dad giving me delivery room pointers, and her Mercedes traded in for an SUV. Parked in the driveway of our home—just two miles away from the vineyard.

“Excuse me,” someone says to me.

The voice snaps me out of whatever the fuck that was. I blink a couple of times, and Appa’s still weighing her color options. Appa, flat-stomached in leggings and a cropped tee, still on birth control. And in LA, unfortunately.

I need therapy for whatever breeding kink she’s given me.

“Got the caulk,” I say, breaking her concentration.

“Oh, good. I knew you’d know the right caulk to get,” she says with a wink. She has no idea how much she’s torturing me by saying that, but I know it’s not her intention.

“You could grab a few options, and we can tape them up to see what looks best.”

Her eyes light up. “That’s a good idea because I like the idea of a muted butter yellow. I’m thinking it will look sunny, especially in the morning, but I don’t know. Blue would be fitting, though,” she rambles.

“Do you have masking tape?” I ask. She freezes, and her eyes flicker away. How the hell did her dad not teach her basic shit? “No?”

“Sorry, doubt I do.”

“It’s okay, Babe. I’ll go get tape.”

When I return to her, she’s holding a small stack with a few different color swatches. “Hope they don’t mind,” she says, giggling.

“No, it’s all good.” I swallow. “Are you still taking your birth control?”

She looks a little taken aback by my blunt question, and I don’t know why I asked it.

“Of course, every day at the same time.” Her eyes dart around the aisle, checking for anyone nearby. “Why are you asking me this here…of all places?” She doesn’t sound offended, thank God, but maybe slightly annoyed.

“Nothing, just checking in. Sorry.”

“Random, but okay.” We head to the self-checkout. “But since you brought it up, my doctor wants me to take a month break from it to get a baseline and then try something different. I kind of want to get it out of the way since my period will be awful without it,” she says. “No more raw for you.” I don’t miss the teasing tone in her voice.

Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck…

I clear my throat. “You’re funny.” I pause. “But if you know the general time of that period, I’ll take the week off and take care of you.”

If you get it.

“That’d be amazing, Robby.”

But I don’t think I can trust myself around her if she’s not protected.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Appa

It’s been weeks of bliss since Napa. Quiet evenings with just Robby, watching as he used my kitchen, leaving my refrigerator full of leftovers for once. Weekends spent in bed. All day and all night. It’s thrown off my filming schedule, but I try to film more during the week to leave my weekends free.

I put my phone on the bathroom counter, and Robby’s face comes up on my phone screen with a video call, making it chime and buzz against the hard surface. It bumps into my acrylic makeup organizer. I slide the bar to answer.