"Need help?" she asks, hovering at the edge of the kitchen.
"You can chop these if you want." I slide a cutting board with mushrooms toward her. "Or you can just sit. You must be tired from moving."
"I'm pregnant, not helpless." She takes the knife I offer, her fingers brushing mine. I ignore the burst of heat that happens under my skin where she touches me. "Besides, I've been sitting all day while movers did most of the work. It's nice to be up and doing something."
I keep an eye on her while I stir the rice, adding broth bit by bit. She handles the knife like she has no idea how to cook, but it’s fun watching her try.
"So," she says after a few minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence, "what's the deal with all the brewing books in the living room? You doing research for something, or are you just that obsessed with malt and hops?"
"Both." I add another ladle of broth to the rice. "My grandfather was a brewer before the craft scene exploded. Those older volumes were his and when my mom died, they came tome. Some of them have his notes in the margins—recipes he was developing, modifications to traditional techniques."
"That's actually pretty cool." She slides the hacked up mushrooms into the bowl I've set out. "My mom has something similar with feminist literature. Books passed down from her mother, all marked up with thoughts and arguments."
"Your mom's a professor, right?" I vaguely remember Wren mentioning it during one of our less hostile encounters at an industry event.
She nods. "English literature with a focus on feminist theory. She raised me on Virginia Woolf and bell hooks instead of bedtime stories."
"Explains a lot," I mutter, trying not to smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice takes on thatI’m about to tear you a new assholetone I'm so familiar with.
"Just that you've got that whole 'take no prisoners' vibe going on. Now I know where it comes from."
She looks like she can't decide whether to be offended or flattered. "She'd like that description, actually. She's all about women claiming their power."
"What does she think about..." I gesture vaguely between us. "This situation?"
Wren's expression closes off immediately. "She doesn't know. No one does except Kieran, and that's only because he's irritatingly observant."
My teeth grind. FuckingKieranagain.
"Banks knows," I admit. "And Reed, but you knew that. They were here earlier, helping me clean." Although they didn’t really do shit to help.
"You cleaned for me?"
"I cleaned because my house was a mess," I lie, concentrating on the risotto. "Don't read into it."
She makes a noncommittal noise, but I can feel her eyes on me, assessing. Probably seeing way too damn much.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, changing the subject. "With the pregnancy, I mean."
"Better in some ways. Worse in others." She hops up to sit on the counter beside the stove, close enough that I can smell her perfume or lotion or whatever it is about her that makes my mouth water. "The nausea isn't constant anymore, but the exhaustion is kicking my ass. And everything makes me cry. I saw a commercial for paper towels yesterday and sobbed for ten minutes because the dad and daughter were cleaning up spills together."
I can't hold back my laugh. "Seriously?"
"Don't you dare laugh at me, Kasen James." But there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "This is your fault. Your genes conspiring with mine to turn me into an emotional wreck."
I don’t miss the way her cheeks flush like she’s thinking about something else, maybe remembering that night, but I don’t call her out on it.
"Our genes, huh?" I try to keep my tone light, but something about the casual way she references our shared connection to the growing life inside her makes my chest tighten. "This poor kid doesn't stand a chance with our combined stubbornness."
"God, can you imagine? A tiny person with my ambition and your..." She gestures vaguely at me, waving her hand up and down.
"My what?"
She flushes again. "Your intensity. The way you get when you're focused on something."
"Oh." I hadn't realized she'd noticed that about me. I also don’t think that’s what she was thinking about. "Yeah, that couldbe a dangerous combination. They might try to take over the world."
